My plan was simple. A few bottles of Bordeaux. A rooftop pity party. Three weeks to forget the man who shattered me. What I didn’t plan for? The broody, off-duty six-foot-something shrink next door... …who tackles me like a Marvel stuntman and delivers unsolicited insight with a billion-dollar smirk. Dylan Hale thinks he can fix anything, including me. He’s clinical calm, Armani control, and eyes that see through everything. I’m smeared mascara, epic meltdowns, and one signature away from losing everything I built. After my marriage implodes, I’m not looking to be rescued. But Dylan wants something I have — my priceless vintage wine collection. And he offers me something I never asked for: Emotional resurrection. In exchange for grape juice. Reluctant terms. Shaky boundaries. No feelings. No attachment. But what starts as a clever trade spirals into a slow-burning power play, emotional reckoning — the kind of healing that feels less like therapy… and more like arson. Now he’s in my space. In my head. And dangerously close to the version of me I swore no one would ever touch again. Because healing doesn’t strike like lightning. It whispers. Scar by scar. Truth by truth. Until you can’t tell where the pain ends… …and the fire of longing begins. If you crave slow-burn chemistry, broken heroines with sharp tongues, and emotionally intelligent heroes who unravel them without trying to fix them — Sipped Slow will ruin you in the best way.