The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“Probably spider meat.”
She popped it into her mouth. “Delicious.”
“Really.” He looked skeptical.
It wasn’t, in all truth. But it was okay. And this, well, this
was so much fun. Exactly what she needed to empty her mind
of . . . everything. Everything but here and now. With Adam.
“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—”