Uh? “I see.” She cleared her throat. “So . . . let me recap. It sounds like Stanford froze your funds based on rumors, which I agree is a crappy move.

But it also sounds like for now you can afford to do what you were planning, so . . . it’s not the end of the world?”

Adam gave her an affronted glare, suddenly looking even more cross.

Oh, boy. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand the principle of the matter, and I’d be mad, too. But you have, how many other grants? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.”

He probably had fifteen. He also had tenure, and dozens of publications, and there were all those honors listed on his website. Not to mention that she’d read on his CV that he had one patent. Olive, on the other hand, had cheap knockoff reagents and old pipettes that regularly got stolen. She tried not to dwell on how much further ahead than her he was in his career, but it was unforgettable, how good he was at what he did. How annoyingly good.

“My point is, this is not an insurmountable problem. And we’re actively working on it. We’re in this together, showing people that you’re going to stay here forever because of your amazing girlfriend.”

Olive pointed to herself with a flourish, and his glare followed her hand.

Clearly he was not a fan of rationalizing and working through his emotions.

“Or, you could stay mad, and we could go to your lab and throw test tubes full of toxic reagents at each other until the pain of third-degree burns overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”

He looked away and rolled his eyes, but she could see it in the curve of his cheeks that he was amused. Likely against his will. “You are such a smartass.”

“Maybe, but I’m not the one who grunted when I asked how your week was.”

“I did not grunt. And you ordered me chamomile tea.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

They were quiet for a few moments as she chewed through the first bite of her Danish. Once she’d swallowed she said, “I’m sorry about your funds.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry about the mood.”

Oh. “It’s okay. You’re famous for that.”

“I am?”

“Yep. It’s kind of your thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe I wanted to spare you.”

Olive smiled, because it was actually a nice thing to say. And he was not a nice person, but he was very kind to her most of the time—if not always.

He was almost smiling back, staring down at her in a way that she couldn’t quite interpret but that made her think weird thoughts, until the barista deposited their drinks on the counter. He suddenly looked like he was about to retch.

“Adam? Are you okay?”

He stared at her cup and took a step back. “The smell of that thing.”

Olive inhaled deeply. Heaven. “You hate pumpkin spice latte?”

He wrinkled his nose, moving even farther away. “Gross.”

“How can you hate it? It’s the best thing your country has produced in the past century.”

“Please, stand back. The stench.”

“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”

He eyed her cup like it contained radioactive waste. “Maybe we should.”

He held the door open for her as they exited the coffee shop, taking care not to come too close to her drink. Outside it was starting to drizzle. Students were hastily packing up their laptops and notebooks from the patio tables to head to class or move to the library. Olive had been in love with the rain since as far back as she could remember. She inhaled deeply and filled her lungs with petrichor, stopping with Adam under the canopy. He took a sip of his chamomile tea, and it made her smile.

“Hey,” she said, “I have an idea. Are you going to the fall biosciences picnic?”

He nodded. “I have to. I’m on the biology department’s social-andnetworking committee.”

She laughed out loud. “No way.”

“Yep.”

“Did you actually sign up for it?”

“It’s service. I was forced to rotate into the position.”

“Ah. That sounds . . . fun.” She winced sympathetically, almost laughing again at his appalled expression. “Well, I’m going, too. Dr. Aslan makes us all go, says it promotes bonding among lab mates. Do you make your grads go?”

“No. I have other, more productive ways of making my grads miserable.”

She chuckled. He was funny, in that weird, dark way of his. “I bet you do.

Well, here’s my idea: we should hang when we’re there. In front of the department chair—since he’s ‘monitoring.’ I’ll bat my eyelashes at you; he’ll see that we’re basically one step away from marriage. Then he’ll make a quick phone call and a truck will drive up and unload your research funds in cash right there in front of—”

“Hey, man!”

A blond man approached Adam. Olive fell silent as Adam turned to smile at him and exchanged a handshake—a close bros handshake. She blinked, wondering if she was seeing things, and took a sip of her latte.

“I thought you’d sleep in,” Adam was saying.

“The time difference screwed me up. I figured I might as well come to campus and get to work. Something to eat, too. You have no food, man.”

“There are apples in the kitchen.”

“Right. No food.”

Olive took a step back, ready to excuse herself, when the blond man turned his attention to her. He looked eerily familiar, even though she was certain she had never met him before.