Page 317 - The Love Hypothesis

She took a deep, shuddering breath. There was a tear, one single tear that

she could feel sliding down her cheek. Adam saw it and mouthed her name.
“I think that somewhere along the way I forgot that I was something. I
forgot myself.”

She was the one who stepped closer. The one who put her hand on the
hem of his shirt, who tugged gently and held on to it, who started touching

him and crying and smiling at the same time. “There are two things I want
to tell you, Adam.”

“What can I—”
“Please. Just let me tell you.”

He wasn’t very good at it. At standing there and doing nothing while her
eyes welled fuller and fuller. She could tell that he felt useless, his hands
dangling in fists at his sides, and she . . . she loved him even more for it. For

looking at her like she was the beginning and end of his every thought.
“The first thing is that I lied to you. And my lie was not just by

omission.”
“Olive—”

“It was a real lie. A bad one. A stupid one. I let you—no, I made you
think that I had feelings for someone else, when in truth . . . I didn’t. I never

did.”
His hand came up to cup the side of her face. “What do you—”
“But that’s not very important.”

“Olive.” He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her forehead. “It
doesn’t matter. Whatever it is that you’re crying about, I will fix it. I will

make it right. I—”
“Adam,” she interrupted him with a wet smile. “It’s not important,

because the second thing, that’s what really matters.”
They were so close, now. She could smell his scent and his warmth, and

his hands were cradling her face, thumbs swiping back and forth to dry her
cheeks.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “What is the second thing?”

She was still crying, but she’d never been happier. So she said it,
probably in the worst accent he’d ever heard.