Page 191 - The Love Hypothesis

Possibilities. That’s what Adam’s presence felt like. Of what, she was

not certain.
“You’re . . .” Her mouth was dry. An event of great scientific interest,
considering that she’d taken a sip from her water bottle maybe ten seconds

ago. “You’re back.”
“I am.”

She hadn’t forgotten his voice. Or his height. Or the way his stupid
clothes fit him. She couldn’t have—she had two medial temporal lobes,

fully functioning and tucked nicely inside her skull, which meant that she
was perfectly able to encode and store memories. She hadn’t forgotten

anything, and she wasn’t sure why right now it felt as if she had. “I
thought . . . I didn’t—” Yes, Olive. Wonderful. Very eloquent. “I didn’t know
that you were back.”

His face was a little closed off, but he nodded. “I flew in last night.”
“Oh.” She should have probably prepared something to say, but she

hadn’t expected to see him until Wednesday. If she had, maybe she
wouldn’t have been wearing her oldest leggings and most tattered T-shirt,

and her hair wouldn’t have been a mess. Not that she was under any illusion
that Adam would have noticed her if she’d been wearing a swimsuit or a

gala dress. But still. “Do you want to sit?” She leaned forward to gather her
phone and notebook, making room on the other side of the small table. It
was only when he hesitated before taking a seat that it occurred to her that

maybe he had no intention of staying, that now he might feel forced to do
so. He folded himself into the chair gracefully, like a big cat.

Great job, Olive. Who doesn’t love a needy person who hounds them for
attention?

“You don’t have to. I know you’re busy. MacArthur grants to win and
grads to brutalize and broccoli to eat.” He’d probably rather be anywhere

else. She bit her thumbnail, feeling guilty, starting to panic, and—
And then he smiled. And suddenly there were grooves around his mouth
and dimples in his cheeks and his face was completely altered by them. The

air at the table thinned. Olive couldn’t quite breathe.