They Call Me Sherlock

I’ll admit, I side-eyed the Virtual Voice narration at first. There’s a synthetic flatness to some phrases that occasionally pulls you out of the moment—like when the protagonist’s sarcasm lands just a beat too mechanically. But here’s the thing: it weirdly *works* for this story. The slightly detached delivery mirrors the narrator’s emotional armor, making the rare moments of warmth (like the scene where he describes her laugh as ‘still the same’) hit harder. Haviland’s writing does the heavy lifting, though, with dialogue that crackles and a central mystery that’s less about time travel and more about the lies we tell ourselves to outrun regret. The plot’s biggest strength—and its one frustration—is its refusal to rush. The slow burn between the leads is deliberate, almost meditative, but there’s a mid-book lull where the Woodstock flashbacks start to feel repetitive. (We get it, the ‘60s were magical. Move on.) That said, the payoff is worth it: the final act twists the genre’s usual tropes, delivering a resolution that’s bittersweet in the best way. If you’re tired of romance audiobooks that sound like they were recorded in a bubble bath, this one’s got teeth. Just don’t expect the narration to sweep you off your feet—it’s more of a steady, intriguing hand on your shoulder.