The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Yeah.” Anh’s eyes darted to Malcolm and back to Olive.
“That’s, um, great.”
“It’s a disaster of epic proportions.”
Anh and Malcolm exchanged a worried glance. They knew
very well how Olive felt about public speaking.
“What is Dr. Aslan saying about it?”
“The usual.” She rubbed her eyes. “That it will be fine.
That we’ll work on it together.”
“I think she’s right,” Anh said. “I’ll help you practice.
We’ll make sure you know it by heart. And it will be fine.”
“Yeah.” Or it won’t. “Also, the conference is in less than
two weeks. We should book the hotel—or are we doing
Airbnb?”
Something odd happened the moment she asked the
question. Not with Anh—she was still peacefully sipping on
her coffee—but Malcolm’s cup froze halfway to his mouth,
and he bit his lip while studying the sleeve of his sweater.
“About that . . . ,” he began.
Olive frowned. “What?”
“Well.” Malcolm shuffled his feet a little, and maybe it was
accidental, the way he seemed to be drifting away from Olive
—but she didn’t think so. “We already have.”
“You already booked something?”
Anh nodded cheerfully. “Yes.” She didn’t appear to notice
that Malcolm was about to have a stroke. “The conference
hotel.”
“Oh. Okay. Let me know what I owe you then, since—”
“The thing is . . .” Malcolm seemed to move even farther
away.
“What thing?”