Page 66 of Time Loops & Meet Cutes
I take comfort in the fact that some part of him seems to remember me. When he moves his hand up my wrist, there’s something in his expression that says,This is familiar.
“So, what happens after we leave the bubble tea shop?” he asks.
“I don’t know. We’ve never talked much here before. Usually, I just meet you at the brewery. There are no other customers for the first twenty-five minutes, so we talk then.”
He nods.
“You’re extremely chill about this whole thing,” I say.
“I am, aren’t I?”
“Some strange woman—whose name you don’t quite remember—tells you that you’ve gone on many dates with her before, all on a single day in June. It shouldn’t be easy to accept.”
“I don’t know. It just feels right.” He leans forward and presses a single kiss to my mouth. It’s over way too soon. “You want to come to the brewery with me?”
The taproom isn’t open yet. Cam uses a key to let us in. The big white guy is behind the bar, and nineties music is playing.
“Hey,” Cam says. “Justin, this is Noelle.”
They exchange a few words about lager while I stand there rather awkwardly. Then “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” startsplaying, and Cam pretends to hold a microphone and lip-syncs. He steps out from behind the bar and comes over to me… and now he’s quietly singing instead of mouthing the words.
Goose bumps break out on my skin, and the words seem to echo inside my chest.
The song is eerily appropriate. Cam will keep missing things, as long as I’m trapped like this. Maybe that will change one day, or maybe we’ll always be stuck in this weird place.
But I can feel his wish that we could have more.
He makes a show of setting down his microphone, and through the tears that are threatening to fall, I chuckle. He walks over to me and sets his hands on my waist.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “that I have to ask for your name each day.”
That’s part of what I always liked about him: the earnestness, the sincerity. Was he ever a sullen teenager who was too cool to put together an answer of more than two words for his parents? I can’t imagine it.
As the song ends, I tilt my head up and kiss him. One of my hands goes to his shoulder while my other palm is pressed against the left side of his chest. I can feel his heart beating, and it’s reassuring.
His lips meet mine again and again, and it’s like we’re trying to express something that’s beyond words. Beyond reason.
“I didn’t want a relationship,” I whisper. “And I kept telling myself that with you, it wasn’t a real relationship. How could it be, if you couldn’t even remember my name? Yet I still…” I trail off, frustrated with my inability to express myself.
He doesn’t rush me, just sways us gently to the song that’s now playing—something I don’t know. I keep thinking that he ought to be more freaked out by my declarations, yet he’s not. Some part of himknows.
“I’ve come to really like you and care for you.” I hold backfrom saying I love him; I’m not sure I can truly love him until I know who he is outside of June 20. “Each time you don’t remember, it hurts more than the time before.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says feelingly.
“You have no reason to apologize.”
“I feel like I should be able to make myself remember. Like if I just say your name to myself enough times…” He dips his head closer to my ear. “Noelle, Noelle, Noelle.”
Each time, he imbues it with a slightly different feeling.
Wonder.
Desire.
I kiss him and hold him as tightly as I can.
His hand slips below my shirt, and I hiss out a breath.
