Hi guys! I am so thrilled to be part of the Wattpad Block Party and I really hope you enjoy my piece. I decided to put a spin on an author/character Q&A so I have written it like a chapter in which you are asking the questions directly to the characters (and to me!). This Q&A is set just a little bit before my ongoing novel, 'Piece of Cake,' in February 2027. This piece contains major spoilers for all other works, so bear that in mind before you read ahead! I hope you like this and if you have any questions that haven't been answered in this, feel free to ask me, or my characters, in the comments below! Just as a little guide, anytime you see a ✈, that symbolises a shift between 'real' and 'dream,' whereas a * indicates a time break within that scene. Don't forget, my prize for this event is a signed, paperback copy of Cosy Christmas for one lucky winner, so make sure to enter the giveaway!

- Hen

+ - + - +

You're not big on flying. Planes have always baffled you a little, struggling to wrap your head around the notion of a giant hunk of metal propelling you across land and sea, so you try not to think about it too much as you stand in the queue that snakes away from the gate, waiting to board. The flight is seven hours, long enough for you to sleep, and that's exactly what you plan to do: it's nine o'clock at night right now, and you pray that once you find your seat, you'll be able to settle. You'll have to, really: you're sitting in the window seat and you'd rather be stuck there for the entire flight than to bother whoever's sitting next to you.

When you reach the desk, the last stop before you walk down the jet bridge to the plane that's waiting to carry you across the Atlantic Ocean, the flight attendant scans your boarding pass with a wide, lipsticked smile and wishes you a safe journey, repeating the words she has to say to a good two hundred people or more. You wonder if she ever varies her farewell or if she says those same words on autopilot every time, but that thought leaves you as you are ushered towards the plane door. Shifting the backpack that hangs from one shoulder, you glance out of the window at the end to see luggage being tossed into the belly of the plane and your hope your suitcase has made it to the right gate else when you get to London, you'll have nothing to wear but the clothes on your back.

21A. That's the number on your ticket, the seat you reserved when you booked this journey months ago, a spur of the moment trip to England after you found yourself with a free week and a little spare cash. You repeat the number in your head a million times and you've checked it on the ticket even more, and as you walk down the narrow aisle between the seats, your eyes scan the numbers above each row until you find 21. It's a row of two – A and B – and so far it's empty. With a smile of relief at not having to ask anyone to move, you slip into your seat and lift up the window shade. The sky is pitch black outside as night sets in, the lights of the airport glowing against the dark canvas, and you stare at the taxiing planes as you do up your seatbelt and tuck your bag under the seat in front. All you need is your phone and your earphones, and the long playlist of relaxing music that you put together and downloaded with the airport WiFi.

Three minutes pass. Three minutes for which you have plenty of space and you're beginning to get your hopes up: maybe nobody booked seat 21B and you'll be able to stretch out for the next seven hours, but you're not so lucky. A woman bustles down the aisle with a bulging carry-on suitcase and when she gets to your row, she stretches up to shove it into the overhead bin. But she's a little short, and a little weak, and the man in front gives her a hand. You watch as she lets out an awkward laugh and thanks him, smoothing down her top and raking a hand through her hair.

"Hi," she says to you as she sits down in 21B, double checking her ticket to ensure that she's right. "Let me know if you ever want to get up, by the way. I never sleep on planes anyway."

You smile your thanks and it's only once she has finished speaking that you pick up on her accent. English, definitely. That makes sense: you're flying to England after all. Part of you wants to comment on that, but now too many seconds of silence have passed so your keep your tongue to yourself. Instead, you watch as the plane slowly fills up and you can't help but notice when the woman beside you takes out a pair of glasses and unlocks her phone. You're not trying to be nosy, but it's hard not to contain the flicker of excitement that courses through you when you see that she has the Wattpad app on her home screen. You're kind of obsessed with the site, bingeing on stories that you wish you could hold in your hands, and you subtly watch as she opens the app, scrolling through her notifications.

Your heart stops. Your eyes go wide. You know her. You've read her stories and fangirled over her characters and now she's sitting right next to you on a seven-hour flight.

"Oh my God," you say, unable to control your words. "You're hennwick?"

She looks up, momentarily surprised to hear your voice, and she glances down at her phone with a chuckle before meeting your eye. "You're on Wattpad?" she asks, and you nod so hard you think you might hyperventilate. "That's so cool!" she says. "And yeah, I am. Cover blown, I guess."

You don't know what to say. You've been reading her stories for almost a year, her characters occupying your mind while you wait for an update. "Oh my God," you say again. "This is crazy. You're Hennessey? I've read all your stories." Your heart is pounding so hard you think you might pass out: you've never met anyone from the site before, and you never imagined you'd meet someone who lives more than three thousand miles away.

"You have?" She plants her hand over her chest, her grin forcing creases around her eyes. "I'm so honoured! I can't believe you've actually heard of me."

"I can't believe you're sitting right next to me," you say. "Please say so if you want me to just shut up, but can I ask you some questions?"

"Of course!" she cries, taking off her glasses and hooking them over the neck of her top. "Go ahead, ask away." She turns in her seat to face you a little better, at a less awkward angle, and you still can't quite believe you're talking to her in the flesh. You've chatted through comments before, and you've posted on her profile once or twice, but this is just crazy.

"Where d'you get your motivation?" you ask. "I try to write but I've never actually finished a book. In the time I write three chapters, you've done a whole novel! Don't you ever get writer's block?"

