Bookmarked: 28 Summers by Elin Hildebrand
2025 has not been my best year for reading books. Typically, I can expect to finish two to three books a month, but my bookshelves are filled with half-read books and disappointing reads.
Well, that all changed when my book club selected 28 Summers as the June read. I expected a solid summer read, especially after hearing high praise for members who had previously read the novel. I needed a little romance, a little escape, something easy to follow on the drive back to Sioux Falls from my grandpa’s ranch. What I didn’t expect was to fall into it so completely.
There’s something incredibly immersive about the way this novel is structured. Each chapter is tied to a single year, spanning nearly three decades, and centered on a Labor Day weekend. We meet Mallory Blessing and Jake McCloud when they’re young and impulsive, and then we watch them return to each other once a year, every year, no matter what else is happening in their lives. The rest of the world moves on: marriages begin, children are born, careers rise and fall, but this tradition remains.
On the surface, it’s a love story, but it’s also something much quieter and more complicated. It’s a story about timing, the people who shape us, even if they’re never fully ours. It’s about how life doesn’t pause for longing, and how we live around the choices we make—or avoid making—for years.
Mallory is the center of the novel, and honestly, one of the most compelling characters I’ve read in a while. She’s principled and stubborn and grounded in a way that makes her annual affair feel less like a scandal and more like survival. She builds a life that matters, not despite her secret weekends, but alongside them. Jake is more challenging to pin down and much more frustrating, which feels deliberate. His passivity becomes part of the emotional tension: he’s someone who keeps showing up, but never quite entirely.
One of the things that elevated this story for me was the inclusion of other voices. Hilderbrand doesn’t confine the narrative to Mallory and Jake. Instead, she opens it up to the people in their orbit: siblings, children, partners, friends. These moments complicate things in the best way. You see the ripple effects, the quiet damage, and the unexpected grace. It makes the story feel lived-in. Not just a love story, but a entire lives.
The writing is clean, direct, and emotionally restrained. It’s not overly lyrical, and it doesn’t try to impress you. It just tells the story. That simplicity makes it more powerful. Hilderbrand isn’t trying to convince you of anything. She’s just laying it out, year after year, and letting the weight of time do its work.
What stayed with me most was how much of the story happens in the gaps and in what we don’t see the other 360-something days of the year. The years between chapters carry as much weight as the weekends we witness, and that felt true to life. So often, the most significant parts of a relationship aren’t the dramatic declarations or the big decisions, but the quiet consistencies.
When I finished the book, I found myself replaying moments from my own life as well. Thinking about the people I’ve let go of, or held onto, or never quite figured out what to do with. That’s the kind of book this is: It sneaks up on you, it gives you a love story, and it also gives you a mirror.
I loved this book. I loved how messy and human it was. I loved that it didn’t offer a resolution but gave me perspective.
If you’re looking for a story that’s easy to read but hard to shake, this is it.
