The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

like having a thousand little splinters pressed deep into a fresh
wound. It brought back every single word Tom had said to her,
all his lies and his truths and his mocking insults, and . . .
Adam must have known. As soon as he put her down, he
gathered everything that was conference related and stuck it on
a chair facing the windows, where it was hidden from their
sight, and Olive . . . She could have hugged him. She wasn’t
going to—she already had, twice today—but she really could
have. Instead she resolutely pushed all those little splinters out
of her mind, plopped herself down on her bed belly up, and
stared at the ceiling.
She’d thought it would be awkward, being with him in
such a small space for a whole night. And it was a little bit, or
at least it had been when she’d first arrived earlier today, but
now she felt calm and safe. Like her world, constantly hectic
and messy and demanding, was slowing down. Easing up, just
a bit.
The bedcover rustled under her head when she turned to
look at Adam. He seemed relaxed, too, as he draped his jacket
against the back of a chair, then took off his watch and set it
neatly on the desk. The casual domesticity of it—the thought
that his day and hers would end in the same place, at the same
time—soothed her like a slow caress down her spine.
“Thank you. For buying me food.”
He glanced at her, crinkling his nose. “I don’t know that
there was any food involved.”
She smiled, rolling to her side. “You’re not going out
again?”
“Out?”
“Yeah. To meet other very important science people? Eat
another seven pounds of edamame?”