Page 312 - The Love Hypothesis

her Converse catching on the wet concrete and Malcolm’s car passing them

by a few seconds later.
“Hey,” Holden asked from the passenger window. “What did Adam’s
fortune cookie say?”

“Mmm.” Olive made a show to look at the strip. “Not much. Just
‘Holden Rodrigues, Ph.D., is a loser.’ ” Malcolm sped up just as Holden

flipped her off, making her burst into laughter.
“What does it really say?” Adam asked when they were finally alone.

Olive handed him the crumpled paper and remained silent as he angled
it to read it in the lamplight. She wasn’t surprised when she saw a muscle

jump in his jaw, or when he slid the fortune into the pocket of his jeans. She
knew what it said, after all.
You can fall in love: someone will catch you.

“Can we talk about Tom?” she asked, sidestepping a puddle. “We don’t
have to, but if we can . . .”

“We can. We should.” She saw his throat work. “Harvard’s going to fire
him, of course. Other disciplinary measures are still being decided—there

were meetings until very late last night.” He gave her a quick glance.
“That’s why I didn’t call you earlier. Harvard’s Title IX coordinator should

be in touch with you soon.”
Good. “What about your grant?”
His jaw clenched. “I’m not sure. I’ll figure something out—or not. I

don’t particularly care at the moment.”
It surprised her. And then it didn’t, not when she considered that the

professional implications of Tom’s betrayal couldn’t have cut as deeply as
the personal ones. “I’m sorry, Adam. I know he was your friend—”

“He wasn’t.” Adam abruptly stopped in the middle of the street. He
turned to her, his eyes a clear, deep brown. “I had no idea, Olive. I thought I

knew him, but . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I should never have trusted
him with you. I’m sorry.”
He said it—“with you”—like Olive was something special, uniquely

precious to him. His most beloved treasure. It made her want to shiver, and
laugh, and weep at the same time. It made her happy and confused.