Her heart skipped a beat.
“He lost his phone charger and can’t text you, but he and Holden are on their way back to SFO.”
“Ah.” She nodded, feeling a small rush of relief. That explained Adam’s silence. He hadn’t been in touch since last night. She’d worried that he’d been arrested and was pondering emptying her savings account to help cover his bail. All twelve dollars and sixteen cents. “Where’s their layover?”
“No layover.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Direct flight. They’ll be at SFO ten minutes after us, even though they’re only now leaving Boston. Eat the rich.”
“Did Holden say anything about . . .”
Malcolm shook his head. “Their plane is about to leave, but we can wait for them at SFO. I’m sure Adam will have some updates for you.”
“You just want to make out with Holden, don’t you?”
Malcolm smiled and leaned his head against her shoulder. “My kalamata knows me well.”
It seemed impossible that she’d been gone for less than a week. That all the chaos had unfolded in the span of a few days. Olive felt dazed, shell-shocked, as though her brain was winded from running a marathon. She was tired and wanted to sleep. She was hungry and wanted to eat. She was angry and wanted to see Tom get what he deserved. She was anxious, as twitchy as a damaged nerve, and she wanted a hug. Preferably from Adam.
In San Francisco, she folded her now-useless coat inside her suitcase and then sat on it. She checked her phone for new messages while Malcolm went to buy a bottle of Diet Coke. There were several from Anh, just checking in from Boston, and one from her landlord about the elevator being out of commission. She rolled her eyes, switched to her academic email, and found several unread messages flagged as important.
She tapped on the red exclamation point and opened one.
Today, 5:15 p.m.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Pancreatic Cancer Project
Aysegul,
Thank you for reaching out to me. I had the privilege of seeing Olive Smith’s talk at SBD—we were on the same panel—and I was very impressed with her work on early detection tools for pancreatic cancer. I’d love to have her in my lab next year! Maybe the three of us can chat more on the phone soon?
Best,
Anna
Olive gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand, and immediately opened another email.
Today, 3:19 p.m.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: Pancreatic Cancer Project
Dr. Aslan, Ms. Smith,
Your work on pancreatic cancer is fascinating, and I would welcome the opportunity for a collaboration. We should set up a Zoom meeting.
-R
There were two more emails. Four total from cancer researchers, all following up on Dr. Aslan’s introductory message and saying they’d love having Olive in their labs. She felt a surge of happiness so violent, it almost made her dizzy.
“Ol, look who I ran into.”
Olive shot up to her feet. Malcolm was there, holding Holden’s hand, and barely a step behind them—
Adam. Looking tired, and handsome, and as large in real life as he’d been in her mind for the past twenty-four hours. Looking straight at her. Olive recalled the words he’d said last night in the restaurant and felt her cheeks heat, her chest constrict, her heart beat out of her skin.