The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

herring for breakfast on the reg. Maybe his mother had wanted
him to follow in her footsteps and become a diplomat, but his
shiny personality had emerged and she’d given up on that
dream. Olive found herself acutely eager to know more about
his upbringing, which was . . . weird. Very weird.
“Here you go.” Their drinks appeared on the counter. Olive
told herself that the way the blond barista was obviously
checking out Adam as he turned to retrieve a lid for his cup
was none of her business. She also reminded herself that as
curious as she was about his diplomat mother, how many
languages he spoke, and whether he liked tulips, it was
information that went well beyond their arrangement.
People had seen them together. They were going to go back
to their labs and tell improbable tales of Dr. Adam Carlsen and
the random, unremarkable student they’d spotted him with.
Time for Olive to go back to her science.
She cleared her throat. “Well. This was fun.”
He looked up from his cup, surprised. “Is fake-dating
Wednesday over?”
“Yep. Great job, team, now hit the showers. You’re free
until next week.” Olive stabbed her straw into her drink and
took a sip, feeling the sugar explode in her mouth. Whatever
she’d ordered, it was disgustingly good. She was probably
developing diabetes as she spoke. “I’ll see you—”
“Where were you born?” Adam asked before she could
leave.
Oh. They were doing this, then. He was probably just
trying to be polite, and Olive sighed inwardly, thinking
longingly of her lab bench. “Toronto.”
“Right. You’re Canadian,” he said, like he’d already
known.
“Yep.”