Reviewed by: Sue Eaton
TITLE: Up In Smoke
SERIES: Redwood Bay Fire #4
AUTHOR: HJ Welch
PUBLISHER: Self Published
LENGTH: 380 pages
RELEASE DATE: December 12, 2025
BLURB:
Love never quits
RICO
I’ve always had a soft spot for my best friend’s younger brother, the one who went off to Hollywood and became a star, only to crash back down to earth with nobody to save him. Years later, my buddy isn’t around when Jesse hits rock bottom…but I am. My plan is pretty extreme, though. Is it crazy to think I can be the one to finally rescue him this time? Or as usual, will it all go up in smoke before I can stop it?
JESSE
Everyone thought I had it made at ten years old. But the second my TV show finished, Hollywood stopped calling, and I spent the next two decades in and out of trouble. The last person I expect to pick me up and put me back on my feet is my life-long crush, firefighter Lieutenant Rico Flores.
But he’s the first person in forever to stop and see me for who I am now, not the character I was all those years ago or the failure I’ve become. Even when I’m awful, he doesn’t give up on me. It’s no surprise that I’m swapping childhood infatuation for real love. But when he suggests getting married so his insurance can send me back to rehab, are we going too far? This is my last chance at recovery, I’m sure. I just don’t know if my heart will survive being his husband when I know he’ll never see me as anything other than a problem, a charity case, his best friend’s messed up little brother.
Right?
REVIEW:
This story has the trappings of a contemporary romance, but underneath the charm and the banter is something scorched, something that smells like old regrets, singed pride, and the kind of longing that keeps you awake long after the last page.
Welch builds her world the way a fire builds heat: slowly, deceptively, then all at once. The characters don’t just have baggage, they drag whole burning buildings behind them.
Jesse carries his trauma like a second skin, thin in places, cracked in others, but always visible if you know where to look. Rico is the kind of man who looks like he’s got his life together until you realise he’s just better at sweeping the ashes under the rug. Together, they’re a slow‑burn chemical reaction: volatile, magnetic, and absolutely doomed unless they learn to stop setting themselves on fire.
This isn’t a story about two perfect men finding each other. It’s about two imperfect men clawing their way toward something that might, if they’re lucky, resemble peace. The chemistry is undeniable, but it’s the emotional messiness that gives the book its bite. Welch doesn’t shy away from the darker corners of vulnerability: fear of failure, fear of being seen, fear of wanting too much. The tenderness hits harder because it’s earned, hard‑won and scraped together from the rubble.
There’s a constant sense of something simmering beneath the surface, old wounds, unresolved tension, the kind of emotional weather that makes you brace for impact. Even the lighter scenes feel like they’re happening in the eye of a storm.
Welch excels at that gritty emotional realism: the kind that doesn’t glamorise pain but doesn’t flinch from it either.
Jesse is convinced he’s used up all his chances Not in a melodramatic way, in a quiet, exhausted way people get when life has taught them that hope is a luxury item they can’t afford. He’s built his entire identity on survival, not living. Every choice he makes is shaped by the belief that he’s one wrong move away from losing everything again. He mistakes self-sacrifice for love, because somewhere along the line he learned that his needs are burdens, not truths. He doesn’t trust good things, not because he’s cynical, but because he’s been conditioned to expect the floor to give way.
Rico on the surface, appears stable, competent and charming. The kind of man who seems like he’s got his life together wrapped up in a neat little box with a colour‑coded label. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? He’s not whole, he’s functional and those are not the same thing. He’s mastered the art of appearing fine, because he’s terrified of what people will see if he stops performing. He carries guilt like a phantom limb, always there, always aching, even when no one else can see it. He wants connection so badly it hurts, but he’s convinced he must earn it through perfection. His tenderness is real, but it’s brittle, like he’s afraid it’ll snap if someone holds it too tightly.
Individually, they’re tragic together, they’re catastrophic in the most beautiful way. They recognise each other’s wounds before they recognise each other’s strengths. They’re drawn together not because they’re perfect for each other, but because they’re the first people to see each other. Their chemistry isn’t just romantic, it’s redemptive. Every moment between them feels like two people trying to learn a language they were never taught: how to be loved without conditions. They don’t just fall in love; they unlearn their damage in each other’s presence.
Individually, they’re a mess, cracked, uneven, shaped by old wounds and bad habits. But the wild thing? Their fractures align where one collapses inward, the other instinctively braces. Where one spirals, the other steadies. They’re not two complete people making a whole, they’re two damaged people whose broken edges happen to fit.
In the end, Up In Smoke isn’t just a story about two men falling in love; it’s about two lives quietly rerouting themselves the moment they collide. Every shattering moment exposes a wound they’ve spent years pretending it didn’t hurt, and every healing moment teaches them a new way to exist more open than they ever believed they could be. They become each other’s turning point not through grand declarations, but through the small, stubborn acts of showing up when it would be easier to run. Their love works because it grows in the cracks, in the silences, in the places where they once thought nothing good could take root. And by the time the smoke clears, what remains isn’t perfection, it’s two imperfect men choosing each other anyway and discovering that sometimes the most transformative love is the one that teaches you how to stay.
RATING: 
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