Page 39 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
“Can’t remember my name but you remember my beer,” I tease.
I could never flirt like this before my life started repeating. Knowing he won’t remember tomorrow—not fully, anyway—is a double-edged sword. If I screw this up, I’m the only one who has to live with the embarrassing memory beyond the next twelve hours. And if I don’t screw this up and we go out, I’m the only one who will remember our date.
“So it seems,” he says as he starts filling a pint glass.
“The important things in life.”
He returns with my beer. “I think names are important too, but I won’t forget it now.”
Oh, but you will.
“Do you serve food?” I ask, suddenly realizing I haven’t eaten since breakfast. After getting my hair done, I was too focused on arriving here at three to think about the food situation, but now, my stomach is growling. I hope he doesn’t hear it.
“We’ve got a few things.” He motions to a QR code for me to scan. “On the weekends, I try to arrange a food truck around the corner—going to talk to someone about that later, actually—but this is what we have now.”
I take a quick look. “The meat pie sounds good.”
According to the menu, it’s made by a company that specializes in pies. I’ve had their pies before and enjoyed them, though it’s been a while. My stomach growls even louder than before.
“Sorry,” I say.
“How about this? The pie will take twenty-five minutes, but it comes with chips. I can get those for you now.”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
He leaves and returns a moment later with a bowl containing some kettle chips.
“Can’t have anyone dying of hunger in the taproom,” he says.
“Yeah, that would be unfortunate.” I scramble for something else to say, and somehow land on, “Though I don’t think there’s much danger of that happening. Before I die of hunger, I’d shape-shift into a, uh, bear. Then I’d eat all your customers, which would probably be, uh, worse for you.”
Oh god. What is wrong with me?
I can’t think of clever things to say on the spot. Sometimes I just make things awkward. Like when Dave gave me a cutecard with koalas, and I wondered aloud whether these particular koalas had chlamydia because apparently a lot of wild koalas do. I don’t think that was quite what he’d intended to discuss on Valentine’s Day.
I consider running out of the taproom and writing this day off as a loss—I can try again tomorrow—but I really am hungry, and I want to eat those chips. And that pie. Hopefully the rest of my food arrives soon, and then I can scarf it down and meet Avery at another location.
“Luckily,” Cam says, “you’re my only customer right now.”
It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s talking about. Wow, he actually responded to my bizarre comment about turning into a bear. He might just be trying to keep his only customer happy, but maybe I should keep talking. After all, flirting is mostly about confidence, right? And I can hardly hide in the corner when I have bright hair.
“Very true,” I say smoothly. “I guess I’d just have to eat you instead.” I give him an assessing look. “Yep, I think you’d do nicely. So it’s lucky for you that I have these.” I point to my chips before grabbing a handful. I wash them down with beer.
At that point, his colleague returns, and they start singing “Unwell.” A moment later, Avery enters and takes a seat beside me.
“That’s him?” she whispers, nodding toward Cam.
“Yeah.”
He’s bopping his head along with the music. When they finish singing, Avery and I clap. The other man heads to the back again, and Cam asks Avery what she’d like to drink.
She shrugs and points to my glass. “I’ll have that.”
“Good choice,” he says.
“What would be a bad choice?” I ask.
“Deciding you don’t like anything here and going to another bar.”
