‘I won’t ask if you’re okay,’ she says, opening her arms wide, asking permission to hug him. He lets her. She smells like watermelon and green apple. Citrusy. ‘Did you have any idea?’ she presses, holding his hand and leading him to a chair in the corner. He sits in the chair, and she sits at his feet on the woven rug, her arms draped over his legs, her eyes inquisitive.

‘None,’ he says. ‘I’ve not seen her since, like, three Christmases ago when she ended up in A&E from drunk driving. I was so mad at her, Evie. She could have killed somebody. I mean, by all means she can drink herself to death but there could have been a kid, somebody’s uncle or father or sister … She says she’s sober now.’

Evie nods. ‘Do you believe her?’

Duke sighs. ‘I really, really want to,’ he says, ‘But honestly? I don’t know how much hope I have left in me when it comes to her.’

He moves to the bed and sinks down, exhausted.

‘Okay. You asked me once what you could do to help. My turn to return the favour … What do you need?’

‘I … don’t know.’

‘Well, how about I go grab my laptop and I sit here and write? Then if you need me I’m here and if you don’t, no worries.’

He nods. ‘That’s kind,’ he says.

‘Of course,’ she tells him. ‘You can even fall asleep, if you want. I’ll just … be around.’

This is the Evie Duke thought he’d meet all along. He knew she was in here somewhere. Not an Evie to look after him, but a thoughtful, careful Evie. One without armour. It makes Duke reveal more of himself, too. It feels human. Empathetic.

Duke remembers getting to the last page of the book Adele lent him on that holiday together, stretched out on the sun lounger with tears pricking at his eyes, a lump in his throat that might have been sadness or might have been optimism. Evie’s words tread a fine line. He’d read her acknowledgements, short and sweet, and then on the inside cover was her photograph. He’d looked at her wide eyes and arched eyebrows, the almost-smile on her lips and her serious, earnest gaze. The bio underneath said, simply: Evie Bird is a writer from Utah. She has been nominated for the Romantic Writers’ Award six times and won three. No Stopping Us is her eighth book. She is currently writing her ninth.