Page 73 - The Love Hypothesis

“I don’t know.” Olive shrugged. “I think I expected . . . New York? Or

maybe Kansas?”
He shook his head. “My mother used to be a US ambassador to the
Netherlands.”

“Wow.” Weird, to imagine that Adam had a mother. A family. That
before being tall and scary and infamous, he’d been a kid. Maybe he spoke

Dutch. Maybe he had smoked herring for breakfast on the reg. Maybe his
mother had wanted him to follow in her footsteps and become a diplomat,

but his shiny personality had emerged and she’d given up on that dream.
Olive found herself acutely eager to know more about his upbringing,

which was . . . weird. Very weird.
“Here you go.” Their drinks appeared on the counter. Olive told herself
that the way the blond barista was obviously checking out Adam as he

turned to retrieve a lid for his cup was none of her business. She also
reminded herself that as curious as she was about his diplomat mother, how

many languages he spoke, and whether he liked tulips, it was information
that went well beyond their arrangement.

People had seen them together. They were going to go back to their labs
and tell improbable tales of Dr. Adam Carlsen and the random,

unremarkable student they’d spotted him with. Time for Olive to go back to
her science.
She cleared her throat. “Well. This was fun.”

He looked up from his cup, surprised. “Is fake-dating Wednesday over?”
“Yep. Great job, team, now hit the showers. You’re free until next

week.” Olive stabbed her straw into her drink and took a sip, feeling the
sugar explode in her mouth. Whatever she’d ordered, it was disgustingly

good. She was probably developing diabetes as she spoke. “I’ll see you—”
“Where were you born?” Adam asked before she could leave.

Oh. They were doing this, then. He was probably just trying to be polite,
and Olive sighed inwardly, thinking longingly of her lab bench. “Toronto.”
“Right. You’re Canadian,” he said, like he’d already known.

“Yep.”
“When did you move here?”