Crossing Lines and Healing Hearts: A Review of Older by Jennifer Hartmann

Book Summary – Spoiler free

At the heart of Older is Halley—a young woman shaped by years of abuse, neglect, and emotional abandonment. She’s barely holding herself together, hiding her trauma behind sharp edges and unexpected depth. One night, at a house party, her path crosses with Reed—a 34-year-old man searching for his daughter. What should have been a brief encounter spirals into something far more intimate.

Reed is a single father with his own emotional scars, and Halley is the last person he expects to connect with. Their bond begins as something small, almost accidental. But the complication? Reed is the father of one of Halley’s close friends—and neither of them sees it coming.

Set in a modern-day suburban backdrop, this is a slow-burn romance steeped in grief, longing, guilt, and the desperate need for something—someone—to feel like home.

Analysis and Opinion

Older by Jennifer Hartmann is the kind of book that quietly sneaks up on you—and then wrecks you in the best way. I actually stumbled across it at my local Books-A-Million, drawn in by the moody, evocative cover (yes, I totally judge books by their covers sometimes). This was my first Jennifer Hartmann read, and wow—what a way to start. I’d just come off the emotional rollercoaster of Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas and was still mentally unpacking that age-gap dynamic. So when I saw that Older tackled a similar theme, but with a twist—and an even more morally complex situation—I knew I had to give it a try.

And honestly? I wasn’t prepared. Hartmann doesn’t just write taboo romance—she writes about emotional wounds, personal growth, and connection that blooms in unlikely, even controversial, places. If you’re ready to wrestle with complicated feelings and beautifully broken characters, Older might just destroy you in the most delicate way.

Halley’s Trauma and the Quiet Echoes of Survival
One of the most powerful aspects of Older is how Hartmann portrays Halley’s trauma—not as a plot device, but as something deeply woven into the fabric of who she is. Her past abuse isn’t constantly front and center (aside from one particularly gut-wrenching scene when she runs into her father, who doesn’t even recognize her), but it colors everything about how she moves through the world. The trauma lingers in the little things—how she flinches when Reed raises his voice, how she over-apologizes when she makes a small mistake, and how she instinctively takes on the emotional weight of everyone around her.

She has this desperate need to be useful, to fix things—as if being helpful is the only way to justify her presence in someone’s life. And it’s heartbreaking.

Falling for you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Jennifer Hartmann

Hartmann captures this so subtly and beautifully. One of my favorite narrative threads is the motif of the bunny. It’s introduced early in the book as something physical and yet, symbolic—innocence, vulnerability, maybe even a little piece of the childhood Halley was never allowed to fully have. By the time it returns later in the story, in a gesture from Reed that reads like both an apology and an olive branch, I had literal chills. It’s such a small moment, but it speaks volumes: about care, about acknowledgment, about giving someone a piece of themselves back without needing words.

Halley doesn’t love the way most people do. Her capacity for connection has been twisted by years of emotional and physical damage—but it’s still there, raw and aching and real. And watching her try to understand what safety, love, and trust are supposed to feel like… it’s quietly devastating.

What I Loved:

• Emotional Grit: Hartmann doesn’t sugarcoat the trauma Halley has endured. Her pain is palpable, but so is her strength—and watching her soften and find safety with Reed is nothing short of powerful.
• Characters: Halley is wild, wounded, and whip-smart. Reed is steady, conflicted, and achingly tender. Their dynamic is intense, but it works. It’s messy, yes—but love often is.
• Narrative Voice: The prose is intimate and aching. Hartmann has a way of crafting internal monologue that feels like reading a journal you were never meant to find.
• Themes: Healing, found family, age and emotional maturity, taboo love, and the aching question of whether you’re allowed to be loved after being broken.

Reed as the Protector — And the Moral Whiplash It Brings
One of the most emotionally complex elements of Older is the way Reed is framed—not just as a romantic interest, but as a protector, a savior, even a father figure in the emotional sense. For much of the book, Halley is vulnerable in ways that go beyond the typical romance heroine. Reed becomes her anchor, her safety, her soft place to fall—and that protective instinct reads so close to parental love that it gets very murky.

Are you here to save me?

Jennifer Hartmann

This blurred line is part of what makes the novel so fascinating—and so uncomfortable.

Tara, Reed’s daughter and Halley’s friend, expresses that discomfort near the end of the novel, and honestly? I couldn’t completely disagree with her. Her reaction felt painfully real, even if I didn’t want to take her side. There’s a part of the me that instinctively recoiled at the relationship’s imbalance, even as another part roots for Halley to finally have something soft and real. That push and pull—the discomfort, the empathy, the yearning—is what makes this story unforgettable.

What I Didn’t Love:

• The ethical gray areas are vast, and some readers may find the dynamic irredeemably uncomfortable.
• The introspective style means the plot can feel slow, and at times repetitive, especially in the middle chapters.

Overall:

Strengths: Deep, nuanced character work. Emotional authenticity. A romance that feels earned rather than romanticized.
Weaknesses: Morally ambiguous relationship dynamics and a pace that may challenge readers craving more plot-driven storytelling.

Standout Moments: The night of their first meeting is an emotional slow dance that sets the tone for everything that follows. There’s also a particular conversation about pain—how we carry it, and how it shapes us—that hit me hard.

Final Thoughts

Older is not a light read. It’s not for everyone—and it doesn’t try to be. But if you appreciate stories about complicated people finding solace in one another, this will resonate deeply.

Perfect for:

• Readers who love emotionally heavy, character-driven romance
• Fans of age-gap, taboo, and healing narratives
• Those who don’t shy away from morally gray situations and ethically tricky relationships

Would I recommend it? Yes—with caution. This book will either gut you in the best way or make you deeply uncomfortable. Maybe both. But it’s exactly that discomfort that makes it memorable.

Also if you’re interested in checking out my review of Birthday Girl by Penelope Douglas. Here is the link.