Seven Summers

I started *Seven Summers* expecting a breezy summer romance, but Toon’s novel delivers something far more haunting. What makes this book stand out isn’t just the premise—two people who love each other but are separated by tragedy—but the way it refuses to tie things up neatly. The first act is all golden-hour nostalgia, the kind of writing that makes you wish you could live inside a Toon novel for a week. But by the second act, the story pivots into something darker, more complicated. I’ll admit, I found the middle stretch a bit slow-going; the emotional weight occasionally bogs down the pacing, and I wished for a little more propulsion in the plot. That said, the payoff is worth it—especially in the final act, which hits like a wave to the chest. Natalie Simpson’s narration elevates the material even further. Her voice for Liv is a masterclass in controlled emotion; you can hear the fractures in her composure even when she’s fighting to hold it together. And Finn? She nails his effortless charisma, making it easy to understand why Liv—and the reader—can’t let go. The production itself is crisp and immersive, with just enough ambient sound (the crash of waves, the hum of a pub) to make Cornwall feel like a character. My only real critique is that some of the secondary characters verge on caricature, but that’s a minor quibble in a story that’s otherwise so emotionally resonant. If you’re looking for a romance that doesn’t flinch from heartbreak, this one will stick with you long after the final chapter.