The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

watching the dark splotches on the gray cotton of his Henley
from the storm that had started just as they’d slipped inside the
restaurant. They would have to talk, later, have a serious
conversation about Tom and many other things. But for now it
was the way it had always been between Adam and her: like
slipping into a favorite dress, one she’d thought lost inside her
closet, and finding that it fit as comfortably as it used to.
“I want egg rolls.” She glanced at Adam. His hair was
starting to get long again, so she did what felt natural: reached
out and flattened his cowlick. “I’m going to take a wild guess
and assume that you hate egg rolls, just like everything else
that’s good in the world.”
He mouthed smart-ass right as the waiter brought their
waters and set the menus on the table. Three menus, to be
precise. Holden and Malcolm each took one, and Olive and
Adam exchanged a loaded, amused look and grabbed the
remaining one to share. It worked perfectly: he angled it so
that the veggie section was on his side and all manner of fried
entrées were on hers. It was serendipitous enough that she let
out a laugh.
Adam tapped his index finger on the drink section. “Look
at this abomination,” he murmured. His lips were close to her
ear—a chuff of hot air, intimate and pleasant in the blasting
AC.
She grinned. “No way.”
“Appalling.”
“Amazing, you mean.”
“I do not.”
“This is my new favorite restaurant.”
“You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“It will be spectacular.”