Page 70 - The Love Hypothesis

what had happened on The Night as a proper kiss. It was dizzying and a

little unsettling, the realization that sank into her as they got in line to order
their coffee.
Adam Carlsen was handsome.

Adam Carlsen, with his long nose and wavy hair, with his full lips and
angular face that shouldn’t have fit together but somehow did, was really,

really, really handsome. Olive had no clue why it hadn’t registered before,
or why what made her realize it was him putting on a plain black shirt.

She willed herself to stare ahead at the drink menu instead of his chest.
In the coffee shop, there were a total of three biology grad students, one

pharmacology postdoc, and one undergraduate research assistant eyeing
them. Perfect.
“So. How are you?” she asked, because it was the thing to do.

“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”

It occurred to Olive that maybe she hadn’t thought this through as
thoroughly as she should have. Because being seen together might have

been their goal, but standing next to each other in silence was not going to
fool anyone into thinking that they were blissfully dating. And Adam

was . . . well. He seemed unlikely to initiate any kind of conversation.
“So.” Olive shifted her weight to the balls of her feet a couple of times.
“What’s your favorite color?”

He looked at her, confused. “What?”
“Your favorite color.”

“My favorite color?”
“Yep.”

There was a crease between his eyes. “I—don’t know?”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“They’re colors. They’re all the same.”
“There must be one you like most.”
“I don’t think so.”

“Red?”
“I don’t know.”