Page 65 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
Weirdly enough, this is exactly the sort of situation I’d hoped to engineer when I first got stuck in the loop: a meet cute that would have him asking me out, with the hopes that he’d kiss me.
But I’m not the same woman that I was back then. I’m also encouraged by how close he got to guessing the right name.
“You’re going to order the Iron Goddess milk tea with pearls, aren’t you?” I say as the customer in front of us orders.
“How did you know that?” Cam asks.
I shrug. “I’ll tell you in a moment.”
We place our orders and stand off to the side to wait.
“This is going to sound cheesy,” he says, “but I mean it honestly—I feel like I already know you, even though I can’t remember anything about it.”
“That’s because you do know me. We’ve met dozens of times before.”
“That’s not possible. I’d remember—”
“You never do, not really, and it breaks my heart every time. Think of it like this: we met in an alternate reality.”
Our drinks are ready, and we take them to a small table by the window.
“What do you mean?” Cam asks as he sits down. “I’m confused.”
I explain the situation. As “proof,” I tell him about his plansfor the day, and a few tidbits I know about him. Since I’ve never stayed in the tea shop this long, I can’t predict the customers like I can at the brewery—other than the woman and her dog—but he believes me. It doesn’t take much to get him to believe me; it feels like he’s primed to do so.
“So you don’t know why you’re in this loop,” he says, “or how to get out of it.”
“I’ve tried. I quit my job. I traveled across North America. I ate a disgusting number of dumplings—”
“I’m not sure there’s such a thing.”
“—I kissed you.” I cover my mouth after I say it.
“Wait a second,” he says. “Is that the only reason you kissed me? To see if it would break the spell, so to speak?”
My cheeks heat. “I admit that’s why I kept returning here.” I gesture around the shop. “At first, I mean. I didn’t know you well, but you were nice to me the first time we met, and I thought perhaps it meant something that I’d seen you in multiple locations.”
“We didn’t meet here?”
“No, the very first time I saw you… it was soon after I’d gotten into the loop. I was crying at the night market, and you asked if I was okay.”
“Ah.”
“But eventually, I felt weird about trying to orchestrate a cute meeting, and I gave up on that. Then I just happened to walk into Leaside Brewing, and you were singing a sea shanty. We got to talking and… yeah. You gave me your number and we met up later. I’ve lived variations of that day many, many times. Often, we go to the night market together, and you get the bulgogi poutine.”
“Sounds like something I’d do.”
“Other times, I try to mix it up.”
He regards me from the other side of the small table. “What do we do on those days?”
“One time, I beat you at mini-golf. Too bad you don’t remember that.”
He laughs, then slides his hand forward. “I really wish I could remember. Everything.”
“I wish you could too,” I whisper.
This feels like too much—it’s too serious—for a first date. But I have no concept of what is normal anymore. How can I?
