His book had been consistently on The New York Times bestseller list since its release, and he was now also working on transforming the narrative into a script. Hugo had agreed to write the screenplay but, once again, the weight of expectation seemed to sit heavily on his shoulders. The schedule the production company had set in order to capitalise on the book’s success was incredibly tight, meaning Hugo didn’t have the option of taking his time to get the script exactly right, the way he had with the book. Evie totally understood his anxiety, having found herself increasingly attached to her own characters, whose lives were finally beginning to come to life on the page.

Although she was happy for Hugo, their romance had been such a whirlwind, and all she really craved from him was time. Time to truly cement their love story into one that would withstand the harder knocks of life. So it wasn’t surprising that long distance proved trying at times. Thankfully, Evie had plenty to fill her days with, and enjoyed the extra, uninterrupted time she could spend with Ben and Meg.

Dragging herself out of the too-big bed, Evie slid into a pair of fluffy slippers and made her way downstairs to the kitchen of Hugo’s luxurious house in Notting Hill. It still felt strange to Evie that she now lived in an upstairs on one of her favourite streets in London. A happy strange, of course. They had moved in earlier that year, after Hugo received an advance from his American publisher. When they’d first moved in, Evie had felt like Julia Roberts, and would regularly gush to Hugo, ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to make me chocolate pancakes’ (the last part always changed, depending on her cravings).

Evie padded across the soft sheepskin rug and admired the lavender occasional chair (to match the front facade) and all the throw pillows scattered across their couches. Even with his busy schedule, Hugo had been surprisingly involved with the fit-out of the place. Their artistic visions hadn’t always aligned—while Evie loved mid-century furniture and a colourful, eclectic vibe, Hugo was more of a traditionalist, keen on heavy Victorian mahogany furniture and a muted, understated décor. Despite Hugo insisting the house should feel just as much Evie’s as his own, Evie had let him have the final say on most decisions—she was highly aware that he was carrying the majority of the financial burden. That was save for her study, which was bright and warm and all hers.

As she built her new life with Hugo in a home that she would be heartbroken to ever leave, she sometimes, but only very rarely, felt a slight niggle reminding her that she was a time-travelling aberration who could lose everything in an instant.