She laughs at that and reaches down to her backpack, unzipping it and pulling out a folder that she opens, flipping through in front of you. "I plan," she says. "If I have every chapter planned then the only thing holding me back is myself. Sometimes I just sit down and refuse to leave until I've finished a chapter." She closed the file and tucks it back into her bag. "Tough love works."

"That's so cool," you say. "Who's your favourite character? Oh, and your ship! Who do you ship the most?"

Hennessey rolls her eyes. "That's such a mean question. I mean, it literally changes all the time. I do have a major soft spot for Max, though," she says, and her eyes soften a little. Your heart seizes: you adore Max too, even if you were wary of her at first. "As for my favourite ship . . ." She trails off in thought. "I think I'd have to go for Bree and Kit. As much as I adore Nick and Maddie's relationship, there's something about the way Bree and Kit push each other to step outside their comfort zone that I love. They're so good for each other." She uses her hands to illustrate herself as she speaks, like her own nonsensical sign language. "I guess you could say the same for Connor and Posy, though. I don't know where Connor would be right now if it wasn't for her, but I doubt he'd be happy."

You're transfixed as she talks about her characters as though they're real people who exist beyond the page, their lives continuing long after their stories are over, and you watch as her eyes light up when she talks about these creations of hers.

"Why's Max your favourite?" you ask. Hennessey purses her lips and pulls them between her teeth as though trying to find the words to sum up the character she cherishes.

"She's very pure. And I don't mean she's innocent – she isn't at all, not after everything she has been through – but she takes everything that could make her into a bitter person and she puts a positive spin on it. She suffered tragedy and she wants to use that experience to help others in similar situations, and she's able to explore herself through her art. She is honest and real, and the most heart-wrenching to write," Hennessey says, and you sense a flicker of sadness in her voice. You haven't finished reading the story: she hasn't finished writing it. For a moment, neither of you says a word until you pull out your next question from a pile of hundreds.

"Which character do you relate to the most?" you ask, aware that you're veering into the territory of the personal, but Hennessey doesn't flinch. Instead, she looks upwards in thought.

"Well, all of them have a part of me," she says. "That's a copout answer, though. I think it'd have to be Zara. Especially at her age. Aside from studying, which I have never been able to do, Zara and I are fairly similar. She's cautious and mature, an over thinker who is constantly preparing for the worst, but she can always deal with the worst when it does come. She cares about her family more than anyone else, and she has always struggled to form friendships outside of that circle." She slowly nods her head as she thinks about it more. "Yes. Zara, I think. A lot of people may focus on the bright, sparky side of her but there is a lot going on beneath the surface and no matter what persona she may put on, she is an introvert at heart. She hates parties and she'd much rather be alone than have to socialise," she says with a laugh and you can tell from the way she speaks that she feels the same way.

As you listen to the description, you can see it. You mentally flip through the pages of each story and you feel like you know Zara, this fictional teenager, and you're quietly floored by the subtle insight into the mind of the writer who sits beside you. She tucks her dark hair behind her ears before she changes her mind and scoops it into a raggedy bun, securing it with a few bobby pins that she produces from the pocket of her jeans.

"Have you ever struggled to write a chapter?" you ask as she fixes her hair. "Like, were any really hard to write?"

"Only one," she says. "Chapter eleven of Twenty-One Night Stand."

You don't recall the specific one, but Hennessey continues.

"It wasn't a major chapter," she says, and she grins, "but I lost my planning page. Really threw me off, so it took a little while to write that one. I probably could've written Twenty-One Night Stand in half of the time it took but I was so bloody disorganised."

The plane begins to taxi and your heart speeds up a little, gazing out of the window as the airport begins to move around you. It won't be long before you're in the air. You fall quiet as you stare out at the night, the plane patiently waiting in a queue until it's your turn. Everything changes when you reach the start of the runway, pushed back against your seat as the engine roars and your eyes are glued on the window as you take off.

You're tired. You realise that when the stewardess comes over to give you a drink and you sip the refreshing water as your eyes droop. Maybe it's the heat of the cabin or the fact that you're still a little overwhelmed, or maybe it's just that it's almost ten o'clock at night, but your head feels heavy and you can't hold back a huge yawn. Beside you, Hennessey chuckles.

"Tired?" she asks, and you nod.

"I think I'm going to try to sleep," you say. She smiles at you, and she winks.

"Sweet dreams."

✈

This isn't real.

You realise that, and yet you can't quite convince yourself of it. Deep down, you know that you're dreaming as you look up at the sign in front of you: Welcome to Farnleigh. Of course you're dreaming, but there's nothing you can do about that and you're a little scared. It's cold and dark, the only light coming from a shop at the end of the road, occupying the corner, and you shiver as you tuck your hands into your pockets and bury your chin against your chest.

You could do nothing. It's a dream, after all: no matter what you do, you'll wake up eventually, and you'll still be sitting in seat 21A next to the woman who created the town you're standing in right now. That messes with you brain a little, frowning as you head towards the corner shop and your heart skips a beat when you see the sign above the door: Coofee.

You know that name. For a moment, you stare up at the sign before your eyes drop to the window and you see why the lights are on. Although it's past closing time, the coffee shop is full of people and your stomach churns when you recognise them. That's crazy, you tell yourself: how can you recognise fictional characters? But you just do, and you can't explain it, and you can't help but push open the door. The bell tinkles to signify your arrival but above the bubble of chatter, only one person hears it.

"You made it!"

You're pulled into a hug before you can even register the person whose arms are wrapped around you, until they pull away and you find yourself standing face to face with Maddie Langley. Light dances in her eyes as she grins at you and you find yourself smiling back.

