This is incredible of him, Evie thinks to herself as she steals a glance at Duke’s angular face. She loves that he has kitted out this space this way, taking the time and effort to be sweet. No man has ever been this thoughtful. Her friends, yes. Magda is basically her surrogate partner when it comes to birthdays and holidays and small everyday celebrations. Magda is the person Evie texts when her flight lands, or she has work news, or she wants to complain about a bad day. And Magda does the same for her, too. They’ve taken trips together, dressed up for BFF date nights together, nursed the other when they’ve been sick – but in terms of a man going the extra mile? Nope. Never. That’s why she makes it all up and writes it down in her books. That’s what she meant when she told Duke her stories are as much fantasy as lightsabres and other-worldly dimensions. This kind of stuff just doesn’t happen, and definitely not to her.

He’s partway through telling a story about Jennifer Lawrence falling into his pool fully clothed when he threw a housewarming at his LA house as she considers him. She had him wrong. She can own that much. She thought he was an ego, an actor who thinks the world revolves around him. But he isn’t. He’s like the moon, reflecting the rays of the sun. He doesn’t put himself at the centre of the solar system, which demonstrates character. Maturity.

She arches her back a bit, like she’s uncomfortable after sitting for so long. She isn’t, but she has a plan. She cricks her neck, and then shuffles in her seat, surreptitiously picking it up and moving it a few inches in Duke’s direction as she does so, just to see how it feels. It makes him pause in his story like he’s not sure if he’s getting this right. He must have women throw themselves at him all the time, right? He knows how this goes, she thinks. Not that she’s making a move, per se, it’s just … the nearness of him. And yet he seems nervous, swallowing hard when Evie flicks her hair over her shoulder slowly and bites on her bottom lip again. What is she doing? Dare she?

‘Sorry,’ she says, her voice soft and her eye contact strong. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

Duke juts his chin out a little, and she gets that flash of a little boy again. And then almost immediately, he’s back to his nervous, awkward self.

‘Yes, you did,’ he tells her, his voice wavering.

‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I did.’

And then they’re greeted by the glare of a flashlight, the Spanish inquisition come to life. It’s a security guard.

‘No candle,’ he says in a gruff, accented voice. ‘Fire hazard,’ he adds.