The Love Hypothesis

“Yep.” She pushed the remaining piece toward him, silently daring him to try it.

He broke apart his chopsticks with a long-suffering expression and picked it up, chewing for a long time.

“It tastes like foot.”

“No way. Here.” She grabbed a bowl of edamame from the belt. “You can have this. It’s basically broccoli.”

He brought one to his mouth, managing to look like he didn’t hate it. “We don’t have to talk, by the way.”

Olive tilted her head.

“You said you didn’t want to talk to anyone back at the hotel. So we don’t have to, if you’d rather eat this”—he glanced at the plates she had accumulated with obvious distrust—“food in silence.”

You’re not just anyone, seemed like a dangerous thing to say, so she smiled. “I bet you’re great at silences.”

“Is that a dare?”

She shook her head. “I want to talk. Just, can we not talk about the conference? Or science? Or the fact that the world is full of assholes?” And that some of them are your close friends and collaborators?

His hand closed into a fist on the table, jaw clenched tight as he nodded.

“Awesome. We could chat about how nice this place is—”

“It’s appalling.”

“—or the taste of the sushi—”

“Foot.”

“—or the best movie in the Fast and Furious franchise—”

“Fast Five. Though I have a feeling you’re going to say—”

“Tokyo Drift.”

“Right.” He sighed, and they exchanged a small smile. And then, then the smile faded and they just stared at each other, something thick and sweet coloring the air between them, magnetic and just the right side of bearable. Olive had to rip her gaze from his, because—no. No.

She turned away, and her eyes fell on a couple at a table a few feet to their right. They were the mirror image of Adam and Olive, sitting on each side of their booth, all warm glances and tentative smiles. “Do you think they’re on a fake date?” she asked, leaning back against her seat.

Adam followed her gaze to the couple. “I thought those mostly involved coffee shops and sunscreen applications?”

“Nah. Only the best ones.”

He laughed silently. “Well.” He focused on the table, and on angling his chopsticks so that they were parallel to each other. “I can definitely recommend it.”

Olive dipped her chin to hide a smile and then leaned forward to steal one edamame.

* * *

—

IN THE ELEVATOR she held on to his biceps and took off her heels, failing disastrously at being graceful as he studied her and shook his head. “I thought you said they didn’t hurt?” He sounded curious. Amused? Fond?

“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—?”