Page 179 - The Love Hypothesis

the image proudly stated “Pumpkin Pie Frappuccino,” and below that,

Adam’s text:

Adam: Think I can smuggle this on the plane?
She didn’t need to be told that she was grinning at her phone like an
idiot.

Olive: Well, TSA is notoriously incompetent.

Olive: Though maybe not that incompetent?
Adam: Too bad.

Adam: Wish you were here, then.
Olive’s smile stayed in place for a long time. And then, when she
remembered the mess she was in, it faded into a heavy sigh.

—

CARRYING a tray of tissue samples to the electron microscope lab
SHE WAS
when someone patted her on the shoulder, startling her. Olive nearly tripped
and destroyed several thousand dollars’ worth of federal grant funding.

When she turned, Dr. Rodrigues was staring at her with his usual boyish
grin—like they were best buddies about to go for a beer and a jolly good

time, instead of a Ph.D. student and a former member of her advisory
committee who’d never quite gotten around to reading any of the

paperwork she’d turned in.
“Dr. Rodrigues.”

His brow wrinkled. “I thought we’d settled on Holden?”
Had they? “Right. Holden.”
He smiled, pleased. “Boyfriend’s out of town, huh?”

“Oh. Um . . . Yes.”
“You going in there?” He pointed at the microscope lab with his chin,

and Olive nodded. “Here, let me get it.” He swiped his badge to unlock the
door and held it open for her.

“Thank you.” She settled her samples on a bench and smiled gratefully,
sliding her hands into her back pockets. “I was going to get a cart, but I

couldn’t find one.”