Time and Again

Italy.
    "One large," Libby said, taking Cal's appetite into account. "Extra cheese and pepperoni. Would you like a beer?"
    "Yeah." He tore a corner from the napkin and rolled it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger.
    "One beer and one diet cola."
    "Why is everyone here on a diet?" Cal asked before the waitress was out of earshot. "Most of the ads deal with losing weight, quenching thirst and getting clean."
    Libby ignored the quick curious look the waitress shot over her shoulder. "Sociologically our culture is obsessed with health, nutrition and physique. We count calories, pump iron and eat a lot of yogurt. And pizza," she added with a grin. "Advertising reflects current trends."
    "I like your physique."
    Libby cleared her throat. "Thanks."
    "And your face," he added, smiling. "And the way your voice sounds when you're embarrassed."
    She let out a long, windy sigh. "Why don't you listen to the music?"
    "The music stopped."
    "We can put more on."
    "On what?"
    "The jukebox." Enjoying herself, Libby rose and extended a hand to him. "Come on, you can pick a song."
    Cal stood over the colorful machine, scanning the titles. "This one," he decided. "And this one. And this one. How does it work?"
    "First you need some change."
    "I've had enough change for a while, thanks."
    "No, I mean change. Quarters." Chuckling, she dug into her purse. "Don't they use coins in the twenty-third century?"
    "No." He plucked the quarter from her palm and examined it. "But I've heard of them."
    "We use them around here, often with reckless abandon." Taking the quarter back, she dropped it and two more into the slot. "An eclectic selection, Hornblower." The music drifted out, slow and romantic.
    "Which is this?"
    "'The Rose.' It's a ballad-a standard, I suppose, even today."
    "Do you like to dance?"
    "Yes. I don't often, but-" Her words trailed away as he gathered her close. "Cal-"
    "Shh." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I want to hear the words."
    They danced-swayed, really-as the music drifted through the speakers. A mother with two squabbling children rested her elbow on her table and watched them with pleasure and envy. In the glassed-in kitchen a man with a bushy mustache tossed pizza dough in quick, high twirls.
    "It's sad."
    "No." She could dream like this, with her head cushioned on his shoulder and her body moving to their inner rhythm. "It's about how love survives."
    The words floated away. Her eyes were shut, her arms still around him when the next selection blasted out with a primeval scream and a thundering drum roll.
    "What about this one?"
    "It's about being young." She drew away, embarrassed, when she saw the smiles and stares of the other patrons. "We should sit down."
    "I want to dance with you again."
    "Some other time. People don't usually dance in pizza parlors."
    "Okay." Obligingly he walked back across the room to their table. Their drinks were waiting. As Libby had with the drink in his galley, Cal found enormous comfort in the familiar taste of American beer. "Just like home."
    "I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first."
    "Babe, / didn't believe me at first." In a natural gesture he reached across the table to take her hand. "Tell me, what do people do here on a date?"
    "Well, they-" His thumb was skimming over her knuckles in a way that made her pulse unsteady. "They go to movies or restaurants."
    "I want to kiss you again."
    Her eyes darted up to his. "I don't really think-"
    "Don't you want me to kiss you?"
    "If she doesn't," the waitress said as she plopped their pizza in front of them, "I get off at five."
    Grinning, Cal slipped a slice of pizza onto a paper plate. "She's very friendly," he commented to Libby,
    "but I like you better."
    "Terrific." She took a bite. "Are you always obnoxious?"
    "Mostly. But I do like you, a lot." He waited a beat. "Now you're supposed to say you like me, too."
    Libby took another bite and chewed it thoroughly. "I'm thinking about it." Taking her napkin, she dabbed at her mouth. "I like you better than anyone I've met from the twenty-third century."
    "Good. Are you going to take me to the movies?"
    "I suppose I could."
    "Like a date." He took her hand again.
    "No." Carefully she removed it. "Like an experiment. We'll consider it part of your education."
    His smile spread, slow, easy and undoubtedly dangerous. "I'm still going to kiss you good-night."
    It was dark when they returned to the cabin. More than a little frazzled, Libby pushed open the door and tossed her