"Hi, Maddie," you say, while your internal voice screams this is insane! The woman standing in front of you is real, a tangible person who smells of peaches and fruit tea, and you feel like you know her inside out. Testing the waters, you ask, "Where's Nick?"

"Oh, he's over there somewhere," Maddie says, gesturing behind herself. "How are you? We were beginning to think you wouldn't make it."

"I'm ok," you say, and you could laugh at the absurdity of all this. "A bit cold."

Maddie takes you by the elbow, leading you towards the counter where there are a couple of steaming pots. "Come on, have a drink," she says. "It's bloody freezing out there. What d'you want? Gee made tea, coffee, and hot chocolate. There's wine, too, if Bree hasn't snaffled it all."

You opt for hot chocolate, something sweet and hot, and Maddie pours you a mug. While she's doing that, you glance around the room to see a whole bunch of familiar faces. You spot her cousin in the corner, sipping a glass of wine, and you do a double take when you clock the child he's talking to. The blonde girl is unfamiliar and you can't place her name, and you turn to Maddie as you slowly get used to this dream.

"Who's that?" you ask. "The girl, with Ryan."

Maddie gives you a funny look, as though you should know that. "That's Phoebe," she says. And your jaw almost drops as you realise that the girl, who must be at least seven or eight years old, is Phoebe Lomax. The last time you heard about her, she was a baby. But now you're the protagonist, and time has passed since then.

"What's the date?" you ask. The last time you checked, it was the fifteenth of February, 2017, and you were on a flight to London. You don't feel any older, but you know that's not the year anymore. Maddie frowns.

"Have you hit your head or something?" she asks, and you feel like you might've. "It's the fifteenth of February, 2027," she says, and you take a deep breath. Ten years into the future, eleven years from the year that you witnessed Maddie get her heart broken by Peter. He's here too. You spy him with a glass in his hand, laughing as he talks to Connor, and you realise that this is all down to Maddie. She is the force that links everybody in the room, and you begin to wonder if you're just another character in her story. Your eyes linger on Peter and Maddie catches you staring.

"What's going on in there?" she asks, and you shift you gaze over to her.

"Did you love him?" you ask, and she raises her eyebrows with a laugh.

"Did I love Peter?" she asks, repeating your question. "Yes. I did. I'm not going to pretend I didn't just because hindsight tells me I shouldn't have. He was the first guy I ever loved: it was weird and intense and yeah, it was probably a mistake but that's ok." She shrugs, waving and grinning when a little blonde boy toddles past. That must be Alfie, you think, recognising his blonde curls, and your thought is confirmed when you see Zara darting after him to catch him before he heads behind the counter.

"Do you guys still talk?"

"Of course we do!" Her eyes crease when she laughs. "You can't ignore the fact that although we were a thing for, like, a fortnight, he was my best friend for ten years. Trust me, there's zero chemistry there. It's not a problem." She speaks with such easy confidence, unfazed by the train wreck that was her first relationship, and your respect for her only grows.

"What about Nick?" you ask. That gets you a frown.

"Are you asking if I love my husband?" she asks, eyeing you up. "I like to think the answer's pretty obvious. Yes, I love Nick. He's the most incredible man I'll ever know, and an amazing father." Her eyes search the room, landing on him at the other end. He's rocking a pram back and forth and Maddie grins.

"When did you know you had feelings for him?"

Letting out a long sigh, she clucks her tongue as she thinks. "The moment I realised that I actually wanted to be with him, long term, was probably when Posy and I went travelling. That was when it hit me, how much I need him. There was always a bit of something, even when we were living together at uni, but it was easier to just ignore that." A soft smile graces her lips and she takes a sip of the tea she has poured for herself. "It's a slow burn," she explains. "It's always growing. Sometimes it just hits me that I could not be luckier."

As you sip your hot chocolate, you're frozen in position as Nick walks towards you, his hair grazing his shoulders, and he's pushing a double buggy. He gives you a smile, but he heads straight for his wife and he kisses her cheek in a swift, graceful move.

"Posy's looking for you, babe," he says, and Maddie excuses herself. You're left with Nick, and you peer down into the pram at the sleeping twins. He catches you staring and a grin cracks his face in two.

"Jealous?" he asks, leaning against the counter, and he gazes down at his youngest daughters.

"I can't believe you have four kids," you murmur, and you know you're about to make a fool out of yourself but you're fairly certain you don't already know the answer to the question you're about to ask. "Which one's which?" you ask, hoping that he'll name his daughters without you having to ask what they're called. Clearly, you're supposed to know, but you have just been dropped in this world and there are gaps in your knowledge.

"Ella's the little gorilla," he says with a laugh, indicating the baby on the right, who has the thick mop of dark hair, "and Anna's the slightly smaller one." He looks at you as you try to remember the differences, though they look identical to you, and he laughs. "Don't worry, I mix them up all the time. I could be wrong right now. For all I know, they have the wrong names on their birth certificates."

You laugh and grin down at the babies, who can't be much older than six months, and yet they already look like their parents. Lifting your eyes, you look around the room before you look around the room before you spot the two girls who must be Sarah and Laura. Sarah's grown up now: she must almost be seven, if your maths is right, and Laura has just turned three. She toddles around after her big sister, clapping her hands. There are almost as many children in the coffee shop as there are adults. "Four girls, huh?"

"Four girls," he says, nodding his head. "I wouldn't have it any other way. Well. I'd have five."

You want to swoon, but he's standing right in front of you so you control your emotions and you realise that this is your chance. Right now, you can ask every burning question that has been on your mind since you finished reading the last chapter of each story. "Nick?"

