Page 63 of The Do-Over

I laughed at that. “Right?”

He gestured toward the elevator doors. “Let’s go, then.”

As soon as we walked out of the elevator, the sounds and smells of the corporate lunchroom surrounded us. We followed in the direction of the dudes, and boom—just around the corner from the bank of elevators was an enormous cafeteria.

There were tables in the center of the room, and food stations all around the perimeter. Everything looked like generic cafeteria food except for the Chachi’s Chicken booth, where a generous line was already forming.

“Chicken?” he asked, his eyes moving around the corners of the cafeteria.

“Chicken,” I replied.

While we waited in line, he told me about the time his sisterran over the foot of a Chick-fil-A employee in the drive-thru, and I was tearing up from laughter by the time we sat down with our food.

“I can’t believe she went back over it,” I said, and laughed.

“She said that when he screamed, it was simple human nature for her to back up to see what was the matter.”

“There is a logic there,” I said.

“I guess,” he said, dipping a chicken strip into his cup of ranch.

“So.” I grabbed the table’s ketchup bottle and squirted a blob onto my plate. “You said you’ve never been in love, but… like, youdobelieve in it, right?”

“Whoa.” He tilted his head and his eyebrows went down. “You are persistent. What’re you doing, Hornby?”

“Learning about my DONC partner. Now, if you’re shy—I’ll start.” In real life, I would never broach this topic of conversation becauseof courseI would come off as stifling and pathetic. But I wanted to know these things about him, so I was taking advantage of this erasable day. It didn’t matter what he thought of this because he’d never remember it.

As soon as I thought that, though, I felt a little ache of sadness. I’d been having so much fun that the fact that tomorrow would be a reset, and Nick would remember nothing—seemed kind of tragic. “Okay. So. Even though you don’t see it very often in real life, I absolutely believe in true love. I think it requires work and logic, as opposed to fate, but it’s there if you look hard enough.”

He gave a nod, like he was accepting my point, and wipedhis hands on his napkin. “But doesn’t that sound a little oversimplified to you? It sounds like a kid saying they believe in Santa. Like, yes—of course it sounds great—but if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

I dipped a fry in my ketchup. “So cynical.”

“It’s not cynical at all.” He slid a handful of fries through my ketchup blob and said, “I don’t grouchily begrudge love—I just don’t expect it to come down my chimney with a sack full of presents.”

“Love is not the same as Santa Claus.”

“How is it not?” he asked, picking up his soda cup. “You hope and wish for it, peeking to see if fate has brought the One to your doorstep, the One who makes you happy forever.”

I picked up a strip and pointed it at him. “It’s not the same because you’re not relying on magic and pretend.”

“Have you everseena first date?” He took a sip of his pop before saying, “Talk about your magic and pretend.”

“How are you ever going to get happy,” I asked, taking a bite before saying, “when you’re thinking that way?”

He looked at me and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not looking to ‘get happy.’?”

I stopped chewing. He didn’t appear to be joking. “Are you one of those guys who likes being broody?”

His eyebrows furrowed and he looked offended, like that suggestion was an insult. “No.”

“So why wouldn’t you want to be happy?”

He shrugged and picked up his soda. “I didn’t say that I don’t want to be happy. I said that I’m notlookingto get happy. It’s not my goal.”

I wiped my mouth with my napkin before setting it down on the tray. “But—”

“I mean, are youalwayshappy?” he asked, and I got a little distracted by the sight of his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed his Coke.

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