What happens when an apartment exists outside of time? It's the kind of premise that sounds like it belongs in a Borges story, not a contemporary romance. And yet here we are, with Ashley Poston doing something genuinely clever with a genre that doesn't always reward cleverness.
I started this one during a particularly brutal week of parent-teacher conferences. Denise was asleep by 9 PM, I had a stack of essays on The Great Gatsby that weren't grading themselves, and I needed something that wasn't going to make me think too hard. What I got instead was a book that made me think quite a bit—about grief, about timing, about the stories we tell ourselves to keep moving forward.
The Premise That Shouldn't Work (But Does)
Look, I'll be honest. When I read "she falls in love with a man from seven years in the past," my first thought was: this is going to be a mess. Time travel romance is tricky. It's easy to get tangled in paradoxes, or worse, to use the gimmick as a crutch instead of actually developing characters.
Poston doesn't do that. The magical realism here is gentle—more like a suggestion than a plot device. The apartment is a "pinch in time," and Clementine accepts it the way we accept strange things in dreams. There's no elaborate explanation, no rules to memorize. Just two people meeting across seven years, falling for each other in a space that exists outside the normal flow of things.
It reminded me, oddly, of Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife, though Poston's approach is lighter, less tragic. I had a similar reaction to An Ember in the Ashes—a book that balanced romance with something heavier, though in that case it was war rather than grief. (My students would hate that comparison. They think everything I like is old and sad. They're not entirely wrong.)
Brittany Pressley Gets It
Here's where the audiobook format really earns its keep. Pressley narrates Clementine's inner world with this warmth that never tips into saccharine. The grief in this book is real—Clementine has lost her aunt, and that loss shapes everything she does. Pressley understands that grief isn't just crying. It's the way your voice catches on certain words. It's the pauses.
She does excellent work with the Southern drawl for Iwan, the love interest. (Though I should note—apparently the pronunciation of his name is a point of contention. Pressley says "ee-wan," which some listeners found jarring. I didn't know enough to be bothered, but if you're Welsh or know the name well, fair warning.)
The chemistry between Clementine and Iwan comes through in the narration. Pressley shifts something in her voice when they're together—a softness, maybe, or a kind of breathlessness. It's subtle. It's good.
Where the Story Actually Lives
This isn't really a book about time travel. It's a book about learning to love after loss. About the plans we make to protect ourselves and how those plans inevitably fall apart.
Clementine is a book publicist—which, as someone who works with words for a living, I appreciated. Poston clearly knows that world. The publishing industry details feel authentic, the exhaustion of the job rings true. But more than that, Clementine's relationship with books mirrors her relationship with life. She's learned to keep things at arm's length. To curate rather than experience.
The aunt's apartment forces her to stop curating. You can't plan your way through a space where time folds in on itself.
I found myself pausing the audiobook more than once. Not because it was slow—the pacing is actually quite good—but because certain lines needed a moment to land. Poston writes with a wit that masks genuine wisdom. It's the kind of writing that rewards attention.
A Few Honest Notes
The plot is fairly predictable. If you've read romance, you'll see the beats coming. That's not necessarily a flaw—sometimes we want the comfort of knowing where we're headed. But if you're looking for twists, this isn't it.
And the magical realism, while beautifully handled, does require you to just... accept it. There's no explanation for why the apartment works the way it does. If that kind of thing bothers you, if you need your fantasy to have rules, this might frustrate.
But honestly? I didn't care. The emotional logic of the book is sound, even if the temporal logic is deliberately fuzzy.
Who's This For (And Who Should Skip)
If you're grieving something—a person, a version of yourself, a life you thought you'd have—this book will find you where you are. Romance readers who want their love stories with a side of genuine emotional weight will be well served. Skip it if you need your magical elements explained, or if predictable plot beats frustrate you more than comfort you.
The Final Bell
I might actually listen again. There's something about Pressley's narration that made even the quieter moments feel alive. And the book itself is the kind of thing that probably reveals more on a second pass—little details about Clementine's aunt, about the apartment's history, that I suspect I missed while grading papers.
This is a book about time, but it's really about presence. About being where you are, with who you're with, even when that doesn't make logical sense.
My students would probably roll their eyes at that. But then again, they haven't lived long enough yet to understand why it matters.
