I really loved Only a Promise. It was sweet and poignant and brilliantly written. The angst was handled very well; it was justified and kept to a reasonable limit, unlike, say, The Secret Passion of Simon Blackwell by Samantha James. The love scenes were very lukewarm, though, but that didn't really bother me since I realised, later on in the book, that this was not about the romance. The story was all about how Ralph and Chloe developed themselves. How they, because of their marriage, learned how to move on from the past, to let go of their fears... 
 And to actually live. 
 Yes, this was a story about two people dying and coming back to life. Because that's what Ralph and Chloe were at the start: dead. They were dead inside; they had given up hope for love, for intimacy, for happiness. Until their marriage proved them otherwise. Until they learned that their love for each other brought them to life. 
 And I'm not only talking about love in a sexual sense here, as is usual in romance novels. No, what they had went deeper than that. They had companionship, friendship, intimacy. Their love was a collection of all those things, and it was simply beautiful to witness. 
 I cried. I blushed. I laughed. 
 And I simply adored every minute of it.