The moment that I read the quote from the first page of Kandi Steiner’s A Love Letter to Whiskey my heart literally dropped into my stomach. I felt like I was on an amusement park ride that just went over a steep hill while speeding down the tracks at nearly a hundred miles an hour.
At that very moment I knew deep in my soul that this book would break me. I questioned if I should keep reading or brace myself for one hell of a ride. I decided on the later, so I put my big girl panties on and dived right in.
I am so glad that I did.
A Love Letter to Whiskey irrevocably changed me. To say that it moved me is an understatement. Quite frankly I have never been as deeply and profoundly affected by a novel as I was while reading this gut wrenching, heart-breaking story that split me in two.
This is the story of Jamie Shaw (“Whiskey”) and Brecks Kennedy (“B”).
The novel details eleven years of regret, pain, turmoil, flaming desire and love. It chronicles a connection between a determined man and a broken woman that is so strong that it is impossible for them to let it go in spite of how much they hurt each other.
And make no mistake about it: these two destroy each other at the same time that they ruin each other for anyone else. They emotional and mentally shred each other to pieces to the point where I did not think they would ever be able to reassemble themselves again.
Steiner’s storytelling ability is staggering and vivid as she portrays the story of woe that befalls this Juliet and her Romeo.
When the **** hit the fan and only ashes were left in the wake of the storm that decimated everything in its path my heart exploded in my chest, nearly rendering my emotions deceased.
These characters owned me from the start.
I loved them SO hard.
At various points in the novel I *hated* them at the same time I craved them.
The fact that I was so emotionally invested in the outcome of this story showcases the fact that Kandi Steiner left me spellbound, awestruck and mesmerized.
I want to switch gears for a second.
Another powerful and effective aspect of this novel is the metaphorical references to Whiskey that are prevalent from the start of the book. These analogies are pure genius.
The author paints a picture filled with imagery and symbolism concerning alcoholism and addiction all the way down to the titles of the individual chapters. This attention to detail added so much depth and meaning to the events that occur in the novel.
Allow me to demonstrate my point with these examples of Kandi Steiner’s impressive brilliance:
“It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.”
“I opened the door and felt tipsy just at the sight of him, eyes blurring and legs shaking. It used to take me at least a shot to get to this point, but my tolerance level had weakened by distance and time, and just seeing him warmed my blood.”
“It was just me, the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.”
“And don’t let the fact that some of the alcohol evaporates over time fool you, because when you taste that aged whiskey, it’ll burn just as deliciously as it did when you were young.”
“I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my first sign to stay away.”
The touching, heart-rending way that the author conveys B’s love for Whiskey is beautifully captured; Jamie is literally like a shot of whiskey because of his coloring and the effect that his presence has on B from the very beginning.
The poor girl never had a chance; with his auburn hair, hazel eyes and oak and honey smell he was a weapon of mass destruction and B had no choice but to burn.
Oh how the burn is so sweet.
Whiskey is immediately satisfying yet the alcohol is potentially damaging if one continues to consume it over and over again. Make of that what you will.
No joke: I cried the entire last quarter of A Love Letter to Whiskey and when I finished the last line of the epilogue I literally burst into tears. I mean full out bawled. However, it was not done out of sadness. Call it a catharsis because it was the result of complete relief and utter joy.
Please do not let all of my aforementioned comments scare you.
In spite of all of the tears were shed I can confidently say that this book is now in the top three of my favorite contemporary romantic reads.
Not top three this year. I mean top three EVER.
It is vividly written and portrays a poignant love story for the ages.
To call A Love Letter to Whiskey a masterpiece is an insult. I say that because it is so much more.
It is pure perfection.
A piece of literary excellence that I will hold near and dear to my heart for years to come. I have no doubt that I will read it again and again.
This book is a symphony of words where every passionate note touched my heart the same way that music touches the soul.
I have fallen truly, madly and deeply in love with this book. That love is irrevocable and eternal.
Based on this review you may feel like you have a full grasp of all that A Love Letter to Whiskey entails.
You think you know, but you have no idea.
That is my final word.
Overall: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️!! 10 Out of 5 stars!
It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
Whiskey stood there, on my doorstep, just like he had one year before. Except this time, there was no rain, no anger, no wedding invitation — it was just us.
It was just him — the old friend, the easy smile, the twisted solace wrapped in a glittering bottle.
It was just me — the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.
But we can’t start here.
No, to tell this story right, we need to go back.
Back to the beginning.
Back to the very first drop.
This is my love letter to Whiskey. I only hope he reads it.
The first time I tasted Whiskey, I fell flat on my face.
I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my sign to stay away.
Jenna and I were running the trail around the lake near her house, sweat dripping into our eyes from the intense South Florida heat. It was early September, but in South Florida, it might as well have been July. There was no “boots and scarves” season, unless you counted the approximately six weeks in January and February where the temperature dropped below eighty degrees.
