Book 1,087: Two for Trust – Elle Brownlee

I have no excuses other than I wanted to read this again as a palate cleanser between Austen novels. There is absolutely no reason I should have read this book six times. SIX TIMES.

I mean I read it earlier this year and was like, okay maybe I’ll read this once a year and eventually it’ll get out of my system, but less than 6 months later here we are and I’m writing about it again. (I probably should’ve just done a minimal text post and “see previous reviews.”)

It’s not that great of a book. Don’t get me wrong, it’s well written, the plot is okay if a bit holey, and the characters are decent, but there is absolutely nothing that I can put my finger on that screams read me read me read me, and yet here we are. I’ve tried reading other Brownlee books—I’ve grabbed another one recently to read at some point—to see if it’s her and it’s not, they’re all run of the mill mediocre MM romances.

I go back and forth on if it’s the setting which may as well be a character or if it’s the protagonists, or if it’s the overall wholesomeness of the novel and I can never quite pinpoint it. I did track this time and there are fewer than 5 kisses in the entire novel and the first one doesn’t take place until well over half way through, and adding in that there is absolutely no sex it’s almost a clean romance. So maybe it’s just the purity and preciousness of the entire novel that makes it such a good revisit and palate cleanser compared to most of the other modern MM Romances that I read?

I won’t belabor it more, I just enjoy this novel.

Recommendation: This is a combo of previous recommendations:

Apr 2025: The only other thing I’ll note, because I’ve written what I can about it in the other three posts, is that as soon as I decide to read it I get a smile on my face and that smile pretty much stays on my face throughout. (There are one or two moments where I get grumpy with Benedict or Finch, but those are fleeting.) Go find yourself a book like this—it’s probably not this one, but everyone should have one book that just does it for you.

Oct 2024: This book isn’t for everyone and you may absolutely hate it. But for me it’s the Hallmark/Lifetime holiday movie wrapped up in a nice digestible and somewhat read-in-one sitting package that I periodically need to revisit. So if you can suspend some disbelief and deal with a little bit of stilted dialogue and time jumps, and pretend you’re watching a mid-range made-for-tv holiday movie then you can embrace this book. I am 100% not lying that I will probably re-read this in the next six months.

May 2020: Read. This. Book. And then re-read this book. And then message me so I can just reply with gibberish. I know a lot of people didn’t like it, but for me the book was perfect. From the adorably clueless Finch to the stuffy hunk Benedict, the constant simmer of their getting to know you and falling in love story without the sexual innuendos and overtones drove me nuts. The writing isn’t the best I’ve ever read, but it’s also nowhere near the worst. A couple of continuity questions I had upon my first blaze through read were answered on my second slower read through and Brownlee’s style definitely grew on me the second time around.

Opening Line: “Finch turned into oncoming traffic, veered sharply back into the left lane, and waved an apology to the alarmed elderly couple in their little touring car.”

Closing Line: “Then he wanted to sneak them off to the conservatory and not return.” (Whited out to avoid spoilers, highlight to read.)

Additional Quotes from Two for Trust
“Because the new arrival to the tent defined each of those things—broad-chested with broader shoulders, honey-hazel eyes, and thick, dark hair—all packaged in fine tweeds and a caramel-colored sweater. He had big square hands, and the sweater hugged all the right places for Finch to get a sense of strength and innate physical confidence. Like an outsized Disney prince.” (4)

“Morning mist gathered into a light pattering rain, but Finch wasn’t bothered. He wore a snug knit cap and a sensible, waterproof jacket and boots. He was in England, and rainy weather was to be expected. Finch would be disappointed if every day held clear blue skies. Besides, the mizzle, no doubt helped to keep people away.” (7)

“A magical charge didn’t generate between them, but their hands were suited. Finch’s smaller one fit comfortably in Benedict’s wide, warm grasp.” (7)

“The pub was so perfectly an English pub as Finch could have imagined that he almost laughed. Its thatched roof rolled in lumps and bumps over angled eaves and peaks, over a facade of stone and brown Tudor-style cladding on white plaster. Benedict had to stoop to enter, and Finch followed holding the pup, but paused outside.” (48)

“Hoof-beats sounded, growing closer, and Finch stared and then snorted a strange laugh when Benedict streaked past the house on a beautiful dark chestnut mount. Because, of course Benedict went for brisk morning rides, obviously skilled and dashing while doing so, suited to everything else both traditional and cliche about being lord of the manor.” (84)

“He thought about the boxer briefs he wore, too big in the waist and baggy but not uncomfortable, and studiously did not glance at Benedict. They could be anyone’s, of course, or even bought new to have on hand just in case a guest needed them. But Finch would blush and stammer regardless at the idea of wearing underwear provided by his host.” (91)

“Benedict traded an amused glance with his reflection, and Finch blushed but shrugged. He was naturally pale enough that his blushes were an ombre starting at his scalp that lightened all the way to his hips. Benedict’s gaze followed the path of Finch’s blush, and for a wild moment. Finch thought Benedict looked at him—really looked—and liked everything he saw.” (148)

“When he stood, he wound up in the circle of Benedict’s arm. Benedict was taller than him by a head, and he wanted to lean in against Benedict’s chest and rest in the hollow under Benedict’s chin. Despite their differences and the circumstances that brought them together, it felt like he was where he’d always belonged. Not because of bedside tea and huge houses and expensive clothes, but from the longing to lean against Benedict and an unerring, bone-deep sense that it was where he would find his perfect fit in life.” (166)

“‘Good old-fashioned pen and paper is great,’ Finch said, almost embarrassed to be so glad Benedict had returned to the subject and shared even that much. ‘I like real mail. It’s a bit like a book. Digital books are awesome and convenient, but nothing will ever replace the feel of having a real book in your hand—the scent of its pages in your nose, and then the corner of its cover jabbing you awake when you fall asleep reading in bed.” (227)

“He regarded the wound with a critical eye as she bent close to examine the sutures. Benedict closed in as well, too near for Finch’s peace of mind. He steadied his breath, grateful no one was taking his blood pressure or pulse, and then made slow fists with the hand he could hang off the table. Changing around other harried nurses was one thing, but sitting in the boxer briefs Benedict had bought him with Benedict’s body heat filling his awareness was something else altogether . . . Benedicts gaze skidded down to Finch’s bare legs, then the bunch of jersey cotton at his groin and shot up again.” (237-238)