Review of "Scrubby's Engagement" by Mike J. Kizman

Score: 92+/100 (9.2+ out of 10)

Some things just belong together.

That's how we began our previous review of the first book in Mike J. Kizman's series, Scrubby's PBnJ.

Bread and butter. Milk and cookies. Macaroni and cheese. Peanut butter and jam. And, of course, Brynn "Scrubby" Green and Dewey "Huck" Huckleberry. Well, apparently some things don't just belong together. Sometimes they stay together.

Scrubby's Engagement picks up shortly after the ending of Scrubby's PBnJ, following Brynn and Dewey through the months after their engagement. The first book asked whether Brynn could open herself up to a man who genuinely saw her, appreciated her, respected her, and loved her. This book asks a surprisingly different question: Can Brynn actually believe him? Can she trust that this wonderful man really wants her, exactly as she is? Can she let him see the parts of her past she is ashamed of? Can she become part of his family without feeling like she has to earn her place? Can she allow other people to help run the restaurant she built from the ground up? Can she stop trying to control, perfect, fix, cook, organize, manage, and worry about absolutely everything? And perhaps most importantly, can Brynn stop seeing herself through the eyes of the teenage girls who once called her "Scrubby" and start seeing herself through the eyes of the people who love her?

That's the real story here, and it's a good one.

Another major reason Scrubby's Engagement works is simply that Scrubby is an extremely likable protagonist. You want this woman to succeed. A bit like Venus in Kizman's larger universe, Brynn has that hard-working, entrepreneurial mentality that makes it difficult not to get behind her. She isn't waiting around for somebody else to create the life she wants. She built Scrubby's PBnJ herself, survived the difficult early years, developed its menu and identity, earned a loyal customer base, hired and trained people she trusts, and turned what sounds like an almost ridiculous business concept into something genuinely successful.

Brynn is also a complete workaholic, and she knows exactly how much of herself she has poured into the restaurant. Scrubby's PBnJ would not be what it is without Scrubby. That's not arrogance. It's simply true. She took the financial risk. She worked through the years when the business was barely making money. She developed the recipes, established the standards, built the reputation, and made sure customers kept coming back. Even now that the restaurant is successful enough to support employees such as Lynx and Paris, Brynn still thinks like the person who remembers when every dollar mattered. Her business isn't merely her job. It is one of the greatest accomplishments of her life, and that makes her entrepreneurial drive genuinely inspiring.

Brynn is constantly thinking about costs, quality, expansion, marketing, staffing, customer satisfaction, and how to improve what she has already built. She takes pride in doing things correctly, sometimes to an almost comical degree. Tell Scrubby that store-bought bread is "good enough" and you may as well insult one of her relatives. Call her homemade jam "jelly" at your own risk. But that same quality also becomes one of her weaknesses. Brynn has spent so long believing the restaurant depends on her that she struggles to accept the idea that it can function without her physically being there. She has every reason to be proud of what she built, but eventually she has to recognize that creating a successful business also means creating something capable of surviving when the owner takes a day off.

That's why her growing trust in Lynx matters so much. Brynn isn't just delegating a few shifts. She is handing someone else responsibility for something she considers an extension of herself. For a workaholic entrepreneur, that might be more frightening than the wedding planning itself. And because we genuinely like Scrubby, we want her to figure it out. We want the restaurant to succeed. We want her relationship with Dewey to succeed. We want her to keep growing without losing that relentless drive that helped make her who she is. Scrubby's determination makes you root for her, while her imperfections make you care about her.

In our previous review, we said that the romantic engine of Scrubby's PBnJ was recognition. Dewey recognized Brynn's value before Brynn fully recognized it herself. He didn't just see a nearly six-foot-tall woman with giant black glasses, an unconventional figure, and a restaurant based around what many people would consider children's food. He saw the chef, entrepreneur, musician, Christian, friend, daughter, dreamer, and extraordinarily hardworking woman underneath all of that.

Scrubby's Engagement takes that idea to its natural next step. Dewey already sees Brynn. Now Brynn has to learn to see Brynn. That isn't easy. Her old insecurities are still very much alive. She worries about how she looks, questions whether Dewey could really find her attractive, and continues carrying some of the emotional baggage associated with the "Scrubby" nickname she reclaimed years ago. Love doesn't magically erase fifteen years of insecurity.

Dewey can tell her she's beautiful 100 times. He can kiss her. He can propose to her. He can plan a life with her. He can demonstrate over and over again that he is attracted to her. And there is still a little voice inside Brynn asking, "Yeah, but... are you sure?" That's frustrating, funny, sad, and human.

