25 Jul Book Review: The Air He Breathes by Brittainy C. Cherry

Brittainy C. Cherry is known for emotionally immersive romance that lingers long after the last page—think soul-level connection, heartbreak, and healing all rolled into one. The Air He Breathes fits snugly into that space, weaving grief, unexpected love, and the possibility of hope into a story that’s both tender and wrenching.

What’s it about?

Juliette Walker has lost nearly everything—her fiancé in a car accident and then her faith one day later. Grief has wrapped itself around her, anchoring her to a life halfway lived, a breath halfway taken. When she meets Will Tate, a disillusioned paramedic with his own secret wounds, their desperation meets like fated stars. Juliette is drawn to Will’s quiet kindness; Will is drawn to Juliette’s raw sorrow—and something ancient blooms in that shared ache.

Their relationship begins as a slow whisper—coffee shared before dawn, small moments of closeness, tentative steps toward trust. Cherry carries you through the awkwardness and longing, and then into intimacy that isn’t routine but profound—real conversations about what they fear and who they once were. But both carry ghosts. Juliette fears loving when everything could be erased again. Will has walls so tall they’re nearly impossible to climb. And grief doesn’t clock out.

As their love deepens, so too does the tension. A job incident reminds Will why he keeps distance. A symbolic painting from Juliette’s past threatens to redefine her. Their relationship finds itself at a crossroads: cling to each other’s darkness, or risk the possibility of light alone.

In the end, The Air He Breathes isn’t a tidy redemption or fairy-tale conclusion. It’s about two broken people choosing to exhale together—one day at a time.

What This Chick Thinks

Emotional Gravity

If Cherry’s aiming to punch you in the heart—and then wrap you in a blanket of vulnerability—she succeeds. Juliette’s grief and Will’s emotional fatigue are portrayed with honesty; it’s the kind of love that doesn’t gloss over hurt, it lives in it.

Chemistry That’s Quiet and Ferocious

Their intimacy isn’t forced—it grows in small glances, driven by unspoken understanding. It’s that raw hum underneath every touch that makes the romance feel lived-in and permanent.

Grief as a Character

This isn’t grief for show—Cherry builds it into every corner of their lives: habits, fears, dreams. She doesn’t cure it with romance—she gives space for it, and allows love to exist in that space, without needing to annihilate the pain.

Minor Pacing Lulls

Cherry sometimes lingers over emotional moments a touch too long. There were scenes where I found myself ready to skip ahead—but each one is layered with feeling, even if I didn’t need all the detail.

Satisfying, Bittersweet Finish

The resolution isn’t perfect—but it’s real. They’re not healed; they’re choosing. The last scene is a choice wrapped in calm uncertainty, and somehow that feels more hopeful than any tie-wrapped ending.

Final Thoughts

The Air He Breathes is the kind of emotional read that wraps around you slowly and then tight—two fragile souls finding a way back to life, one uncertain breath at a time. It’s romantic, heartbreaking, and deeply human.

Rating: 8.5/10

Try it if you like:

• Maybe Someday by Colleen Hoover – Music, resilience, unconventional connection, emotional scars intertwined.
• The Light We Left Behind by Jill Santopolo – About exile, reconnection, and rediscovering love in unexpected places.
• The Sea of Tranquility by Katja Millay – Wounds, healing, and the long arc of trusting someone again.