"Yup?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Fire away," he says, his eyes warm and welcoming.

"You know when Maddie went travelling with Posy?"

He nods, glancing down at the pram for a moment before he returns his attention to you.

"Did you really wait for her, for all that time?"

He breaks out into a grin and he laughs. "I did, yeah," he says. "I'm no liar: I told her I would wait and I did." Then he lowers his voice a little and adds, "Don't forget, we had Skype." When you blush, he laughs again. "I had no girlfriend for the first sixteen years of my life. It was a no-brainer to wait nine months for the woman of my dreams." He shrugs, as though it's really as simple as that and you realise, when you see the way he looks at Maddie, that it is.

*

Bree has had a couple of glasses of wine, in addition to the one in her hand. You can tell that when she sidles over to you, a grin on her lips and a glint in her eyes, and she slings an arm around your shoulders. "Hey, stranger," she says, letting out a sigh. "How's it hanging?"

"It's pretty good," you say. You're getting used to this now, taking advantage of the situation: never before have you had a lucid dream, where you're totally aware of your surroundings, but there's clearly a first time for everything and you have a few questions for Bree. "Hey, Bree?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What happened with you and Kit's flatmate? I mean, does Kit know?"

Bree laughs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he knows," she says. "I never told him. I'd like to point that out right now: I would never breach confidentiality like that. But the idiot told Kit that we slept together, presumably in case I ever mentioned it, and Kit put two and two together. He already knew I'd been an escort and when Adrian told him we had sex, he figured it out. But I'm pretty sure Adrian never found out that Kit knows he paid for sex." She laughs again, and you're relieved to see that she appears to have come to terms with her past. "It's not a big deal, to be honest," she says. "Kit was more cut up about killing a badger."

You stifle a laugh when you remember Kit's big confession, which had turned out not to be so big after all. "You're dating a murderer."

She gives you a warning look. "Seriously, don't mention it to him," she says. "He's such a freaking dork, I swear, he'll probably cry if he knows you know. It was four years ago and he still feels guilty." With an affectionate roll of her eyes, she shakes her head.

"Will you ever marry him?" you ask, and she laughs.

"Oh, man," she says. "Maddie warned me you were feeling inquisitive today. Diving right in the deep end, are you?"

You nod, and she lets out a sigh.

"I don't know," she says. "Maybe. It's not something we talk about much. He knows I'm not big on the idea."

"But if he asked you, right now this second?" You wiggle your eyebrows, pushing her into a corner with your questions.

She purses her lips, the alcohol having unlocked her honesty, and she lifts a shoulder as she takes a sip of her wine. "Well, I don't think I'd be able to say no," she says, and you could squeal. Clapping your hand over your grin, your eyes shine with glee and Bree gives you a look, then she points at you with a drunk finger. "I think you'd say yes," she says, and you think you probably would. "Well, hands off," she adds. "He's my husband."

When you gasp, she widens her eyes and backtracks, but it's too late.

"I mean boyfriend," she says with a giggle. "You know I mean boyfriend. Don't be a twat. We're not married."

"Who's not married?" comes a voice from behind you, and you both look over your shoulders to see Kit. Bree loops her arm around his neck, planting a kiss on his lips.

"Us," she said, pulling him close and sloshing a drop of wine over the lip of her glass.

"Not yet," he says, and she thumps his arm. He just laugh, and you admire the comfort with which they discuss the big things.

"You guys are so cute," you say, watching them as they fit together like two puzzle pieces, and Kit's goofy grin turns your knees to jelly. "Hey, I have a question."

"I have an answer," Bree says, amusing herself, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at her.

"When did you guys first realise you liked each other?"

They turn to face each other, as though mentally sharing their answer, and it's Kit who turns back to you first. He grins and says, "Pretty much from the moment I saw her. I know that's such a cliché, but look at her. She's beautiful. And a massive tease." He kisses her cheek, his arm around her waist, and it's Bree's turn to answer. She gives him an apologetic smile.

"Not quite so instantaneously for me," she says, and he pretends to be offended. "I think it was after our first proper date, when we went for a drink at Murphy's." She smiles. "That was when I though oh, shit, I kinda like this guy. And it was a little while after that that I realised that was a good thing."

"Mmm," Kit murmurs. "A very good thing."

You watch for a moment, relishing in the ease with which they interact with each other and you reckon that even if they never get married, they're probably meant to be. It warms your heart and you smile at them. "What about kids?" you ask. Bree splutters on her wine, her eyes wide.

"Jesus Christ," she says. "Give a girl some warning, will you? One step at a time, ok? Christ, you really are going for the big questions." She uses the back of her hand to mop up the droplet that has dribbled down her chin and anticipating more questions, she sets her glass down. Kit kisses the top of her head, closing his eyes as he breathes in the scent of her hair.

"So?" you ask. "Would you guys ever adopt or anything? You're, like, the perfect couple. Any kid would be lucky to have you as parents."

Kit takes a deep breath, looking down at Bree, and she presses her lips into a thin line when she realises he's waiting for her to speak. You realise you may have asked an awkward question, and you get the feeling they may have differing opinions.

"Maybe," Bree says at last. "Not yet. But in the future? Maybe, yes."

Kit's eyes shine and a grin wobbles onto his lips. "Really?" he asks, staring down at her, and she gives him a loose-lipped smile. "I thought it was a categorical no."

