The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

It was their turn, so she took a step forward and smiled at
the cashier.
“Good morning. I’ll have a pumpkin spice latte. And that
cream cheese danish over there. Yep, that one, thank you.
And”—she pointed at Adam with her thumb—“he’ll have
chamomile tea. No sugar,” she added cheerfully. She
immediately took a few steps to the side, hoping to avoid
damage in case Adam decided to throw a petri dish at her. She
was surprised when he calmly handed his credit card to the
boy behind the counter. Really, he wasn’t as bad as they made
him out to be.
“I hate tea,” he said. “And chamomile.”
Olive beamed up at him. “That is unfortunate.”
“You smart-ass.”
He stared straight ahead, but she was almost certain that he
was about to crack a smile. There was a lot to be said about
him but not that he didn’t have a sense of humor.
“So . . . not the haircut?”
“Mm? Ah, no. It was a weird length. Getting in my way
while I was running.”
Oh. So he was a runner. Like Olive. “Okay. Great. Because
it doesn’t look bad.”
It looks good. As in, really good. You were probably one of
the most handsome men I’d ever talked to last week, but now
you look even better. Not that I care about these things. I don’t
care at all. I rarely notice guys, and I’m not sure why I’m
noticing you, or your hair, or your clothes, or how tall and
broad you are. I really don’t get it. I never care. Usually. Ugh.
“I . . .” He seemed flustered for a second, his lips moving
without making a sound as he looked for an appropriate
response. Then, out of the blue, he said, “I talked with the