Page 27 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
“Better than the pilsner?”
“Yeah. I’ll have a pint of that.”
He smiles and starts pulling me a pint of the Corktown.
“The p-pale ale really wasn’t that bad,” I stammer. “I’m sorry I insulted your beer.”
“You didn’t insult it.”
“I think my facial expression did the work for me.”
“It’s fine. Everyone has different tastes—I’m sure heiresses have quite particular ones.”
Music starts playing, and the other guy returns with some glasses and coasters. He sings along to the Matchbox Twenty song, which I haven’t heard in a while. Cam joins in a moment later, pretending he’s holding a microphone. I admire his ability to be a little goofy, to not be too self-conscious or take himself seriously.
And since I’m the only customer, I feel like it’s a show just for me.
The song ends, and I clap. The other guy smiles as he exits the room, leaving Cam and me alone once more.
“You have a nice voice,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“You ever been in a band?”
“I was in an all-Asian Matchbox Twenty tribute band.”
Okay, that’s not what I was expecting. “Did you have many gigs?”
“A bunch, but it wasn’t a full-time job, and unlike you, I don’t have all those billions to fall back on.”
I decide to tell him something true about myself. “I’m a mechanical engineer.”
“Yeah? How do you like it?”
“It’s fine. It… pays the bills.”
“You sound a little unsure.”
“It’s the people I work with, not the actual work itself, which is part of the reason I’m taking today off. I feel like nothing I do matters.” I mean that more literally than he knows. “But it’s okay. This afternoon, I’m here with you.”
I flash him a smile that I hope is a little seductive. Not because I’m scheming to get a kiss, but because I like him, and if I make a fool of myself, no one will remember but me.
Cam pretends he’s strumming a guitar for a few seconds. Some kind of ’90s or early 2000s alternative rock song is on now, though I don’t recognize the band.
“Do you play?” I ask.
“A little.”
I’ve never been a woman who dreams of dating a musician, but today, that’s changed. I want this guy. He might not be winning any awards for his air guitar, but he’s fun and sincere, even when he’s joking about me being rich. He seems like the kind of man who’s not afraid of showing his feelings.
The door opens behind me, and I try not to be annoyed. I have no right to be irritated that I don’t have the bartender to myself anymore.
“Sit anywhere you like,” Cam says, “and order at the bar when you’re ready.”
I’m relieved when the couple chooses the table farthest from the bar.
“You still like it?” He gestures to my pint.