"It's a maybe, baby," she says, and he pulls her close for a kiss that you feel like an intruder for watching. Turning away, you give them a little space: you have more questions, but they can wait. Taking Bree's glass of wine, you have a sip – this is your own imagination, after all, so you don't feel so bad – and you wander closer to the centre of the room. Zara's sitting at a table, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand, and you slip into the seat next to her. When she notices you, she gives you a broad grin.

"Hey," she says, pulling you in for a friendly hug. "Long time, no see. What's up?"

"Hi, Zara," you say with a smile, wondering when it is that she thinks she last saw you. Maybe you've dreamt this before, without even realising it. "I'm good, how're you?"

She nods, tucking her phone into her bag. "Not bad, not bad," she says. "Patiently awaiting the day that Clover sleeps through the night."

A moment later, you hear the wail of a baby and following the sound, you see Evan cradling the tiny child against his chest as he sways to soothe her. Zara fondly rolls her eyes.

"I love that little munchkin, but I hate having to wear earplugs at night."

"How old is she now?" you ask, realising that you're a little further ahead than the reality you've stepped into. You're in June, but you have to backtrack your mind to February, remembering that just in time before you ask about Max. Zara hasn't met her yet, and she won't for another four months.

"Six weeks," Zara says. "She was this close to being the first baby of the year, apparently." She holds her thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart. "If she'd come out, like, four seconds sooner, she would've been but apparently, it's very hard to decide the exact second a baby's born." With a laugh, she shifts in her seat and her gaze wanders over to her parents. The two of you watch as Gaia takes the wailing baby from her husband and your attention flickers back to Zara.

"How do you feel about them?" you ask.

"My parents?" She laughs. "That's a weird question. They're my parents. I love them."

"You know what I mean," you say. "How did you feel when your dad told you he was seeing Gaia?"

Zara pulls her heels up onto her seat, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Kind of over the moon," she says. "He was all nervous and acting weird and I thought something bad had happened, and then he told me that he and Mum were dating and I actually knocked him over, I hugged him so hard."

"You call her Mum?" you ask. You know she does, you've read that she does, but it still sounds odd to hear it from her lips. She nods, a smile making her cheeks rosy pink.

"Yup. She's the only mother I've ever known. And I don't want to confuse Alfie and Clover by calling her Gaia when they're supposed to call her Mum. It's just easier," she says, "and I like it."

*

You're beginning to wonder if the stewardess slipped you something. Maybe you're tripping. This feels so vividly realistic, wandering among the personalities you grew to love on the page and tripping over the children that have taken over. You catch yourself mid-fall when you don't see a rocker on the floor until too late, and the little boy sitting inside gurgles up at you. He points and grins as though he recognises you, but you've no idea who he is. But based on his tight, explosive curls, you can make a guess. When you lift your eyes to the woman who is slowly pushing the rocker with her foot, a mug of coffee clasped in both hands, it's Posy's gaze that you meet.

"Hey," she says with a soft smile. Everyone seems to know who you are, and it is at once comforting and disconcerting: you wonder if the whole time you've been reading about them, they've been reading you.

"You have a baby," you blurt out, and Posy laughs.

"Congratulations, Captain Obvious," she says, and she bends down to pick him up. "You've met Toby, haven't you?"

You shake your head, wondering if there's a story somewhere that you missed. You're sure there isn't: you've read everything there is to read. "When did you have a baby?"

"He'll be one next month."

"That's a big gap," you muse. "Between him and Phoebe, I mean."

Posy nods, bouncing her son on her lap. He giggles, and his hair tickles his mother's chin. "It is," she says. "But it was intentional. Pheebs has been bugging us for a sibling every since she was about two, but I wasn't ready to have another baby." She kisses Toby's head, bouncing her knee. "We spent six years doing everything we could to not get pregnant and I swear to God, he was conceived the night we decided it was time." Her eyes sparkle as she talks to you and it's infectious, her grin spreading to you. "I wanted to be thirty," she says. "And it's so much easier now that Pheebs is a bit older."

"Are you guys gonna do a Maddie?" you ask, and Posy shakes her head, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"God, no! Can you see me with four kids?" She laughs, one arm holding Toby securely on her lap. "No, I think two's enough. For now, anyway. I think Connor might want another soon. He's pretty broody, if that's a thing for guys."

You chuckle at the thought, your gaze falling on Phoebe. She looks so much like her mother with a waterfall of blonde hair that cascades down her back, but she's already tall for her age and you wonder how long it will be before she outgrows her mother. That won't be hard when Posy only just scrapes five feet.

"Do you ever regret cutting your ex out of your life?" you ask, the sudden question directed at Posy, and your eyes move back over to her. She shakes her head so definitively, short and sharp.

"Not in the slightest," she says. "He was bad. I can't say I regret being with him because I have Pheebs, but he was awful." She scratches her head and pushes her hair off her face. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't freak out when I found out I was pregnant – I totally did. I was twenty-three when I found out, you know? I was young. But he ... I can't even bring myself to think about some of the things he said." Shaking her head, she drops her eyes to the ring on her left hand, and she curls her fingers to her palm. "Last I heard, he was in prison. Some pathetic crime, I don't know, but it sickens me that he's Phoebe's father." She lets out a sigh, rubbing Toby's belly, and gives you a sad smile. "I know he's not. I know Connor's her dad, but you know what I mean. I hate that he has any tie to my family, if that makes sense."

"I get it," you say, and your heart aches for her when you see the pain in her eyes. "Sorry, Posy."

"It's fine," she says, flapping her hand and when she looks over her shoulder, she catches Connor's eye and he comes over. Without a word, he takes Toby from his wife and cuddles him.

