Page 276 - The Love Hypothesis

“Whatever you want.” His voice was hoarse, and he seemed . . . absent.

Retreated to some place inside himself. “Whatever you need.”
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. Not just
about Anh. When we met, I felt so alone, and . . .” For a moment she

couldn’t continue. “Thank you for all the pumpkin spice, and for that
Western blot, and for hiding your taxidermied squirrels when I visited,

and . . .”
She couldn’t bring herself to go on anymore, not without choking on her

words. The stinging in her eyes was burning now, threatening to spill over,
so she nodded once, decisively, a period to this dangling sentence with no

end in sight.
And that would have been it. It would have surely been the end. They
would have left it at that, if Olive hadn’t passed him on her way to the door.

If he hadn’t reached out and stopped her with a hand on her wrist. If he
hadn’t immediately pulled that hand back and stared at it with an appalled

expression, as if shocked that he’d dared to touch her without asking for
permission first.

If he hadn’t said, “Olive. If you ever need anything, anything at all.
Anything. Whenever. You can come to me.” His jaw worked, like there

were other words, words he was keeping inside. “I want you to come to
me.”
She almost didn’t register wiping wetness off her cheek with the back of

her hand, or moving closer to him. It was his scent that jolted her alert—
soap and something dark, subtle but oh so familiar. Her brain had him

mapped out, stored away across all senses. Eyes to his almost smile, hands
to his skin, the smell of him in her nostrils. She didn’t even need to think

about what to do, just push up on her toes, press her fingers against his
biceps, and kiss him gently on the cheek. His skin was soft and warm and a

little prickly; unexpected, but not unwelcome.
An apt goodbye, she thought. Appropriate. Acceptable.
And so was his hand coming up to her lower back, pulling her into his

body and stopping her from sliding back on her heels, or the way his head
turned, until her lips were not brushing the skin of his cheek anymore. Her