Page 217 - The Love Hypothesis

His palm slid to her nape, almost as if to press her into him, and Olive

just stayed there for long minutes, crying warm tears into the flesh of his
throat, feeling how grounding, how warm, how solid he was—under her
fingers and in her life.

You just had to go and make me fall for you, she thought, blinking
against his skin. You absolute ass.

He didn’t let her go. Not until she pulled back and wiped her cheeks
again, feeling like maybe this time around she’d be able to hold it together.

She sniffled, and he leaned over to grab a box of tissues from the TV table.
“I really am fine.”

He sighed.
“Okay, maybe . . . maybe I’m not fine right now, but I will be.” She
accepted the tissue that he plucked for her and blew her nose. “I just need a

while to . . .”
He studied her and nodded, his eyes unreadable again.

“Thank you. For what you said. For letting me snot all over your hotel
room.”

He smiled. “Anytime.”
“And your jacket, too. Are you . . . Are you going to the department

social?” she asked, dreading the moment she would have to get out of this
chair. Of this room. Be honest, that sensible, ever-knowing voice inside her
whispered. It’s his presence that you don’t want to be out of.

“Are you?”
She shrugged. “I said I would. But I don’t feel like talking to anyone

right now.” She dried her cheeks once more, but miraculously the flow had
stopped. Adam Carlsen, responsible for 90 percent of the department’s

tears, had actually managed to make someone stop crying. Who would’ve
thought? “Though I feel like the free alcohol could really help.”

He stared at her pensively for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek.
Then he nodded, seeming to reach some sort of decision, and stood with his
hand held out to her. “Come on.”

“Oh.” She had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I think I’m going to
wait a bit before I—”