Page 224 - The Love Hypothesis

“That was ages ago.” Olive picked them up and let them dangle from

her fingers. When she straightened, Adam was again impossibly tall. “Now
I am very ready to chop off my feet.”
The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. “That seems

counterproductive.”
“Oh, you have no idea— Hey, what are you—?”

Her heart skipped what felt like a dozen beats when Adam swept her up
into a full bridal carry. She yelped, and he carried her to their room, all

because she had a blister on her pinkie toe. Without much of a choice, she
closed her arms around his neck and sank against him, trying to make sure

she’d survive if he decided to drop her. His hands were warm around her
back and knee, forearms tight and strong.
He smelled amazing. He felt even better.

“You know, the room’s only twenty meters away—”
“I have no idea what that means.”

“Adam.”
“We Americans think in feet, Canada.”

“I’m too heavy.”
“You really are.” The ease with which he shifted her in his arms to slide

the key card belied his words. “You should cut pumpkin-flavored drinks
from your diet.”
She pulled his hair and smiled into his shoulder. “Never.”

Their name tags were still on the TV table, exactly where they’d left
them, and there was a conference program half-open on Adam’s bed, not to

mention tote bags and a mountain of useless flyers. Olive noticed them
immediately, and it was like having a thousand little splinters pressed deep

into a fresh wound. It brought back every single word Tom had said to her,
all his lies and his truths and his mocking insults, and . . .

Adam must have known. As soon as he put her down, he gathered
everything that was conference related and stuck it on a chair facing the
windows, where it was hidden from their sight, and Olive . . . She could

have hugged him. She wasn’t going to—she already had, twice today—but
she really could have. Instead she resolutely pushed all those little splinters