Life is a Stevie Wonder song is an interesting title for a romance book and it’s one of the things that made me want to read it; the other was the author, V.L. Locey.

Age-gap stories aren’t usually my first choice when selecting a book to read but this one was really good. Steven is a best-selling author who has lost his muse so he follows his daughter’s advice and goes to a retreat for the summer. Steven has been married three times, to women, so he’s really confused when he finds himself more than a little attracted to Declan, a young man only 2 years older than his daughter.

The story follows Steven and Declan through the adventures they have during the summer; Declan introduces him to a lot of new things including experiencing sex with another man for the first time. Declan helps Steven find his muse again and he begins writing; albeit not the story that his publisher is expecting.

Declan is a delightful character and he helps bring joy into Steven’s life. Life is a Stevie Wonder Song was a fun story to read and I really enjoyed the epilogue that let us know how these two are getting along after their summer in the Catskills ended.

Reviews for V.L. Locey

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I set my sights on the road. Someone called my name. I would know his singsong voice anywhere. I lifted a hand in greeting, my ugly ape feet glued to this fucking spot in the road. Declan bounded down the two stairs, racing toward me. My heart began to hammer behind my ribs. He ran across his freshly mowed lawn wearing a smile as big as the Catskills. I was not prepared for the leap he made at me. I caught him but just barely. He wrapped his arms and legs around me like some sort of invasive vine. His mouth smashed against mine. My knees grew rubbery as my prick roused in my shorts. I cupped his ass with both hands.

“I am so glad to see you,” he purred between kisses.

Someone back on the porch shouted. My grip on his backside lessened and he slid to the ground with a pout. “Come meet the guys. We were just talking about you.”

“You kids don’t want an old dinosaur breaking up your good times.”

“Just stop.” Declan grabbed my wrist and tugged me along in his wake. For being so slender, he was a strong little tugboat. The boys on the porch greeted me warmly. They were incredibly similar in style, which, I guess, reflects on the age. Conformity to the current trends is everything when you’re young. Each young man wore cargo shorts, low-cut tank tops, Nikes, sunglasses, and ball caps turned backward. Aside from hair coloring all four, and that included Declan—although his ankle bracelet and pink bandana ascot showed a modicum of individuality—were cookie-cutter young males. I was greeted with “Yo” and “‘Sup” after Declan introduced me.

He then steered me to the lone seat, a rough Adirondack chair exactly like the one on my porch. I sat. The guys fell back into their conversation about some video game. Declan sat down beside me, his dark head resting on my knee. I trembled violently inside at the gesture. All my bells and whistles were ringing, and yet these kids didn’t seem to pay any attention to the public display of affection. My hand was shaking when I placed it timidly on Declan’s head. His hair was soft as rabbit fur. He sighed blissfully at the contact. Talk flowed around me but I said little. If one did not know my avocation to be a wordsmith, they would think me mute.

About an hour passed. Declan had not moved an inch. My fingers now dallied with his hair. I had learned a great deal about this camp from simply listening. It was an open camp—obviously, since I had registered— but mostly college students used it to pick up an extra credit if they were in any of the arts programs. They had to write papers and turn them in before the fall semester began. If students from across the country did not fill all the bungalows, then they were offered to authors who couldn’t author anymore.

The troupe of artists, actors, and musicians slowly pushed into their skater shoes and ambled off. I was content to sit here forever, stroking Declan’s hair, but I had a few questions for my obsession.

“Why do you need extra credit?” I asked. A honeybee visited the red flowers in Declan’s clay pot. “Didn’t you graduate? You’re twenty-two, that should get you a bachelor’s degree in fine arts.”

His cheek laid on my bare thigh. I felt his heavy exhalation tickle the yellow hairs on my leg. My fingers continued combing.

“I’m a super senior,” he said without lifting his head from my leg.

“Do you get fries with that?”