Set in the same world as We Could Be So Good, Cat Sebastian’s You Should Be So Lucky is another gorgeously romantic and tender story that, while dealing with some heavy topics, manages to be warm, funny, honest and uplifting – and reminds us that although life might suck at times, it can also be wonderful, especially when you find that one special person who can lighten the load.

It’s 1960, and rising baseball star Eddie O’Leary was having a great season with the Kansas City Athletics when he found out, on live television no less, that he was being traded to the New York Robins, a brand new team languishing at or near the bottom of the league. Not surprisingly, his reaction wasn’t the best, and his invective-filled outburst – also relayed live – made for big news up and down the country. To make things worse, he hasn’t played a decent game since and is experiencing a slump that might well be career-ending, his team-mates are ignoring him, and he’s still living in a crappy hotel room, mostly because he doesn’t think he’ll be sticking around long enough to get himself a place of his own.

When Andy Fleming, editor of the Chronicle, approaches arts writer Mark Bailey and asks him to consider penning a high-brow sports-based feature for the paper’s new weekend magazine, Mark is sceptical, to say the least. Andy wants to publish a weekly diary following one of the city’s ball players over the course of the season, but Mark isn’t particularly interested ghostwriting for a ball player, and when Andy tells him that the player he has in mind is Eddie O’Leary, Mark is even less so; he can’t think of anything more likely to get someone to throw their paper directly into the nearest trash can. But Andy is tenacious. He reckons there’s more to Eddie than the headlines suggest, and is sure that Mark is absolutely the man for the job. Mark still isn’t convinced until, at home, he watches the Robins’ game on television and realises that whatever is going on with Eddie O’Leary is a disaster – and that maybe here is something he can write about after all.

The last thing Eddie expects, when he’s summoned to the manager’s office, is to be told he’s to take part in a series of interviews for the Chronicle. He can’t do anything but agree to it, of course, but he can’t help hoping, when the reporter doesn’t show up in the locker-room after the next game, that the plan has fallen through. And then he notices the man standing apart from all the other sportswriters, leaning gracefully against the end of stall and turning the pages of a book, seemingly untroubled by the surrounding chaos. Eddie is completely blindsided by the other man’s casual poise and handsome face – even though Eddie has turned not noticing handsome men (especially in locker rooms) into an art form – but manages to get through the introductions without babbling something ridiculous. But when Bailey suggests they should get dinner, Eddie blurts out a ‘no’ so fast as to be rude – his teammates have enough reasons to hate him without thinking he’s cosying up to a sports reporter. Realising he’s put his foot in it, he quickly suggests he and Bailey meet the next morning instead – although he doesn’t stick around long enough to actually arrange a place and time. When morning arrives, and feeling embarrassed at having behaved like such a dick the previous day, Eddie decides the stadium is where he’ll most likely find the reporter – and is surprised when he steps from the elevator into the lobby of his hotel to find Mark there waiting for him.

As was the case with We Could Be So Good, there’s not a lot of plot here, and the focus is entirely on the characters and their developing slow-burn romance.The story that follows those awkward initial interactions as Mark and Eddie spend the next few months getting to know each other and falling in love, is full of incredible chemistry and gentleness and understanding while at the same time dealing with themes of grief and loss and loneliness, and about what it means to be queer at this point in time. The author does a fantastic job of showcasing the challenges faced by these characters in trying to balance their desire to live authentically while not opening themselves – and those they associate with – up to bigotry, discrimination and, possibly, physical harm.

At first glance, Mark and Eddie are very different men. Mark is prickly and elegant and precise where Eddie is sunshiny, big-hearted and garrulous (and apt to put his foot in his mouth), but scratch just a little beneath the surface, and they have more in common than even they realise at first; they’re both terribly lonely and are dealing with different kinds of grief. Mark lost his long-term partner very suddenly a year earlier and has been somewhat adrift ever since, and Eddie is grieving the loss of the life he knew and, potentially, his entire career – and yet somehow, all their ragged edges just fit together in ways that help them both to begin to heal and start living again. Mark isn’t good at opening up (understatement!) but Eddie is surprisingly perceptive and sees him as no-one ever has before, and Mark does the same for Eddie. Watching them enjoy a kind of quiet domesticity while slowly learning to lean on each other and let themselves love one another is just so very satisfying and lovely.

There’s a strong cast of secondary characters here, too, including George Allen, the much older, grizzled sports reporter who befriends Mark, and Eddie’s teammates and team manager – a former player who was dragged out of retirement to manage the team between benders. The author builds a strong sense of camaraderie between the members of the team and shows them learning to work together to improve their game and their chances. I know nothing about baseball, but I really liked the sense of this group of disparate players gradually becoming a cohesive unit that the author evokes.

I also liked the subtle exploration of the complexities of what it means to be out or closeted at a time when being openly queer was not only illegal but could be dangerous. Mark’s partner was headed for high public office so Mark had to be very careful almost all the time not to do or say anything that might cause suspicion, while Eddie knows queerness and professional sports don’t mix even as he longs for that part of him to be somehow recognised. As with Nick and Andy, neither man can be properly ‘out’, but what they can be is open with a select group of people who know what they are to each other – which I imagine must have been how many queer people were able to live and love as they chose at this time. It feels very realistic and period appropriate.

I can’t put my finger on why, but You Should Be So Lucky doesn’t quite reach the heights of We Could Be So Good, even though it’s a fantastic read and thoroughly deserving of DIK status. The writing is excellent, the character development is superb, and the slow-burn romance is full of genuine emotion, caring and decency. It’s one of those books you’ll finish reading with a heartfelt sigh and a smile on your face, and I heartily recommend it.