Cover

Summary

Today is the worst day of Jane Stewart’s life. And she’s reliving it over and over (and over and over) again.

She’s late to the same make-or-break meeting.

She’s fired from the same soul-crushing job.

And—the cherry on top—she’s dumped by the same lying, selfish dirtbag.

But no matter how many times she relives the same disasters and no matter what she tries to change them, it all ends in the same abysmal mess. Because, apparently, being stuck in a time loop on the worst day of her life hasn’t cured her crippling social anxiety. Go figure.

The one bright spot? Her long-time crush wants to be more than friends . . . if only she can get them past their first date. And so her happily ever is doomed before it can even begin unless she can find a way to save her job, her heart, and, oh yeah, the space-time continuum.

Dedication

To Dave Pijuan, a.k.a. O-Pijuan-Kenobi.

Thank you for being a wonderful cubicle mate, friend, and the best melon picker ever.

You will be missed.

Chapter One

Belching. Someone is belching. Ugh, why is it so loud?

I roll over, pulling a pillow over my head. Pounding bass vibrates into my skull, shaking the walls. My pillow is not an effective barrier.

What is that?

Did he say hocus-pocus?

Is someone in my apartment? They broke in just to pass gas and play music at excessive levels?

Is it my alarm? Oh no, it’s Monday.

I jerk up, already reaching for my phone to kill the noise, plucking it from the charging cord.

Wakefulness weaves its fingers through my sleepy mind. My heart thumps along with the music.

I stare at the blank screen. I barely slept last night. It took me forever to fall asleep, worrying over my meeting today, trying to think through every potential response and outcome. My dreams were full of everything that might possibly go wrong, from missing my notes to arriving late to showing up naked.

The memories fade as reality rushes in to take its place.

My phone is dead.

“That’s not my alarm. My alarm didn’t go off,” I croak to the empty room.

The music is still thumping.

I stare at the dark phone screen. I always leave it charging to avoid this exact scenario.

“Oh, no. No no no no no.” I rush out of bed, forgetting the cell phone mystery, skidding into the kitchen to stare at the clock on the oven.

It’s nearly eight.

“This isn’t possible.”

Someone bangs on the door. Maybe the world is ending. That would be good. If there’s some kind of disaster situation—a building fire, a tsunami incoming, aliens invading the planet, maybe—that would be the perfect excuse for being late for the most important meeting of my existence.

I swing open the door, but no one’s there.