Page 18 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
ME: Though if you get out of the loop and I don’t, who will I be in your reality? Will I remember you? I might have no idea who you are. And if I do get out, but a day or two later than you, how does that work? It makes my head hurt.
ME: But seriously, if I know who you are, you can stay with me.
AVERY: Thanks. What about you? How’s Cam?
ME: I need to step up my game.
The following morning, I once again start my day by adding Avery to my contacts, as well as posting on a bunch of forums, though I’m less hopeful than I was yesterday.
Then, dressed in a different blouse than the previous times, I head to the tea shop, ready to execute my plan for a meet cute. However, when Cam looks over at me and says, “Have we met before?” I start to doubt myself.
I feel like I’m using him. Meet cutes aren’t supposed to be engineered; they’re supposed to be spontaneous. Plus, it seems wrong to spill a drink on this nice man.
I have to try something, though. I can’t be stuck in June 20 forever.
Better to injure myself, I decide.
“I don’t think so,” I say, “but I come here every now and then.”
“That’s probably it.” He smiles at me.
It’s nice when people are predictable. One of the few perks of reliving the same day.
“I’m Noelle.”
“Cam.”
We lapse into silence. I don’t ask if he wants to go on a date.
“Number thirty-two?”
I reach for my order. “Thank you.”
Then I turn, take a step, and force myself to trip on a table leg. It doesn’t come naturally, especially since I have half a liter of tea and tapioca balls in my hand. But my future might be at stake here, so I do it. I fall, my tea hitting the floor and covering it in liquid right before my knee makes contact. My arms come up to cushion my face.
“Shit!” I cry.
“Oh my god,” Cam says. “Are you okay?” He crouches before me, just like he did that time at the market.
“I, um…” I stammer. “I think so?”
Ideally, this is when he tells me that I shouldn’t put weight on either of my legs, then sweeps me into his arms, and when I look at him like he’s my hero, he kisses me. (My imagination isn’t usually prone to romantic flights of fancy, but I’ve watched a lot of movies in the last forty-eight hours.)
Alas, this isn’t quite what happens.
He offers me his hand. “Can you stand up?”
“Y-yes. I think so.”
Turns out, I’m a liar. I put one foot flat on the ground, but then my feet slide apart, perhaps owing to all the liquid and bubbles on the floor. I’m heading toward the splits despite the fact that I cannot, well,dothe splits.
My recently acquired expertise in romance has led me to believe that some men find clumsy women irresistible, but Cam might not be one of those men. Besides, although some peoplemanage to look cute while being clumsy, I’m positive I look more like a drowning raccoon. I doubt anyone would want to kiss me in my current state, but since I need help getting up, I take the proffered hand. It’s warm and strong, and for a second, I think it’s a pity that I’ve both sworn off dating and found myself trapped in a time loop. Maybe if life were different, I’d want somethingrealto happen.
I swear Cam holds my hand a split second longer than necessary, but maybe that’s my imagination.
“You okay?” he asks, stepping back once I’m standing.
“Just peachy,” I lie.
