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She stopped dabbing and looked up at him.
“Sorry. I’ll stop saying things like that. I can see it’s not working in my favor.”
“Definitely not. Now, explain to me how we know each other again? Or, how youthinkwe know each other?”
He spread his hands out on the tabletop and took a deep breath. Gemma noticed the vintage watch again and how it seemed to clash with his otherwise modern, casual appearance. It looked like something a man who wore a suit and tie to work would sport. Jack wore jeans, and a tee shirt that had been a shade of light blue that set off his eyes before it was splotched with pale brown latte. The shape of the stain on his chest looked like it could have been the other half of the Rorschach test on hers.
“Gemma, we’ve met before. Many times. I know this seems impossible to believe, but that interaction we just had? That wasn’t the first time we’ve crashed into each other. It happens every day—thisday. I know that’s your favorite shirt because I’ve ruined it, over and over.”
She blinked at him, at a loss. “What does that mean?”
He pressed his hands into the table and held her gaze like he was desperately gripping it with a fist. “It means that I know your name, and I know that’s your favorite shirt, and I know your brother is stuck at JFK trying to get home to you because it has all happened before. This day has happened before. We have lived it before.”
His explanation ended and left an expectant energy lingering in its wake. He watched her as if he wanted her to solve the rest of the puzzle. To put the implausible pieces together and be the one to speak the impossibility aloud.
She knew what he was talking about. She had seen it in plenty of movies, read it in many books.
A time loop.
The fictional circumstance that left someone cycling through the same day over and over for any host of reasons. Key word:fictional.
Because time loops weren’t real. Not unless you were an unpleasant TV weatherman who needed to learn a lesson on a holiday honoring a rodent.
Jack read the skepticism on her face. “Listen, I know that sounds absurd—it is absurd! But I promise you, it’s happening. How else would I know those things about you?”
She considered his valid question and reasoned that he could have overheard her phone conversation with her brother, and the barista had called her name for her order. But the fact about the shirt? She didn’t think she’d ever mentioned this being her favorite shirt to anyone. She wasn’t prone to declaring her love for inanimate objects online like Lila, so she had no idea how he could have known, even if he had somehow found her private social media accounts.
A chill suddenly shook her body. The thought of whathe already admitted to knowing about her was disturbing enough, but she realized that if what he was saying about living the day on repeat was true—which itwasn’t—he probably knew all sorts of personal things about her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling defensive. “Maybe you’re stalking me.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not, I swear. The first time I met you was exactly like today: I was looking at my phone, you were talking on yours, and we crashed into each other and spilled coffee everywhere.”
He spoke with such bald honesty that she couldn’t help humoring him.
“And then what?”
He sat back in his chair, relaxing a little that she hadn’t jumped ship yet. “And then usually some variation of us apologizing and you leaving ensues.”
She mulled it over and agreed it sounded plausible since leaving was exactly what she intended to do in the very near future.
A thought suddenly struck her.
“Wait, if you knew that was going to happen, why did you still crash into me?”
“Because I needed to see if you recognized me, to see if you remembered me.”
The desperation in his voice was as plain as the day was sunny. She almost felt bad for him, this strange, beautiful man telling stories of impossible realities.
“Why not just ask me, then?” she said, and looked down at her ruined shirt. It could have been spared, if only.
“Would you have believed me?”
By the way he said it, she got the sense that he had perhapsattempted to just ask her before in one of his alt-realities and received unfavorable results.
“No,” she said. “But I also don’t believe you now, so it seems the only loss here is of my favorite shirt and fifteen minutes of my morning.”
“Gemma, wait,” he said when she started to stand. “Please. This is the furthest we’ve ever gotten. Hang with me on this.” He reached out a hand, pleading like he was fully aware of how unhinged he sounded. His lips curved into a half smile that suddenly yanked her into a memory.
