The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

“I think that somewhere along the way I forgot that I was
something. I forgot myself.”
She was the one who stepped closer. The one who put her
hand on the hem of his shirt, who tugged gently and held on to
it, who started touching him and crying and smiling at the
same time. “There are two things I want to tell you, Adam.”
“What can I—”
“Please. Just let me tell you.”
He wasn’t very good at it. At standing there and doing
nothing while her eyes welled fuller and fuller. She could tell
that he felt useless, his hands dangling in fists at his sides, and
she . . . she loved him even more for it. For looking at her like
she was the beginning and end of his every thought.
“The first thing is that I lied to you. And my lie was not
just by omission.”
“Olive—”
“It was a real lie. A bad one. A stupid one. I let you—no, I
made you think that I had feelings for someone else, when in
truth . . . I didn’t. I never did.”
His hand came up to cup the side of her face. “What do you
—”
“But that’s not very important.”
“Olive.” He pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her
forehead. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is that you’re crying
about, I will fix it. I will make it right. I—”
“Adam,” she interrupted him with a wet smile. “It’s not
important, because the second thing, that’s what really
matters.”
They were so close, now. She could smell his scent and his
warmth, and his hands were cradling her face, thumbs swiping
back and forth to dry her cheeks.