Fortunately, Dewey continues to be one of the most refreshingly decent romance leads we've encountered. As we said in our review of Scrubby's PBnJ, he isn't some smoldering bad boy with abs, trauma, six motorcycles, seventeen tattoos, and a pathological fear of commitment. He's just a good guy. But this book wisely gives him more depth than that. Dewey has a past too. He has regrets, heartbreak, grief, and experiences that help us understand him as more than the endlessly supportive guy standing beside Scrubby.

One of the stronger elements of Scrubby's Engagement is the way Brynn and Dewey gradually become more vulnerable with one another. Brynn's history with her ex, Lucas Pratt, becomes an especially important part of that. Kizman doesn't rush the issue. It hangs over parts of the novel, slowly building as Brynn wrestles with what happened, what it did to her self-image, and how much of herself she is comfortable revealing to Dewey. The storyline reinforces one of the book's most important ideas: loving someone isn't only about admiring the best parts of them. It's also about knowing what hurt them, what they regret, what they fear, and what they still struggle to believe about themselves.

That reciprocity is important. The first book could occasionally be summarized as Dewey sees how wonderful Brynn is while Brynn struggles to understand why. The sequel develops into two imperfect people revealing increasingly vulnerable parts of themselves and deciding they still want to build a life together. That's stronger.

And Kizman understands that building a life together doesn't only happen during tearful confessions and romantic speeches. Sometimes it happens through house keys. Early in the novel, Dewey gives Brynn keys to his house. Brynn initially misunderstands what he means, which creates a funny little exchange, before realizing that the gesture is really about making the home theirs rather than his.

We loved that. The engagement ring at the end of Scrubby's PBnJ showed that Dewey understood Brynn's life. He deliberately chose something practical enough for a chef to wear while working. The keys continue the same idea. The ring says, "I want to marry you." The keys say, "I want to build a home with you." That distinction matters, and the fact that the keys are just ordinary pieces of metal somehow makes the moment better.

This is part of what Mike J. Kizman consistently does well. We've previously praised him for taking ordinary people and ordinary experiences and making them interesting. 14 Hours of Saturn proved that a rainy Saturday, some coffee, arts and crafts, sibling rivalry, and a stray cat can carry an entire story when the characters are compelling enough. Scrubby's Engagement might be his most extreme experiment with that philosophy yet because there is A LOT of ordinary life in this book. People grocery shop. People cook. People discuss salaries. People pick out furniture. People go to church. People make restaurant schedules. People plan catering. People talk about rent. People drive long distances. People discuss employee compensation. People learn to sew. People eat leftovers. People play games. People debate honeymoon destinations.

Brynn can apparently survive an emotional crisis, legal trouble, restaurant destruction, wedding stress, family drama, and probably the apocalypse itself and still stop long enough to evaluate whether somebody seasoned the food properly. That's Scrubby. And once again, Kizman somehow makes much of this mundane material interesting because these little details accumulate into a life.

Brynn doesn't dream of ruling a kingdom. She doesn't discover magical powers. She isn't prophesied to save humanity. She doesn't even seem especially interested in turning Scrubby's PBnJ into some giant restaurant empire. She wants a successful little restaurant. She wants good employees. She wants family. She wants church. She wants music. She wants children someday. She wants Dewey. She wants people to enjoy her food. And maybe she'd like everybody to stop calling it jelly. It's jam. Never forget that.

Kizman's shared universe also becomes increasingly rewarding here, and honestly, it's just fun and cool to see. The more of his books we read, the more it becomes apparent that these stories aren't isolated little bubbles. His characters occupy the same larger world, know some of the same people, hear about one another, cross paths, and occasionally wander straight into somebody else's story. It gives the books a wonderful feeling that life continues even after the final page of any individual novel.

Saturn O Syres, protagonist of 14 Hours of Saturn and 5 Weeks of Saturn, again crosses into Brynn's world, but this isn't merely a cameo where readers are expected to clap because they recognize the name. Saturn is working in advertising, which matters because we already watched her fascination with advertisements develop in 14 Hours of Saturn. Something that helped define Saturn in her own story has grown into a career that can now materially affect another protagonist's life.

And Saturn isn't the only connection. Rebecca from Afternoon Rebecca, Sabrina, and Venus are all part of or referenced within this expanding web of characters. For readers who have followed Kizman's other books, those names carry additional history. Rebecca isn't simply Rebecca. Saturn isn't simply some quirky advertising agent. Venus isn't simply another name dropped into conversation. Sabrina isn't just a funny friend floating around the edges of somebody else's story. We already know some of these people, their relationships, their personalities, their careers, their struggles, and where they've come from.

That's what makes the interconnectedness work so well. The characters don't merely cameo. Their lives overlap. Rebecca can appear in Saturn's story. Saturn can become part of Brynn's. Sabrina can move away, build another life, and still remain connected to this group. Venus can exist somewhere beyond the immediate events of this novel while still remaining part of the social fabric connecting these characters.

