The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

Possibilities. That’s what Adam’s presence felt like. Of
what, she was not certain.
“You’re . . .” Her mouth was dry. An event of great
scientific interest, considering that she’d taken a sip from her
water bottle maybe ten seconds ago. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
She hadn’t forgotten his voice. Or his height. Or the way
his stupid clothes fit him. She couldn’t have—she had two
medial temporal lobes, fully functioning and tucked nicely
inside her skull, which meant that she was perfectly able to
encode and store memories. She hadn’t forgotten anything,
and she wasn’t sure why right now it felt as if she had. “I
thought . . . I didn’t—” Yes, Olive. Wonderful. Very eloquent.
“I didn’t know that you were back.”
His face was a little closed off, but he nodded. “I flew in
last night.”
“Oh.” She should have probably prepared something to
say, but she hadn’t expected to see him until Wednesday. If she
had, maybe she wouldn’t have been wearing her oldest
leggings and most tattered T-shirt, and her hair wouldn’t have
been a mess. Not that she was under any illusion that Adam
would have noticed her if she’d been wearing a swimsuit or a
gala dress. But still. “Do you want to sit?” She leaned forward
to gather her phone and notebook, making room on the other
side of the small table. It was only when he hesitated before
taking a seat that it occurred to her that maybe he had no
intention of staying, that now he might feel forced to do so. He
folded himself into the chair gracefully, like a big cat.
Great job, Olive. Who doesn’t love a needy person who
hounds them for attention?
“You don’t have to. I know you’re busy. MacArthur grants
to win and grads to brutalize and broccoli to eat.” He’d