Why Revision Matters - An ARC Review of Lynn Painter's Accidentally Amy

I, presumably like you, read a lot. So much so that I’m often in the middle of a book when one of my friends will ask what I’m reading and I blank on the title. Ask me about how the characters made me laugh, cry, or rant and I’m your girl. Ask me the protagonists’ names or little things, like, you know, the title of the very book that’s making me laugh, cry, and / or rant and I need a minute or more to visit my Mind Palace to retrieve this tidbit.

What does this have to do with Accidentally Amy? I felt like I remembered this title and cover. This was weird in that I read exclusively on my phone, which is, most likely, the main contributor to my literary amnesia. Anyhoo. After realizing that this is a new edit of a previous story and getting over this déjà vu, I wholeheartedly embraced these long lost fictional friends, Izzy, newly hired HR specialist who, in running late to her first day on the job, spills her pilfered (there’s a story there, of course) PSL on Blake, gorgeous VP whose spectacular pectorals she feels up in attempting to blot said latte, earning him the nickname “Mr. Chest.” Their particular oops-I-spilled-my-caffeinated-beverage meet cute gets a twist when Blake gives Izzy her own nickname: Amy. Not a nickname, as such, in that Blake assumes that’s her name given that it's what’s scrawled on her Starbucks’ cup. Izzy-not-Amy has not really stolen someone else’s drink since she’s already paid for the exact same order. She’s also not not stolen it, however, as Amy, whomever she may be will be out her own PSL fix. At best, it’s a little white lie. At worst, it’s the basis for a misunderstanding that’s blown waaaaay out of proportion, but, as we come to find out in Blake’s new backstory, one that’s at least a little bit justified.

If sparks flew between Izzy and Blake at Starbucks, a veritable inferno ignites between the two when they meet, mere minutes later, in an elevator at Izzy’s new place of employment. IRL, elevators are the work of the devil - full of strange smells and fellow passengers who ignore you with such purpose it's insulting or, worse yet, stand so close you can identify each ingredient in their last meal (and often the one before). In romance, however, they’re an aphrodisiac that incite the two inevitably gorgeous riders to fling themselves on the emergency stop button before flinging themselves on one another. (Sidenote: what year are these romcom elevators from? Unless our characters are traveling in a service elevator, which THEY’RE NOT, the emergency stop, which apparently has only existed for mid-floor quickies, has since gone the way of the dodo.)

Though they don’t quite get to consummate this relationship, which both interpret as fated, the two feel pretty darn good about where they’re headed despite the fact that they’re still Amy and Mr. Chest and haven’t exchanged, ya know, real names. Minor details in matters of lust, my friends. The brakes are thrown on pretty darn quickly, however, when Izzy’s introduced to her boss’s boss, thus (obviously) her boss, AVP Blake Phillips, heretofore Mr. Chest. Impossible workplace romance aside, the real hurdle comes in Blake’s immediately cold response to finding out that “Amy” is actually Isabella Clarence Shay (names are always important but here that humdinger of a middle name enjoys a cute full circle moment at the end of their story). The reason for his arctic disposition? 

She lied. She’s a lying liar-face whos pants are clearly on fire. Not only that but she’s a thief! Won’t someone think of actual Amy who, sans PSL, is the clear victim of Izzy’s fib. 

If you, like Izzy, me, and pretty much anyone who thinks that Blake’s completely overreacting to Izzy’s grand theft coffee, are taken aback by how much he’s making a mountain out of the proverbial fall-centric molehill, get in line. AVP Blake Phillips is no longer Mr. Chest. He’s a downright dick. But, as it turns out, he’s a dick with a reason for demanding honesty out of himself and everyone else in his life. So, still a dick but one with a relatively convincing backstory. This is one of the new additions to Painter’s revision of her original story, which was apparently self-published as opposed to this trad one. And it works. In fact, all of the fleshing out of Blake’s backstory - the family he’s given and other tidbits - are, in the words of many a romance hero, everything I never knew I wanted. The characters and their relationship seem much more realized here - because they are - and I love them even more this go around.

Moving along, since we’re about two chapters into the text and you’re not here to read a treatise on why Lynn Painter should rewrite and give me more of all of her book boyfriends to date (though I could write the hell out of that), Izzy acts childish in response to Blake’s overt dickishness and worries she’ll lose her new job, which she not only needs but actually loves. Much to her, but probably more to our relief, Blake won’t fire her. But, he also won’t act on their insta-chemistry because HE. HAS. A. MORAL. CODE. Thus, we’re stuck with that age-old problem: how do the hot and clearly made-for-each-other couple act on their feelings without actually acting on their feelings.

Answer: they come up with rules. Blake and Izzy can’t talk outside of work but “Mr.Chest” and “Starbucks Amy” can. While their texts are adorable, it’s not enough for the reader or characters - especially when Izzy finds out that Blake is a bona fide cat daddy who cares for two special needs rescue kitties (swoon!), whom he pretends not to be obsessed with even as he’s making their dinner from scratch. 

Thus, loopholes are found and a delightful cast of secondary characters - again, more realized (or invented) here than they were in the previous publishing - is drawn into the mix. Most delightful, for my money, is their game of Billboard Assholes, where there are no winners only less-bad losers. After Blake white-knights Izzy, literally saving her from freezing along the shoulder of the highway as she’s trudging home in a storm, in the dark, (all uphill, of course), they partner together in the game and, after one particular physical challenge, end up giving in to the inevitable. After a watershed kiss (Painter can write the fuck out of a good kiss scene) that changes everything but nothing (THEY. STILL. CAN’T. DATE.), Blake and Izzy spend the rest of the novel navigating their work relationship, sexual chemistry, and, my favorite, burgeoning best friendship. 

I’m a fan of pretty much everything Lynn Painter writes, YA or adult, and she’s perfected the ideal book boyfriend, mostly because her characters truly have fun together and are legitimately the other’s favorite person. It’s both the Platonic ideal of friendship and soulmates at once, and who doesn’t want that? 

After some corporate restructuring, fated perhaps, Blake immediately acts on the fact that Amy is no longer under him at work. Thus, he gets to work getting her under him in bed now that there’s no impediment to their relationship. Of course, given the rules of rom-coms, their heated encounter, in which Painter brings both sugar and spice with aplomb, soon faces - what else? - impediments both new and old, leading to misunderstandings and broken hearts. 

As Shakespeare mused, the course of HEAs never did run smooth. Yet, get there we must and we do. Channeling Starbucks Amy and Mr. Chest, and buoyed by their friendship and love for pussy (cats), Blake and Izzy do indeed get their HEA and, in so doing, become better for it in that our MMC realizes the drawbacks of rigidly adhering to a moral code that harms more than it helps. Plus, we’re treated to a bonus round of Billboard Assholes that has the requisite heat while reading sweet (but not too sweet) to end our tale. 

All told, Painter’s new edit is like retouching that back tattoo you got at a music festival in your teens. It was cool in the first place but you kind of forgot about it over the years. Now, however, it’s more vibrant and even better than before. 

Rating: 4.5 / 5 Pilfered Pumpkin Spice Lattes