Page 77 - The Love Hypothesis

had his clothes custom-made. His hair was still a bit long but shorter than

the previous week. It seemed a little surreal that she and Adam Carlsen
were at a point where she was able to keep track of both his moods and his
haircuts.

“Ready to get coffee?” she chirped.
He nodded distractedly, barely looking at her. On a table in the back, a

fifth-year was glancing at them while pretending to clean the monitor of his
laptop.

“Sorry if I was late. I just—”
“It’s fine.”

“Did you have a good week?”
“Fine.”
Okay. “Um . . . did you do anything fun last weekend?”

“I worked.”
They got in line to order, and it was all Olive could do to stop herself

from sighing. “Weather’s been nice, right? Not too hot.”
He grunted in response.

It was starting to be a bit much. There was a limit to what Olive would
do for this fake-dating relationship—even for a free mango Frappuccino.

She sighed. “Is it because of the haircut?”
That got his attention. Adam looked down at her, a vertical line deep
between his eyebrows. “What?”

“The mood. Is it because of the haircut?”
“What mood?”

Olive gestured broadly toward him. “This. The bad mood you’re in.”
“I’m not in a bad mood.”

She snorted—though that was probably not the right term for what she
just did. It was too loud and derisive, more like a laugh. A snaugh.

“What?” He frowned, unappreciative of her snaugh.
“Come on.”
“What?”

“You ooze moodiness.”
“I do not.” He sounded indignant, which struck her as oddly endearing.