"How's my big boy?" he asks, holding the boy out in front of him and lifting him up until he laughs. Planting him on his hip, he offers you his hand and you shake it. He has a strong grip, far more confident than you imagined it'd be. Fatherhood is a good colour on him, bringing out the gleam in his eyes. "Hey," he says. "Sorry, I saw you come in earlier but I was chatting to Peter. Good to see you again."

"Hey, Connor," you say and as though Posy senses the question on your tongue, she stands with a smile and heads over to her daughter. You watch as she wraps her arm around the girl and hardly even has to bend to kiss the top of her head. "How's it going?"

"Great," he says with a grin. He takes the seat that Posy just left and he moves his son to his lap. "Really, really great. I haven't seen you in a while though. Must've been ... God, not since Pheebs was born." He raises his eyebrows and chuckles.

"Seems like a lot's gone down since then," you murmur, and he agrees with a laugh, glancing at Toby.

"You don't say," he says and he holds out one hand to count off what's happened since you last checked up on him, nearly seven years ago. "Well, let's see. I married my incredible wife; I adopted Phoebe; we moved closer to Farneleigh; I've had two promotions, and I've had Toby." He can't contain his grin and you're not surprised: your time apart has been kind to him.

"You adopted Phoebe?"

"Mmhmm. After Posy and I got married," he says. "Pose had mentioned it once or twice so I gave her all the signed paperwork for her twenty-seventh birthay. Not the best present, I know, but it kinda floored her." He laughs at the memory, eyes twinkling, and it warms your heart to see him so happy and so open. Marriage and fatherhood, they suit him. He gazes at his children with such adoration, a different kind of love to that which fills his eyes when he sees his wife.

"I'm so glad you two worked out," you say, voicing your thoughts, and Connor glances at you.

"You thought we wouldn't?" he asks, caution in his voice, and you shake your head with your eyes wide.

"No, oh my goodness, I was rooting for you guys! But, you know..." You trail off, trying to explain yourself. "I mean, she was pregnant with some other guy's baby when you met. Like, really pregnant. Didn't that put you off?"

He appears to think about it for a moment before he shakes his head, his lips pressed together. "Nope. Maybe that's weird, I don't know, but that never bothered me. I never thought 'oh, I can't date a pregnant woman,' I just thought that she wouldn't want to date me. But she did." He grins at you and you can't help but return it. "You know about my dad, though. It's the same situation over again and if he hadn't done with my mum what I did with Posy then I wouldn't have him in my life. I wasn't about to throw away my shot."

"What drew you to her? I mean, I know you were kind of forced together but you didn't have to stay," you say, "so why did you?"

When Toby begins to fuss, Connor lets him down onto the floor and he grabs his teddy from his bouncer, chewing the poor animal's ear. Straightening his back, Connor turns back to you and crosses his legs, hands clasped over his knee.

"She had this ... energy. She still does, of course. Even in the crappiest situation, she had this spark in her eye that I couldn't turn away from. She mesmerised me," he says, and he gives you a soft smile, his gaze distant as he thinks about the past until he meets your eye, focusing on your face. "She mesmerises me every single day."

Your smile grows every second that you're in his company, energised by the love that pours out of him and you feel like you're intruding on something when you see the way his eyes soften when they land on Posy. There's such intimacy in his gaze, as though he is still trapped in the honeymoon phase: they have been together for seven years – it'll be eight by Christmas – and married for almost as long, and yet he has the romantic gaze of a man who has only just fallen head over heels.

You can't think about it for too long because a second later, Cass swoops into your line of vision and her braids whip just an inch from your face when she spins around to lean against her brother, her elbow on his shoulder. You're stunned by how . . . mature she looks. She doesn't look older, per se, despite the years that have passed since your last encounter, but she has grown up. She holds herself with a casual confidence and she seems comfortable in her skin, her clothes an eclectic mix of styles. A heavy belt holds up loose, torn jeans and you can tell she's not wearing a bra beneath her skimpy tank top. Not that she needs too: she has a lithe, toned figure that you imagine would look good in anything.

"My brother bored you stupid yet?" she asks with a teasing glint in her eyes, looking down at Connor. With an eye roll, she looks back at you and says, "I'm sorry if he's showing those bloody baby pictures again. Newsflash, Con: as much as I love to hear about your children, most people don't."

"I wasn't," Connor says, pushing his sister, and she laughs.

"Talking of kids, I think it's time to change yours." She pulls a face and fans her hand in front of her nose, jerking her thumb at Toby. Connor stands, hoisting his son onto his hip and kissing his curly head before he takes him to the bathroom. Cass takes his seat and rests her elbows on the table, chin in her hands. Looking across at you, she says, "So, you're making the rounds, huh? I'm an open book: fire away."

You purse your lips, thinking of anything you want to know from her, though you feel as though you don't really know her that well to start with: you have only ever spent a couple of weeks in her world, and you were with Connor for most of that time. After a few seconds you ask, "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Nope," she says. "I'm a spinster: shoot me." Then she raises her eyebrows at you. "You interested?"

With a laugh, you shake your head. "Do you want to be with anyone?" you ask, and Cass shakes her head again.

"I'm a firm believer in this thing called fate," she says. "If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, it doesn't. I'm not going to bust my balls searching for love." She gives you a wide grin and leans back in her seat, and you love her nonchalance. She's the opposite of her brother, you think: he is blinded by love, while she couldn't care less. "I'm not a very relationshippy person," she adds, and you frown.

"What about Tilly?" Your brain only just grasps the name of Cass's ex from the depths of your memories. Cass laughs uproariously.

"Are you serious? We broke up, like, seven years ago!"

