The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

seventeen databases and built machine-learning algorithms to
predict her culinary preferences—”
Olive burst into laughter. “He did not.” She took a sip of
water, still smiling. “We only just started hanging out. At the
beginning of the fall semester.”
“Yes, but you knew each other from earlier.” Holden was
frowning. “You two met the year before you started your
Ph.D. here, when you came for your interview, and he’s been
pining after you ever since.”
Olive shook her head and laughed, turning to Adam to
share her amusement. Except that Adam was staring at her
already, and he did not look amused. He looked . . . something
else. Worried maybe, or apologetic, or resigned. Panicky? And
just like that, the restaurant was silent. The pitter-patter of rain
on the windows, people’s chatter, the clinking of silverware—
it all receded; the floor tilted, shook a little, and the AC was
just this side of too cold. At some point, Adam’s fingers had
let go of her wrist.
Olive thought back to the bathroom incident. To burning
eyes and wet cheeks, the smell of reagent and clean, male skin.
The blur of a large, dark figure standing in front of her with
his deep, reassuring, amused voice. The panic of being twentythree
and alone and having no idea what she should be doing,
where she should be going, what the right choice was.
Is mine a good enough reason to go to grad school?
It’s the best one.
All of a sudden, things had seemed simple enough.
It had been Adam, after all. Olive had been right.
What she hadn’t been right about was whether he
remembered her.