There are books that whisper.
Some that shout.
And then there are stories, rare and resounding, that sing.
Christina C. Jones has given us a song in I Think I Might Love You, and it hums with the honeyed truth of Black womanhood, of defiant joy, of love caught off-guard and yet undeniably ready. She weaves language with the ease of a maestro; sharp, sultry, and soaked in soul.
In Jacqueline, we meet a woman, a firestorm in a leather jacket. Untamed, unapologetic, and undeniably alive. She is not polished to perfection, no. She is beautifully messy, gloriously complicated, and wonderfully real. And in Kareem, we meet her quiet equal. A man whose steadiness is not silence but sanctuary.
Their story is brief, like the spark that starts a fire. But oh, it burns.
With wit sharper than a barber’s edge and scenes that kiss the boundary of romance and revelation, this book leaves you full, even as you beg for more.
Jones does not simply write a romantic tale. She lays down a testimony. A reminder that Black love is not a trend, nor trope. It is legacy. It is laughter shared in grocery store aisles, arguments turned into amends, and kisses laced with a history that stretches far beyond the page.
The humor is a balm. The chemistry, electric. The pacing, a dance between chaos and calm.
You will read this story and remember the truth Maya Angelou so often offered us: “Love recognizes no barriers.”
And in this story, it certainly doesn’t.
I Think I Might Love You is short in pages but grand in presence.