"But you dated for a while."

Cass wrinkles her nose and says, "We were kids. We were eighteen when we got together: that's young. She was my first girlfriend. It was fun and exciting and new." With a shrug, she adds, "I try not to dwell on the past. And I don't think too hard about the future." Then she flashes you a winning smile. "Look, I love the idea of love. I love what Connor has. He and Posy have a really awesome relationship and I'm glad he fought for her. But I'm just not that fussed about settling, y'know? I like what I do; I like where I live. I love my life, my friend. I'm in no rush to change a thing."

You can't help but feel like you've brush Cass up the wrong way but that's just her demeanour. She can be a little too brash sometimes, her pragmatism erring towards uncomfortable bluntness, and she undoes any potential damage with a warmer smile. She knows her faults, and she puts your mind at ease.

"What do you do?" you ask.

"I teach."

"You teach?" You raise your eyebrows: you hadn't expected that. Cass laughs, her eyes shining.

"Yeah, I teach English at St. Matthews. Crazy, right?" She shakes her head at herself. "I finished my degree and did a teacher training course and I love it. I wouldn't switch my job for anything."

"St Matthews?" you ask. "Isn't that where Kit works?"

"Kit Finney?" Cass nods. "Yeah, though he's in the music department. We hardly ever see each other. Different staff rooms. But he's pretty cool." She smiles at you, showing off her teeth. "Seen everyone yet?"

You shake your head. "I was going to talk to Peter," you say, spotting him across the room, but Cass widens her eyes and shakes her head. She shares a tenuous link to Peter, as the sister of his ex's best friend's husband, but she soaks up gossip like a sponge.

"Careful with that," she says, and when you frown, she continues. "He really didn't want to be here tonight. He's taking it all pretty roughly."

Your eyebrows pull together even tighter above your nose. "It all? What's that?"

"Oh, shit," Cass says. "I guess you didn't hear about the divorce." She speaks in hushed tones as though divulging and deep secret and your eyes pop out of your head when you hear the word.

"They're divorcing? Peter and Ryan?"

With a wince, Cass nods and reaches for her glass of wine, taking a long sip. You find Ryan, your gaze travelling to Peter, and you realise that you haven't seen them together all night. A part of you is sad to see the dissolution of a marriage, but a bigger part of you is not that surprised. Though you never knew them well, and hardly at all as a couple, you never saw much chemistry there.

"Wow," you say at last, letting out a long sigh. "I was going to ask if they were planning to have kids. Thanks for the warning."

"No problem," Cass says. "As for the kids thing, I think that was what kind of put a wedge between them." She mimes a wedge with her hands and drains the last of her wine. "I may not know them well but I get the goss from Posy and if you ask me, they were doomed from the start. But then again, I don't like Peter much so feel free to ignore my bias." Shaking her head, she lets out a short sigh.

"Why'd it put a wedge between them? Did they disagree or something?"

"It's a hard process. It was hard enough for Connor to adopt Pheebs and he's married to her mother. I think Peter and Ryan were crazy trying to go through that process when they couldn't even hold their marriage together, and I think they were racing into something they weren't ready for." She shrugs and clicks her tongue, tapping a short nail against her glass before she laughs, short and sharp. "Well! There's the lowdown for you. I must say, being single gives me plenty of time to snoop on everyone else's relationships, especially since Con and Posy moved to Farnleigh."

"What about Evan and Gaia?" you ask, spotting the only couple you've yet to catch. Cass purses her lips.

"You've got me there," she says. "I don't actually know them. Not well, anyway, though I taught Zara a couple of years ago and she'll be in my class next year. You're going to have to do your own digging there, I'm afraid." With that, she stands and squeezes your shoulder and you're alone. Your gaze falls on Evan and Gaia who stand a little set off from the rest of the group, quietly chatting to each other as though they're best friends, each holding a child. Gaia cradles the baby against her chest and slowly twists from side to side to soothe her, while Evan stands with Alfie on his hip. Seeing them now, you have faith in their relationship, which has quickly settled into the zone of a comfortable family.

Finishing off your hot chocolate, you leave your mug on the table and wander over to them, and Gaia greets you with a motherly smile. You spy Clover's tiny sleeping face, nestled against her mother's shoulder, and you can't help but smile back.

"Hi," Gaia says, her voice low and soft, and you give her a beam. She is so much happier now than she was a few years ago; you can feel positivity radiating off her. Gone are the boring days at the office and the shirt and skirt she wore for work: now, she wears a long skirt that flows around her ankles and a loose top that hides her baby weight. Her cheeks are glowing, though it may be a trick of the soft lighting in the café, and her blonde hair is tied in a loose bun. You always thought she was more of a hippy than she gave herself credit for, and now you know you were right: she owns a coffee shop, after all, and her daughter is called Clover. Gaia's a free spirit, you think, and you're glad she broke out of the corporate drone she got stuck in.

"Hey, Gee. Hi, Evan."

"Hey," he says with a grin, and he pulls you into a one-armed hug. "Good to see you. Are you here for long?"

You have no idea. You don't know why, or how, you're even here to start with, so you shrug. "I don't know," you say. "But I can't leave without speaking to you guys. You seem really happy."

Gaia gazes at her husband, her eyes lingering on him before returning to you. "We are," she says.

"How did you first meet?"

Evan frowns as he thinks. "The first time?" He looks at Gaia, who seems a little clueless. "I'm not sure, actually. It's at least ten years ago, though."

