Saturday, December 31st, 1921 New York, USA

The clock has just struck nine, and Jules Pierce is alone, as he has been all of his twenty years of age—though he has experienced many more than that. In exactly three hours, for everyone else at this party, it will be 1922. They will still be in this party at the St. Regis Hotel on January 1st, sipping champagne and kissing. They will experience the decadence of the Roaring 20’s, then the Depression, and then the war. They will fall in love, grow old, and die. They will live lives.

Jules won’t. He’s been cursed—all of the men in his family have been, since his great-grandfather—to travel to a different place every Sunday, both in time and space. When the clock strikes midnight it could be 2047 for him. Or 1525. Or 632. And he’ll be alone. He has no choice. He knows a week will never be enough time to fall in love.

That is until you, a fellow time traveler, lock eyes with him from across the room.