There's something really satisfying about that. It makes Kizman's books feel almost like visiting the same community through different front doors. One novel might invite us into Rebecca's life. Another follows Saturn. Another takes us inside Scrubby's PBnJ with Brynn. Every time the camera shifts, the previous characters haven't vanished. They're apparently still out there working, dating, marrying, arguing with their siblings, running businesses, going to church, making questionable decisions, and occasionally bumping into the protagonist of another Mike J. Kizman novel.

Kizman isn't really constructing an epic fantasy-style "world" filled with maps, kingdoms, histories, and mythology. He's constructing a community, and that's arguably even more appropriate for the kinds of stories he tells. Businesses, families, churches, friends, coworkers, musicians, first responders, old acquaintances, and local professionals repeatedly cross one another's paths. Scrubby's Engagement makes that interconnected world feel larger while simultaneously making it feel more intimate, and longtime readers get the extra pleasure of recognizing familiar faces along the way.

The restaurant itself is probably the best example of that sense of community. In Scrubby's PBnJ, the restaurant was primarily Brynn's dream. In Scrubby's Engagement, Brynn discovers something she may not completely understand at first: Her dream has become other people's home too. Lynx, Paris, Alsi, Janet, Staci, the customers, musicians, friends, and others have become invested in the place and, more importantly, invested in Brynn.

This becomes especially obvious after one of the strangest and most unexpectedly chaotic sequences in the novel. A private event involving a boys' basketball team turns into a full-scale brawl. Alcohol has been smuggled in. Food starts flying. Milk follows. Tables and chairs are damaged. A window is shattered. The restaurant looks like a war zone. Suddenly this mellow Christian romance about wedding planning and gourmet peanut butter sandwiches has turned into... well... we're not entirely sure. The Fast and the Furious: PBnJ Drift?

Whatever it is, the incident works because of what happens afterward. Brynn is devastated, but she isn't alone. Her people show up. They clean, repair, reorganize, and help her recover. The emotional importance of the incident has very little to do with damaged furniture or money. Brynn built Scrubby's PBnJ. Then Scrubby's PBnJ built a community around Brynn.

That realization feeds directly into another major theme of the novel: Brynn has to learn that being capable does not mean doing everything herself. Lynx becomes especially important here. We already knew Brynn trusted Lynx professionally, but this novel expands that relationship tremendously. Lynx isn't just another employee anymore. She is someone Brynn can leave in charge.

That sounds like a small thing, but for Brynn, it isn't. Brynn has fused so much of her identity with the restaurant that trusting another person to manage it means accepting the possibility that Scrubby's PBnJ can function without Scrubby standing inside it every waking hour. That is healthy. Probably terrifying. But healthy.

One of our favorite stretches of the novel comes when Brynn finally spends an extended period away from the restaurant and spends more time with Dewey's family. This is where Nova Huckleberry becomes one of the book's best characters. Nova doesn't simply welcome Brynn because she is Dewey's fiancée. She gradually teaches Brynn another lesson she desperately needs to hear: she doesn't have to earn her place in the family by constantly doing things for everyone.

That idea could summarize Brynn's entire emotional problem. She seems to believe usefulness is the price of belonging. Cook something. Fix something. Manage something. Help someone. Work harder. Be better. Make yourself indispensable. Then maybe people will have a reason to keep you around. Nova rejects that idea.

And wonderfully, she does much of this while teaching Brynn how to sew. Brynn initially struggles with sewing because, of course, Brynn cannot tolerate being bad at something for five minutes. Nova reminds her that skills take time and points out that the successful restaurateur sitting beside her didn't create a profitable business overnight either. Brynn even manages to correct "jelly" to "jam" in the middle of being taught a life lesson, because apparently some principles are too sacred to surrender under any circumstances.

But the best moment comes from a tiny imperfect seam. Brynn looks at her work and says, "It's not perfect." Nova replies, "No. But it holds."

That may be the most important line in the entire book because what is marriage? What is family? What is friendship? What is a business? What is a human life? None of them are perfect, but they can hold. Brynn doesn't need to become the perfect wife. She doesn't need the perfect body. She doesn't need the perfect restaurant. She doesn't need perfect employees. She doesn't need to make every meal from scratch. Okay, admittedly, Brynn herself may strongly disagree with that last one. But she needs to learn that something can be imperfect and still be worthy, useful, beautiful, and capable of holding together.

That lesson gives Scrubby's Engagement considerably more thematic depth than its premise initially suggests.

We also have to mention one of the funniest parts of the entire book without completely ruining it: the drunken bouquet toss. We won't tell you exactly who does what, who ends up where, or what happens afterward, but suffice it to say that what should be one of the most predictable wedding traditions imaginable somehow becomes absolute chaos. It's arguably the highlight of the book.

