The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

on top of me, probably from the effort of whisking me off
from under seven hundred pounds of mechanical engineering
tools, and—
I know that mouth.
Levi.
Levi.
I haven’t seen Levi Ward in six years. Six blessed, blissful
years. And now here he is, pushing me into a wall in the
middle of NASA’s Space Center, and he looks . . . he looks . . .
“Levi!” someone yells. The clanking goes silent. What was
meant to fall has settled on the floor. “Are you okay?”
Levi doesn’t move, nor does he look away. His mouth
works, and so does his throat. His lips part to say something,
but no sound comes out. Instead a hand, at once rushed and
gentle, reaches up to cup my face. It’s so large, I feel perfectly
cradled. Engulfed in green, cozy warmth. I whimper when it
leaves my skin, a plaintive, involuntary sound from deep in
my throat, but I stop when I realize that it’s only shifting to the
back of my skull. To the hollow of my collarbone. To my
brow, pushing back my hair.
It’s a cautious touch. Pressing but delicate. Lingering but
urgent. As though he is studying me. Trying to make sure that
I’m all in one piece. Memorizing me.
I lift my eyes, and for the first time I notice the deep,
unmasked concern in Levi’s eyes.
His lips move, and I think that, maybe—is he mouthing my
name? Once, and then again? Like it’s some kind of prayer?
“Levi? Levi, is she—”
My eyelids fall closed, and everything goes dark.