Page 154 - The Love Hypothesis

“It’s not—”

“You are allowed to be scared.”
“I am not,” he told her, a little too forcefully, and then turned away,
clearing his throat and scratching the side of his neck.

Olive pressed her lips together, and then said, “Well, I used to be
scared.”

He looked at her, curious, so she continued.
“As a child. My . . .” She had to clear her throat. “My mother would

have to hold me in a bear hug every time I needed a shot, or I’d thrash
around too much. And she had to bribe me with ice cream, but the problem

was that I wanted it immediately after my shot.” She laughed. “So she’d buy
an ice cream sandwich before the doctor’s appointment, and by the time I
was ready to eat, it’d be all melted in her purse and make a huge mess

and . . .”
Dammit. She was weepy, again. In front of Adam, again.

“She sounds lovely,” Adam said.
“She was.”

“And to be clear, I’m not afraid of needles,” he repeated. This time, his
tone was warm and kind. “They just feel . . . disgusting.”

She sniffled and looked up at him. The temptation to hug him was
almost irresistible. But she’d already done that today, so she made do with
patting him on the arm. “Aww.”

He pinned her with a withering look. “Don’t aww me.”
Adorable. He was adorable. “No, really, they are gross. Stuff pokes at

you, and then you bleed. The feeling of it—yikes.”
She got out of the car and waited for him to do the same. When he

joined her, she smiled at him reassuringly.
“I get it.”

“You do?” He didn’t seem convinced.
“Yep. They’re horrible.”
He was still a little distrustful. “They are.”

“And scary.” She wrapped her hand around his elbow and began to pull
him in the direction of the Fluchella tent. “Still, you need to get over it. For