As it was, we were battling ninety-plus degrees, me trying to be a show off and prove I could keep up with Jenna’s cheerleading training program. She had finally made the varsity squad, and with that privilege came ridiculous standards she had to uphold. I hated running — absolutely loathed it. I would much rather have been on my surf board that day. But fortunately for Jenna, she had a competitive best friend who never turned down a challenge. So when she asked me to train with her, I’d agreed eagerly, even knowing I’d have screaming ribs and calves by the end of the day.
I saw him first.
I was just a few steps ahead of Jenna, and I’d been staring down at my hot pink sneakers as they hit the concrete. When I looked up, he was about fifty feet away, and even from that distance I could tell I was in trouble. He seemed sort of average at first — brown hair, lean build, soaked white running shirt — but the closer he got, the more I realized just how edible he was. I noticed the shift in the muscles of his legs as he ran, the way his hair bounced slightly, how he pressed his lips together in concentration as he neared us.
I looked over my shoulder, attempting to waggle my eyebrows at Jenna and give her the secret best friend code for “hot guy up ahead”, but she had stopped to tie her shoes. And when I turned back around, it was too late.
I smacked into him — hard — and fell to the pavement, rolling a bit to soften the fall. He cursed and I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain. I wish I could say I gracefully picked myself up, smiled radiantly, and asked him for his number, but the truth is I lost the ability to do anything the minute I looked up at him.
It was an unfamiliar, warm ache that spread through my chest as I used my hand to shield the sun streaming in behind his silhouette, just how you’d expect the first sip of whiskey to feel. He was bent over, hand outstretched, saying something that wasn’t registering because I had somehow managed to slip my hand into his and just that one touch had set my skin on fire.
Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe him, but it was all I kept thinking as I traced his features. His hair was a sort of mocha color, damp at the roots, falling onto his forehead just slightly. His eyes were wide — almost too round — and a mixture of gold, green, and the deepest brown. I didn’t coin the nickname Whiskey until much later, but it was that moment that I saw it for the first time — those were whiskey eyes. The kind of eyes you get lost in. The kind that drink you in. He had the longest lashes and a firm, square jaw. It was so hard, the edges so clean that I would have sworn he was angry with me if it weren’t for the smile on his face.He was still talking as my eyes fell over his broad chest before snapping back up to his sideways grin.
“Oh my God, are you fucking blind?!” Jenna’s voice snapped me from my haze as she shoved Whiskey out of the way and latched onto my hand, ripping me back to standing position. I’d barely caught my balance before she whipped around to continue her scolding. “How about you brush that long ass hair out of your eyes and watch where you’re going, huh champ?”
I didn’t even have time to call dibs, I couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it, before it was too late. I watched it, in slow motion, as Whiskey fell for my best friend before I even had the chance to say a single word to him.
Jenna was standing tall, arms crossed, one hip popped in her usual fashion as she waited for him to defend himself. This was her protocol — it was one of the reasons we got along. We were both what you’d call “spitfires”, but Jenna had the distinct advantage of being cripplingly gorgeous on top of having an attitude. She flipped her long, wavy blonde ponytail behind her and cocked a brow.
And then he did, too.
His smile grew wider as he met her eyes, and it was the same look I’d watched fall
over guy after countless guy. Jenna was a unicorn, and men were enamored by her. As they should have been — she had platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, legs for days and a personality to boot. Now, before you go thinking that I was the insecure best friend – I had it going on, too. I worked hard, I was talented – just not at the things traditional high school boys valued.
But we’ll get to that.
“Hi,” Whiskey finally said, extending his hand to Jenna this time. His eyes were warm, smile inviting — if I had to pick the right word for him, just one, I’d say charming. He just oozed charm. “I’m Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, maybe you should make an appointment with the eye doctor before you run over another innocent jogger. And you owe Brecks an apology.” She nodded to me then and I cringed at my name, wondering why she felt the need to spill it at all. She always called me B — everyone did — so why did she choose the moment I was face to face with the first boy to ever make my heart accelerate to use my full name?
Jamie was still grinning, eying Jenna, trying to figure her out, but he turned to me after a moment with that same crooked smile. “I’m sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He said the words with conviction, but lifted his brows on that last line because he and I both knew who wasn’t paying attention to the trail, and he wasn’t the guilty party.
“It’s fine,” I murmured, because for some reason I was still having a difficult time finding my voice. Jamie tilted his head just a fraction, his eyes hard on me this time, and I felt naked beneath his gaze. I’d never had anyone look at me that way — completely zeroed in. It was unnerving and exhilarating, too.
But before I could latch onto the feeling, he turned back to Jenna, their eyes meeting as slow smiles spread on both of their faces. I’d seen it a million times, but this was the first time I felt sick watching it happen.
I saw him first, but it didn’t matter.
Because he saw her.
Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.
Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).
When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.