May Flowers at The Three Coins Inn | Book Guide and Review

If you are longing for a holiday but are either too poor or too busy, Kimberly Sullivan’s May Flowers at The Three Coins Inn is an easy recommendation. This is comfort reading in its finest form, the kind of book you want to curl up with when the world feels like it’s in flames (so perfect for this year!). Having already read the second book in the series and reviewed it, Easter at The Three Coins Inn, I came to this one with high hopes. They were met.

Several very different people arrive at The Three Coins Inn, each in their own way stuck. There’s a young woman fleeing a very public romantic humiliation, an aging and once-celebrated artist who has retreated into bitterness and isolation, and a polished socialite whose picture-perfect life is starting to crack at the edges. Emma, who rebuilt her own life after it didn’t go to plan, runs the inn and watches it all unfold in the background. Spring is arriving in Todi—and just like flowers bloom after rain, so do the people.

Although obviously different in subject matter, this series is kind of similar to Bridgerton in that each novel has a new plot, but with enough continuity to keep returning readers happy. The guest roster of the book spans generations and social worlds in a way that gives the novel a pleasing range. If you don’t relate to one character, you surely will to at least one of them. Each storyline operates almost as a mirror to the others, and the alternating POV style continues to keep things fresh and the pacing solid.

The new guests are welcome additions. Lisa comes straight from her ex-fiancé’s wedding, where she publicly confronted him about giving up a semester abroad in Italy, transferring universities, and turning down a Chicago job for him. Her stay at the inn includes cooking classes, day trips to nearby Umbrian towns, and long reflections that force her to confront how much of her identity she built around someone else.

Antonio’s storyline is rooted in regret and stalled creativity. A once-celebrated Milanese painter, he lives alone with a portrait of the woman he lost because of his ambition and pride. He travels to Umbria partly to escape his noisy apartment building and partly to break a creative block. At the inn, he begins sketching again and forms an unexpected connection with Josh, a boy whose enthusiasm for art contrasts with Antonio’s jaded outlook.

The writing style is clean, accessible, and direct rather than stylistically showy. Sullivan favours clarity over ornament, allowing internal conflict to carry scenes. What the characters are going through is expressed in plain, cutting language. Nonetheless, there are plenty of beautiful descriptions of Italy, “The sun continued to glow down on the fields with its golden spring light.”

What ties it all together is Todi itself. Sullivan renders the town with affection. It never tips into travelogue territory, but you come away feeling like you’ve actually been somewhere. The seasonal metaphor running through the whole novel, April showers giving way to May flowers, is perhaps a touch on the nose, but it earns its place. For an indie publication, the production quality is once again impressive, too. The prose is clean, the pacing assured, and no single storyline dominates at the expense of the others.

The best part of the book is the relatability of the characters. They all feel like people you could meet in real life, and their problems do not feel manufactured, “Margherita slept well, but woke in terror. The thought of having to go down to the breakfast room and mingle with fellow guests, to have a quip or witty word at the ready was too much to bear.” It’s a nice break from The White Lotus, where most of the characters are either despicable or stupid.

If there are quibbles, they’re minor. Some of the peripheral characters feel more functional than fully fleshed out, and the romantic elements remain firmly secondary to the personal growth arcs, which is worth knowing if you come to this genre primarily for love stories. The pacing dips slightly in the middle as the storylines occasionally tread water before moving forward, and there’s little in the way of action or soap opera drama. But none of it significantly dents the experience, and actually it’s part of the charm.

May Flowers at The Three Coins Inn is a cozy, emotionally generous, and accomplished little book. Pour some Italian wine, find a comfortable chair, and let Todi do its thing. This is a warm and refreshingly unhurried read. It’s the kind of novel where dramatic plot twists take a back seat to small but meaningful shifts in perspective. Very little “happens” in the traditional sense, and that’s precisely the point.

The Bottom Line: For fans of Maeve Binchy, Rosamunde Pilcher, and anyone who enjoys holiday-themed escapist reading with a bit of substance, this is an enormously relaxing and enjoyable read. A series I’ll be following with genuine enthusiasm.

May Flowers at The Three Coins Inn is comfort reading in its finest form — the kind of book to curl up with when the world feels overwhelming. It's the third installment in the Three Coins Inn series, following Easter at The Three Coins Inn, and it meets the high expectations set by its predecessor.

The novel follows several very different guests who arrive at the inn, each stuck in their own way: a young woman fleeing a public romantic humiliation, an aging and once-celebrated artist retreating into bitterness and isolation, and a polished socialite whose picture-perfect life is starting to crack. Emma, who runs the inn after rebuilding her own life, watches it all unfold in the background as spring arrives in Todi, mirroring the personal blooming each guest experiences.

Structurally, the series resembles Bridgerton in that each novel offers a new plot with enough continuity to satisfy returning readers. The guest roster spans generations and social worlds, giving the book a pleasing range, and the alternating POV style keeps the pacing solid and the narrative fresh. Lisa's storyline centers on rebuilding her identity after realizing how much of herself she built around her ex-fiancé, while her time at the inn includes cooking classes, day trips, and long reflective moments. Antonio's arc is rooted in regret and creative stagnation; a once-celebrated painter, he arrives partly to escape his noisy apartment and partly to break through his creative block, eventually finding an unexpected connection with a young boy named Josh.

The writing style favors clarity and directness over ornamentation, letting internal conflict carry each scene, while still offering beautiful, evocative descriptions of Italy and the town of Todi itself. The setting is rendered with real affection without ever tipping into travelogue territory, giving readers a genuine sense of having been there. The seasonal metaphor of April showers giving way to May flowers is a little on the nose but ultimately earns its place, and the production quality remains impressive for an indie publication.

The book's greatest strength is how relatable its characters feel — their struggles read as genuine rather than manufactured, offering a welcome contrast to shows like The White Lotus where characters often skew unlikeable or foolish. Minor quibbles include some peripheral characters feeling more functional than fully realized, romantic elements taking a clear backseat to personal growth arcs, and a slight sag in pacing through the middle section. None of these issues significantly detract from the experience, however, and are arguably part of the book's charm.

Overall, this is a cozy, emotionally generous, and accomplished read best enjoyed with a glass of Italian wine and a comfortable chair. Very little "happens" in the traditional dramatic sense, and that restraint is precisely the point — a warm, unhurried novel about small but meaningful shifts in perspective.