And just like that, I’m back there, with his body pressing against mine, his hand in my hair, his mouth on my neck. I pull my coat tightly around me against the January wind （sure, that’s what’s making me shiver） and look down at the pavement. “Oh, you know.” I shrug. “Just a party with some of Alex’s friends.”
“Well, I hope it was a fun night.”
It was, Jacob. It was so much fun. Until you told me it was all a horrible mistake.
For a second, I worry I’ve gone so far off the deep end that I’ve said it out loud. My gaze flies to his face, and he’s looking at me like he’s not sure what to make of me. I grasp for a subject change. “What are you working on? Your project with the deadline, I mean. What is it?”
Jacob shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his charcoal peacoat, and I can’t help but notice how perfectly it fits him across his broad shoulders. “Really?” he finally asks.
“Really, what?”
“Do you really want to know what I’m working on?”
If I close my eyes, I can still hear those beautiful, haunting notes from the song he played on the piano. The song he wrote. “I asked, didn’t I?” It sounds more defensive than I intended, but that song brings up all kinds of feelings I don’t want to think about. “I mean, yes,” I say, more gently this time. “I want to know.”
“Well…” He looks at me sideways. “It’s the soundtrack for a film. Science fiction. Directed by Joshua James.”
Now it’s my turn. “Really?” Joshua James is legit famous. Not like Steven Spielberg famous, of course, but he’s directed a bunch of award-winning sci-fi films.
“I take it that surprises you.”
“No…，” I protest. But then, “Well, okay, maybe a little.” Joshua James films are less the alien-apocalypse type of sci-fi, and more the man-goes-out-into-the-universe-to-find-himself kind. The kind where a slightly aging heartthrob actor takes on a serious role to secure his legacy and generate Oscar buzz. It actually makes perfect sense. “An introspective Joshua James film seems like the right place for your music.”
“Thanks?” Jacob looks at me with his brows knit together, and I get that this is all a bit astonishing. We’ve never had a conversation this long, or this personal.
Except that one time. That one time that never really happened.
Jacob adjusts the scarf around his neck, and lord, am I a sucker for a man in a peacoat with a well-placed scarf. Seriously, how did it take me this long to notice how attractive he is?
“So…” He looks down at me. Make that a sucker for a tall man in a peacoat and well-placed scarf. “I was going to run out for coffee before I get back to work. Um…” He cocks his head. “Do you want to come?”
I hesitate. Does he really want to hang out with me?
Probably not. Did you hear that pause before the Do you want to come? I’m standing here on his front step looking slightly unbalanced, half a mile from home. Jacob is just watching out for his best friend’s sister. He feels sorry for me, again. But suddenly, I don’t care why he’s asking. I don’t want to be alone right now in this strange time loop. And something about Jacob, my former-but-not-really roommate, comforts me right now.
“Sure. Where are you going? Higher Grounds?” I drop my apartment key back into my purse. Hopefully, Zoe’s shift will be over. I’m not sure how I’d explain the cat thing to Jacob.
But he shakes his head. “I’ve walked by that place, but never tried it. Is that your favorite?”
Wait a minute. How is it possible Jacob has never been to Higher Grounds? When I worked there during my Very Bad Year, he used to come in all the time. I’d always assumed he was annoyed I’d gotten a job at his regular spot. He barely spoke three words to me, but sometimes he and Mrs. Kaminski used to chat for a minute. He was one of the few people she never barked at.
If it’s January, and he’s never been there, when did he become a regular? He wouldn’t have started going to Higher Grounds because I worked there… would he?
My mind is spinning like a whisk in a bowl. But Jacob is still waiting for an answer, so I nod. “Yeah, it’s great. Want to try it?”
We’re mostly quiet on the walk over, but for once, it’s companionable. Maybe I’m just too tired for awkwardness. When we arrive at Higher Grounds, I’m relieved to see that Zoe is gone for the day, although Mrs. Kaminski is still in her usual spot right next to the cash register, the best position to harass the customers and staff.
When she sees me, she yells, “Hey, it’s Sadie, the Cat Lady!” and starts cackling. There’s no way Jacob didn’t hear, but she seems more off-her-rocker than even I do, so I doubt he thinks anything of it.
Luckily, Mrs. Kaminski goes back to antagonizing José Luis, the barista on duty this evening, and she doesn’t say more about my cat fetish. José Luis is a design student at the Fashion Institute of Technology, and during my Very Bad Year, he used to work on his sketches when business was slow. One day, when he found out I was a former pastry chef, he drew a picture of me in a pink wedding-cake dress with piped-flower ruffles, macaron jewelry, and a strawberry cupcake hat. I wish I still had it. But like everything about the past year of my life, that sketch never existed.
Mercifully, I remember I’m not supposed to know José Luis, so when Jacob waves me to the counter in front of him, I stick to my coffee order.
“And your friend?” José Luis asks, giving Jacob a sly up-and-down glance. Am I the only one who never noticed that Jacob is a real snack?
Distracted, I mumble, “Café Americano, please,” without thinking. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake. I’ve made Jacob dozens of café Americanos. It’s all he ever ordered when he came into Higher Grounds. But in this version of my year, he’s never been here before, and I’ve never made him coffee before. How do I explain how I know this?
I peek up at him, and now he looks stunned. “How did you know that’s my coffee order?”
“Oh, you know…” I look around the café for inspiration. “I guess…” Above the counter, Christmas lights twinkle, leftover decorations from the recent holiday. That’s it. “Christmas! And Thanksgiving! When you come over for the holidays with my family, you always have a café Americano after dinner.” I have literally no idea if this is true, but my parents have one of those fancy, pretentious espresso machines they like to break out when their intellectual friends come over, so it’s probably true. It still doesn’t explain why I would have paid any attention to his coffee preferences, when I barely paid any attention to him. But it’s been a hard day, okay?
He nods, clearly still skeptical. But what else is he going to think? That I used to work here and make him drinks, and then I came back in time, and now I know things that I technically have no way of knowing?
Who would believe a story like that?
Jacob turns to Mrs. Kaminski and leans forward to peer into her empty coffee cup. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, and for a moment, her face registers surprise. I imagine mine looks the same.