"Oh!" Gaia's eyes light up and she says, "I remember! It was when Bree and I had lived together for about a year and you came over with Zara. She must've only been about four at the time. You were on your way home from seeing your parents and the motorway was closed so you spent the night with us. I remember you apologising for barging in on the evening with a grumpy child."

Evan's face clears and he laughs. "Of course, yeah. I remember that. I was having a really bad day and Zara was in a terrible mood. She used to hate long car journeys. You put on a film for her, and you made chicken nosh."

"Your favourite," she murmurs, and when she shifts to stand a little closer to him, he tucks his arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to her forehead.

"That's twelve years ago," you muse, doing the maths. "So you knew each other quite a while before you became a couple?"

Evan nods, an adoring smile on his lips. "Crazy, isn't it? Sometimes the one you're looking for is right under your nose the whole time. Horrible cliché, but it was so true."

"When did you realise you liked each other?"

Gaia laughs and prods her husband, making him answer first. He rolls his eyes and says, "Ok, so I may have realised a while ago. For a while, Gee was just Bree's flatmate, you know? But there was this one time that I was staying over and Bree had popped out to do some viewings, so it was just the two of us. We talked for, oh God, an hour? Two? We didn't even realise how long it had been until Bree came back and apologised for taking an age. That was when I first realised there was something there," he says, gazing down at his wife, "but Gee was otherwise occupied."

She presses her lips together. "I wasn't single," she says, as though she needs to explain. "I'd just started dating Warren at the time, and we were together for four years. But it wasn't long after we broke up that Evan made himself known," she says with a bright laugh, leaning against his chest.

"Hey, no, I waited a couple of weeks," he says defensively, though he's laughing too, and he turns to you. "I know that's not much of a cooling off period after such a long time, but what can I say? I was in love. I didn't want to lose Gee again."

She cosies up to him, her cheek against his shoulder, and he runs his hand over her arm. Their children are nestled between them, only Zara missing from the picture-perfect family moment. Gaia smiles at you. "I'm glad he didn't wait," she says, and so are you.

✈

You wake up with a jolt, knocking your head against the window, and you're totally disoriented to see that you're back in the plane with a pitch black sky staring back at you like a cavernous abyss. Your heart is pounding, your head swimming as you come to terms with your dream. A little deflated to be thrust back into reality, you look to your side to see that Hennessey is still sitting next to you with a pen in her hand, chewing the lid. There's a notebook on the tray table and all you see is the word PLANNING written in precise capitals across the top of the page. You can't read the notes beneath the word, though, nor can you see which story it's for.

"Hey," you say, feeling the need to talk to someone – especially her – after what has just gone on in your brain. She turns to you and smiles.

"Oh, hey," she says. "You're awake! Sleep well?"

You take a deep breath. "I had the weirdest dream," you say. "All your characters were having some kind of party in Coofee, and it was like they knew me."

Hennessey laughs and grins. "You dreamt about my characters? That's so cool! I've always wanted to dream about them but I never have. What happened?"

You tell her everything you can remember, your mind scrabbling to hold onto every sliver of conversation, and she is totally engrossed in your words as you recall the dream you've just been torn from. A moment's turbulence woke you up, but you wish you could fall asleep again, to stay in that world for a little longer. You feel your voice getting louder as you talk about the characters you know and love, the people you feel like you know even better now, and you make an effort to keep your excitement down.

But you can't do the dream justice. You can't explain the feeling of sitting opposite these people you've known on the page; you cannot comprehend the overwhelming sense of belonging that rushed over you as you sat in that café and chatted to these people who don't exist. As ridiculous as you know you're being, you can't help but well up with a mixture of joy and despair as you tell Hennessey about her own characters, reliving the dream.

"That's awesome," Hennessey murmurs. She puts the cap back on the pen and closes the refill pad she's writing in so she can close the tray table and turn towards you, crossing her legs. You're amazed by how interested she is: she wants to hear what you have to say, to hear about what your own brain has dictated to you about the characters she has tortuously created. "I'm kind of jealous, actually. I'd love to have that dream. Mine are always so realistic that they might as well just be another day of my life."

"Is it true?" you ask.

"It's fiction," she says with a laugh. "None of it's true, as much as I wish the opposite was reality."

"No, I know," you say, shaking your head. You're cold now, and you unfold the blanket that was waiting for you when you sat down. Once you're a little comfier, you continue your inquisition. "Do all those things really happen? Do Ryan and Peter get divorced? Is Cass a spinster?"

She gives you an odd, knowing smile. When your eyes dip to her bag, where her planning folder holds the future for all of her characters, she follows your gaze and she laughs, pushing the bag under the seat in front. You know this is insane: it was a dream. You saw what you wanted to see, your brain weaving a story out of the leftover ones from those you've already read: you've created scenes you wanted to see, picturing conversations you wanted to hear, but you just want Hennessey to smile and nod. You want her to tell you that you're right: your dream reflects her plans.

"Please, Hen. I need to know," you say, desperation fighting off the tiredness in your voice. You have no idea what time it is or how long you were asleep but you already miss that dream like the ache that fills your chest when you finish a book. There's always that moment when you scroll to the end of the page and Wattpad tells you that you've reached the end. Not that this will be continued: this is the end. It's over, but you know that with Hennessey, that's never true. She's never done telling a character's story, all these lives continuing in tandem. You may not see a character but she knows what they're doing: while she writes about Bree and Kit, she knows exactly what Connor's doing: their lives may not intersect anywhere but her mind, but she never forgets.

"What happens?" you ask, begging her with your eyes. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't know."

"It's your dream," she says with a soft smile. "It's up to you." 

***********

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