Chapter 37 Noelle
37 Noelle
I wake up in Cam’s bed, and it feels like a miracle, even though I’ve been out of the time loop for a while. Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, as if testing that he’s not a mirage.
Yep, he’s real.
And last night was fantastic—and he’ll actually remember it.
It puts a drowsy smile on my face, but then I feel a pang of guilt. He doesn’t know that it wasn’t really our first time together. That’s what made me restless in the middle of the night, the reason I got out of bed at three thirty. But when he found me, I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I told him about my sister instead.
Because how can I tell him that I was trapped in a time loop? And that while I was there, the rest of the world kept going… and I don’t remember it. That’s why I don’t recall what I told my sister, rather than whatever he assumes.
It feels wrong to start a relationship with this kind of secret. I curse the time loop, but it’s the reason we got together in the first place.
And yes, he believed me fairly easily in the loop, but I suspect that in our current reality it won’t be the same, and if I’m unable to convince him…
I can’t bear the thought of failure; I can’t brush it off when he won’t forget overnight. If I fail, I’ll forever be the wacky date who claimed she’d been stuck in a single day, and I’m not sure he’d ever forget.
Memory can be both a blessing and a curse.
“Morning,” Cam says, jolting me out of my thoughts. As his eyes drift open, he smiles and pulls me close.
How does this sweet man like me so much? He made a fucking ice cream sundae for me last night, and that doesn’t require much in the way of skill, but it was thoughtful nonetheless.
He doesn’t deserve all my complicated feelings right now, so I smile at him and say, “Good morning.”
As he starts kissing my neck, that smile doesn’t seem quite so forced.
“How are you doing?” he murmurs, as though he really does want to know the answer.
“Good,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I slept well after I returned to bed, and with his body around mine, my doubts seem far away. I marvel at having a real morning-after with him, so unlike the time I woke up alone and desperately tried to find his scent on my sheets.
He lifts his head and grins as though my well-being and happiness is the greatest news, then rests his forehead against mine.
Before I can say another word, he sets about making me feel even better.
When I step out of the shower, I pull on one of Cam’s Leaside Brewing T-shirts and my underwear. Having anticipated that I might stay the night, I brought a fresh pair with me. Since his roommate won’t be back for hours, I don’t put on anything else.
Cam isn’t around when I head into the kitchen, but coffee is ready, and I pour myself a mug. He said he was going to get something for breakfast and would be back soon. I sit down at the table and inhale deeply. It smells even better than coffee usually does, almost like all my senses are heightened after last night.
He returns a few minutes later with a package that smells even more incredible.
“Are those cinnamon buns?” I ask.
“You bet.” He leans down and kisses me, as though he just can’t help it, as though it’s his natural reaction to seeing me now. “The best ones in the city.”
“That’s a bold claim.”
He sets one cinnamon bun on a plate for me. The aroma is heavenly, and the icing looks perfect—not too heavy or too light. I practically drool. This morning feels like pure decadence, and when I break off a piece and take a bite, that feeling is affirmed.
“Wow,” I say.
“Right?” He pours himself some coffee, then adds milk and a tiny bit of sugar. “We served them at the brewery one weekend in January, as a pairing with our barrel-aged imperial stout. I’d open one for you now if it weren’t ten in the morning.”
“I’ve never really thought about beer and food pairings.” Though I am intrigued.
“It’s also good with chocolate. Or you can pour it over vanilla ice cream—a grown-up float.”
“That all sounds amazing.”
I lick some cream-cheese icing off my fingers. I can’t care about being polite when I’m not wearing pants. Besides, it’s fun to hold Cam’s gaze as I slide my finger into my mouth. His eyes narrow, and his breathing hitches.
I’m a little different when I’m with him. Better at truly enjoying myself and living in the moment—especially now that my earlier guilt has dissipated after more sex, a shower, and a gooey cinnamon bun. I also feel like Cam never wants me to be anyone but who I am, and I realize, with a start, that this wasn’t quite true of Dave.
I put those thoughts aside for later reflection.
“Have you done any other kinds of pairings?” I ask.
As I polish off my breakfast, Cam tells me about an event they did in November, a collaboration with a restaurant downtown. I wouldn’t want to do his job, but I like hearing about it. All the care he puts into getting things right. It’s fun to listen to people talk about what they love.
Once I wash the remnants of the cinnamon bun off my hands, I pour myself more coffee and return to my chair. I move it closer to his so I can rest my hand on his leg, feeling the need to touch him. I want all the leisurely Sunday mornings we can have together.
I remember one of the questions Cam asked me, the day I told him about the loop. What’s the very best thing you’ve eaten? If someone asked me that now, I might choose that cinnamon bun. Yes, it was objectively a well-crafted baked good, but it’s partly because of the association I’ll now have: the breakfast that he picked out for our first morning-after.
I know I’ll think of him whenever I smell fresh cinnamon buns.