“I am.”
She hadn’t forgotten his voice. Or his height. Or the way his stupid clothes fit him. She couldn’t have—she had two medial temporal lobes, fully functioning and tucked nicely inside her skull, which meant that she was perfectly able to encode and store memories. She hadn’t forgotten anything, and she wasn’t sure why right now it felt as if she had. “I thought . . . I didn’t—” Yes, Olive. Wonderful. Very eloquent. “I didn’t know that you were back.”
His face was a little closed off, but he nodded. “I flew in last night.”
“Oh.” She should have probably prepared something to say, but she hadn’t expected to see him until Wednesday. If she had, maybe she wouldn’t have been wearing her oldest leggings and most tattered T-shirt, and her hair wouldn’t have been a mess. Not that she was under any illusion that Adam would have noticed her if she’d been wearing a swimsuit or a gala dress. But still. “Do you want to sit?” She leaned forward to gather her phone and notebook, making room on the other side of the small table. It was only when he hesitated before taking a seat that it occurred to her that maybe he had no intention of staying, that now he might feel forced to do so. He folded himself into the chair gracefully, like a big cat.
Great job, Olive. Who doesn’t love a needy person who hounds them for attention?
“You don’t have to. I know you’re busy. MacArthur grants to win and grads to brutalize and broccoli to eat.” He’d probably rather be anywhere else. She bit her thumbnail, feeling guilty, starting to panic, and—
And then he smiled. And suddenly there were grooves around his mouth and dimples in his cheeks and his face was completely altered by them. The air at the table thinned. Olive couldn’t quite breathe.
“You know, there’s a middle ground between living off brownies and exclusively eating broccoli.”
She grinned, for no reason other than—Adam was here, with her. And he was smiling. “That’s a lie.”
He shook his head, mouth still curved. “How are you?”
Better now. “Good. How was Boston?”
“Good.”
“I’m glad you’re back. I’m pretty sure the biology dropout rates have seen a steep reduction. We can’t have that.”
He gave her a patient, put-upon look. “You look tired, smart-ass.”
“Oh. Yeah, I . . .” She rubbed her cheek with her hand, ordering herself not to feel self-conscious about her looks, just like she’d always made a point not to. It would be an equally stupid idea to wonder what the woman Holden mentioned the other day looked like. Probably stunning. Probably feminine, with curves; someone who actually needed to wear a bra, someone who was not half covered in freckles, who had mastered the art of applying liquid eyeliner without making a mess of herself.
“I’m fine. It’s been a week, though.” She massaged her temple.
He cocked his head. “What happened?”
“Nothing . . . My friends are stupid, and I hate them.” She felt instantly guilty and made a face. “Actually, I don’t hate them. I do hate that I love them, though.”
“Is this the sunscreen friend? Anh?”
“The one and only. And my roommate, too, who really should know better.”
“What did they do?”
“They . . .” Olive pressed into both eyes with her fingers. “It’s a long story. They found alternative accommodations for SBD. Which means that now I have to find a place on my own.”
“Why did they do that?”
“Because . . .” She briefly closed her eyes and sighed. “Because they assumed that I’d want to stay with you. Since you’re my . . . you know. ‘Boyfriend.’？”