The general narrative arc is well-worn: Poppy, our endearing narrator, and her longtime best friend, Alex, are complete opposites in every way except for their adoration of each other.

Emily Henry’s sophomore title “People We Meet on Vacation” is one such book - delightful and breezy, just like a romantic comedy movie, but in print.

In my kind of romantic novels, there is no bodice ripping or vampires - but, hey, good for you if that’s your thing –– instead, my kind of novels are like if literary fiction had a breezy, flirtatious younger sister. When I say I read romantic novels, people assume I mean grocery store paperbacks, but that could not be further from the truth. I love blockbuster movies starring celebs with shiny teeth and perfect hair. I love indie rom-coms about people falling in love while wearing overalls and studying at liberal arts colleges. I am indiscriminate as to whom, where or how fictional characters profess their love for each other - I only insist that they do. My streaming service recommendation algorithms have given up on selling me anything without at least a secondary plot of romance. I scan book reviews waiting for a hint of romance in the narrative. If every genre but romantic comedy suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth, absolutely nothing about my media consumption would change.

Friends we meet on vacation