Seriously, we've seen a lot of bouquet tosses in books and movies. We can't remember many that escalate quite like this one. What begins as a harmless wedding tradition quickly becomes one of those scenes where you keep thinking, "Surely this cannot get any worse," and then Mike J. Kizman politely informs you that, yes, yes it absolutely can. It is ridiculous, unexpectedly physical, genuinely hilarious, and a great payoff after so much relatively restrained wedding planning and interpersonal tension. We won't say another word about what happens because discovering the madness for yourself is half the fun.

Our biggest criticism of Scrubby's Engagement is that the book loses a considerable amount of momentum near the middle. Kizman's slice-of-life storytelling is normally one of his strengths, and we have praised it repeatedly in his previous books. He has a knack for making everyday conversations, meals, jobs, errands, family interactions, and small personal dilemmas feel meaningful. That remains true here. However, there is a stretch in Scrubby's Engagement where the balance tips a little too far toward ordinary activity without enough forward movement to keep the story progressing at the pace established earlier.

There is a lot happening in theory. Brynn and Dewey are planning their wedding, Brynn is managing the restaurant, relationships among the supporting characters continue developing, and the issue involving Brynn's past and Lucas gradually hangs over the story. The Lucas situation is particularly interesting because Kizman doesn't rush it. Brynn's history, her discomfort discussing it, and her fear about how Dewey might react linger beneath the surface before becoming increasingly important. We actually like that slow build. It gives the issue emotional weight instead of treating Brynn's past like a plot twist that appears out of nowhere.

The problem is that several slow-moving elements accumulate at the same time. Wedding planning stretches on. Restaurant life continues in great detail. There are conversations about schedules, meals, family, business decisions, and preparations. Meanwhile, the Lucas dilemma develops so gradually that it sometimes feels as though the book is circling the conflict rather than moving toward it. Individually, many of these scenes are pleasant and often entertaining. Collectively, though, they make the middle portion feel much slower than the opening and later portions of the novel.

That's an important distinction because we would not want Kizman to eliminate the slice-of-life quality that makes his books distinctive. This book shouldn't suddenly become an action thriller just because we're asking for more momentum. The ordinary moments are part of the charm. We simply think some of them could have been condensed or combined so that the wedding, Brynn's personal growth, her relationship with Dewey, the restaurant, and the unresolved tension surrounding Lucas continued moving forward together.

The book does regain its momentum as the various emotional and interpersonal threads begin moving toward their payoffs, but there is definitely a point near the middle where this book starts to drag. A tighter middle section would make the later developments feel stronger because there would be less distance between the setup and payoff.

This is also why we wouldn't simply argue that the book needs to be dramatically shorter. Mike J. Kizman's fascination with ordinary life is part of what makes his writing his writing. We enjoy that Scrubby worries about ingredients, employee schedules, restaurant finances, furniture, food preparation, wedding details, and things most other novels would skip over entirely. The problem isn't that these scenes exist. The problem is that too many of them arrive in succession without enough narrative acceleration between them. In other words, this book doesn't need to stop being slice-of-life fiction. It just needs the slice in the middle to be a little thinner.

There is also another significant issue that is difficult to ignore: this book needs another serious editing pass. This isn't merely a case of a few misplaced commas or occasional awkward sentences. There are duplicated or overlapping passages, abrupt transitions, tense inconsistencies, apparent remnants of alternate drafts, continuity problems, and places where scenes seem to have been stitched together without the seams being completely hidden. However, the biggest issue with this book is that there are no indentations! This books consists of paragraph blocks intermingled with dialogue, and that's a pretty serious formatting issue. We checked the sample of the Kindle version as well and found the same problem. Originally, we were going to deduct a decimal point fromt he score (9.2+ to 9.1+), however, we did some digging around regarding the publisher's BBB complaints and more information. We think there's enough controversy surrounding them that we can shift some of the blame away from the author in this case.

Yet underneath those problems, there is a very good sequel here. Scrubby's PBnJ was about Brynn finding somebody who sees her. Scrubby's Engagement expands that idea by showing Brynn beginning to understand just how many people value her, professionally and personally. An entire community has formed around this awkward, anxious, talented, deeply sincere woman who once turned an insulting high-school nickname into the name of a restaurant.

Gradually, Brynn starts to understand something: maybe she doesn't have to prove everyone wrong anymore. Maybe she doesn't have to earn every bit of love she receives. Maybe the people around her actually know exactly who she is. Maybe the girl everybody called Scrubby grew up into somebody worth being proud of.

Not perfect. But neither is the seam. And it holds.

That's what makes Scrubby's Engagement work. It's sweet, funny, wholesome, occasionally absurd, surprisingly emotional, excessively detailed, imperfectly edited, and unmistakably Mike J. Kizman. Most of all, it's unmistakably Scrubby, and we're glad we got to spend another book in her wonderfully peculiar world.

Check it out on Amazon!