The door swung open almost immediately. Hugo’s smile was broad and inviting as he pulled her towards him hungrily, kissing her hello. As she stepped inside, Evie tried to conceal her surprise. In interviews, Hugo had spoken of his early years as an actor-cum-writer as a time of artistic struggle; describing his meagre studio flat as humble and his bank account as close to empty. She hadn’t considered this when he’d carpeted her bedroom with flowers, and while he hadn’t lied about his place being a studio, this … well, it felt anything but modest. It could only be described as luxurious, with marble surfaces, fashionable carpet, expensive-looking furniture, and tasteful fabrics. She walked over to a row of framed vintage movie posters on the far wall, among them scenes from To Kill a Mockingbird, Citizen Kane, La Dolce Vita and Mulholland Drive.

‘These are amazing!’ said Evie.

‘Thanks. I only wish I had one of Casablanca,’ Hugo said with a smile.

She followed him into the lounge area, where she realised they weren’t alone. Leaning against the floating marble kitchen bench, his taut arms outstretched and his brow furrowed, was an extremely tanned gentleman wearing a plaid suit. Evie felt her cheeks grow pink. Had she misread the signals? Was this not a date after all?

‘This is my book agent, Liam,’ Hugo said, introducing them.

Evie said hello and took a seat at one of the kitchen bar stools. Thank god the marble bench was hiding her nervous leg bob.

Liam looked unimpressed as he eyed Evie, giving her the distinct impression that she was intruding. ‘Hugo tells me you’re a fellow visionary.’

‘Trying to be. I’m studying film at the University of London.’

‘Charming.’ Liam looked about as charmed as a dying goldfish.

‘Liam works in the same agency as my film and TV agent. We were just chatting through some plot issues. Regrettably though, he has to run,’ Hugo said.

At that, Liam gathered the papers on the bench in front of him and muttered goodbye to Evie, before giving Hugo a quick, bearish hug.

‘I’m proud of you, mate,’ he said, before letting himself out the front door.

Evie watched Hugo curiously as he moved the documents Liam had left behind onto a corner desk next to his laptop.

‘Is that where you write when you’re not at Deja Brew?’ she asked.

Hugo nodded. ‘Mostly. I’ve got into a bit of a routine of doing my revising and planning here and then going hell for leather with the actual writing at the café. I get the best energy that way.’

‘That sounds ideal. My routine involves my little sister Meg trying to paint my nails while I type and listening to the soothing sounds of my parents fighting over who forgot to buy milk.’