Page 260 - The Love Hypothesis

“How old was that?”

“Mmm. Nine?”
It made her smile, the idea of child Adam. “Did you speak Dutch with
your parents?”

“No.” He paused. “There were au pairs, mostly. Lots of them.”
Olive pushed herself up to look at him, resting her chin on her hands and

her hands on his chest. She watched him watch her, enjoying the play of the
streetlights on his strong face. He was always handsome, but now, in the

witching hours, he took her breath away.
“Were your parents busy?”

He sighed. “They were very committed to their jobs. Not very good at
making time for anything else.”
She hummed softly, conjuring a mental image: five-year-old Adam

showing a stick-figure drawing to tall, distracted parents in dark suits
surrounded by secret agents speaking into their headsets. She knew nothing

about diplomats. “Were you a happy child?”
“It’s . . . complicated. It was a bit of a textbook upbringing. Only child

of financially rich but emotionally poor parents. I could do whatever I
wanted but had no one to do it with.” It sounded sad. Olive and her mom

had always had very little, but she’d never felt alone. Until the cancer.
“Except Holden?”
He smiled. “Except Holden, but that was later. I think I was already set

in my ways by then. I’d learned to entertain myself with . . . things.
Hobbies. Activities. School. And when I was supposed to be with people, I

was . . . antagonistic and unapproachable.” She rolled her eyes and bit softly
into his skin, making him chuckle. “I’ve become like my parents,” he

mused. “Exclusively committed to my job.”
“That’s not true at all. You’re very good at making time for others. For

me.” She smiled, but he looked away as if embarrassed, and she decided to
change the topic. “The only thing I can say in Dutch is ‘ik hou van jou.’ ”
Her pronunciation must have been poor, because for a long moment Adam

couldn’t parse it. Then he did, and his eyes widened.