“Right, sure. Tomorrow.” Can he hear my teeth grinding?

“Do you want to come back to my place for some coffee? Tea? Water?”

I’m trying a new tactic. Asking him over before we’re sitting in front of my apartment. It’s a long shot, but I don’t know what else to do short of crying and yelling and begging, and none of that screams “sex me up.”

We’re walking up the street toward the Saloon. Again. I have little faith this will work. Alex cares too much about our future to risk it by moving too quickly. I know. I’ve heard it. Over and over and over.

But since my future doesn’t exist, I’m not giving up. Not yet. Maybe if I ask at different points of the night, I’ll get lucky—both literally and figuratively.

“Not tonight. Maybe another time.”

Frustration is a volcano inside me about to blow the top right off my head. “What if we don’t have another time?”

His hands are warm on my shoulders, his expression regretful. “What we have is too important. We don’t need to rush things.”

I groan. “You say that every time.”

He straightens, blinking in confusion. “Every time?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” I pull away from his distracting hands.

“Jane. It’s clearly something. Tell me.”

“No. It’s not. It’s . . .”

I turn away, arms wrapped around my stomach. What if I tell him the truth? I haven’t tried that yet. If I can get him to believe me, maybe then he’ll, I don’t know, at least stay the night.

My heart pounds, picking up speed as I consider the ramifications.

He’ll probably think I’m lying at best. At worst, he’ll think I’ve lost my grip on reality. But what if he’s the key to getting the days to move on? To finding love?

I spin back to face him. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Jane.” His eyes search mine. “You’re worrying me. What is going on?”

Before I can overthink it, I blurt the words out. “I’m reliving the same day. This day. Monday, June seventh. Over and over and over.”

He stares at me for a few seconds. Then his brows dip in confusion. “What?” A bewildered laugh tumbles out of him.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. I’ve lived through, oh gosh, I don’t even know, a hundred of this same Monday.”

He shoves one hand in a pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck. “I, um, I don’t know what to say.”