Page 105 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
We’ve barely texted in the past few days. She leaves me on read for hours. It wasn’t like this before we slept together.
I think of the weekend, when I found her in the middle ofthe night and she told me about her sister. Maybe that’s part of it, though I’m convinced it’s not everything.
I consider what I might have said or done to fuck this up, but I’m drawing a blank. I’m sure there are things I could have done a little differently—I’m not perfect—but even after so little time, I know Noelle, and this is odd.
Although…
I groan at the recollection.
“What is it?” Darrell asks.
“I said that when we’re together, I sometimes feel as if I’ve done this before. Like, in a previous life.”
Justin shakes his head. “That sounds like such a line.”
“I know,” I say. “But it’s not.”
“I know you don’t usually say thing like that, yes.”
“I just had this weird feeling. The words came out of me, and she stiffened afterward.”
Darrell has a sympatheticyou’re an idiotexpression on his face.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask. “She said she understood. I told her that I just meant… we fit together. Nothing more. Everything seemed okay, but maybe it wasn’t.”
Yeah, maybe she thinks I’m some kind of charming playboy, but that’s not the case. It’s not like I’m always trying to get a woman in my bed.
Justin slaps me on the back but doesn’t say anything more.
“I also told my mom that I’m seeing someone,” I say, “and Noelle, uh, heard that conversation. I didn’t want to lie and treat her like a secret, but it might have been too much?” Though she said she was fine with it, perhaps she wasn’t.
But I have a feeling it’s something else.
Here’s the thing about beer.
A lot of people who drink it—whether at a kegger in university, or in the backyard alone after a long week, or at a gastropub with friends—know little about how it’s made. They might have some hazy notion of yeast and hops, but they don’t talk about the mash and the wort and all the steps that go into creating it; they simply enjoy the finished product.
Yet there’s so much behind that pint glass. So much science goes into it—and knowing it doesn’t dim my enjoyment of beer but makes me appreciate it more.
Still, my knowledge about the beverage itself pales next to that of Darrell, who’s the brewmaster. He has multiple books just about foam. Foam is serious business. And even he is forever learning.
We can’t all be experts in everything, from archeology to zymurgy. There isn’t enough time in the day, for starters.
But I do want to be an expert in Noelle Tom, and no matter how much I learn, there will always be more. I want to devote all the time that I can to her.
Later, when I’m in the office organizing some files, I take a break and text Noelle.
ME: Hey, just thinking about you.
Hm. Maybe that was too much, but it’s honest.
ME: You want to do something on the weekend? We have an event on Saturday, so I’ll have to work all day, but I’m free on Sunday. I’m yours, if you’re interested.
I wonder what she’s doing right now. I suppose she’s at work, so I shouldn’t expect her to answer right away, but when I haven’t heard from her ten minutes later, I’m tempted to send her another text and ask what’s wrong. I restrain myself from doing that, but I can’t stop thinking about Noelle. I don’t like feeling off-balance. I’m usually a pretty even-keeled guy, yet the thought that something’s wrong between us makes me feel anything but.
Because, like I told her, I believe we fit together. Webelong.
I know it’s early to feel that way, but I can’t help it.
