He swallowed. She could see his jaw work.

“Olive.” He took a deep breath. “You should know that—”

“Oh my God!”

They both startled, Olive considerably more so than Adam, and turned toward the entrance. Jeremy stood there, one hand dramatically clutching his sternum. “You guys scared the shit out of me. What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

What are you doing here? Olive thought ungraciously. “Just chatting,”

she said. Though it didn’t seem like a good descriptor of what was going on.

And yet, she couldn’t put her finger on why.

“You scared me,” Jeremy repeated once more. “Are you working on your report, Ol?”

“Yeah.” She stole a quick glance at Adam, who was motionless and expressionless next to her. “Just taking a quick break. I was about to go back, actually.”

“Oh, cool. Me too.” Jeremy smiled, pointing in the direction of his lab. “I need to go isolate a bunch of virgin fruit flies. Before they’re not virgins anymore, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Olive had to force out a small, unconvincing laugh. She usually enjoyed his sense of humor.

Usually. Now she just wished . . . She wasn’t sure what she wished. “You coming with, Ol?”

No, I’m fine right here, actually. “Sure.” Reluctantly, she stood. Adam did the same, gathering their wrappers and his empty bottle and sorting them in the recycling bins.

“Have a good night, Dr. Carlsen,” Jeremy said from the entrance. Adam just nodded at him, a touch curtly. The set of his eyes was yet again impossible to decipher.

I guess that’s it, then, she thought. Where the weight in her chest had come from, she had no clue. She was probably just tired. Had eaten too much, or not enough.

“See you, Adam. Right?” she murmured before he could head for the entrance and leave the room. Her voice was pitched low enough that Jeremy couldn’t possibly have heard her. Maybe Adam hadn’t, either. Except that he paused for a moment. And then, when he walked past her, she had the impression of knuckles brushing against the back of her hand.

“Good night, Olive.”

Chapter Nine

HYPOTHESIS: The more I mention an attachment in an email, the less likely I will be to actually include said attachment.

SATURDAY, 6:34 p.m.

FROM: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

TO: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study

Hi Tom,

Here is the report you asked for, with a detailed description of what I have done so far, as well as my thoughts on future directions and the resources I will need to expand. I’m excited to hear your thoughts on my work!

Sincerely, Olive

SATURDAY, 6:35 p.m.

FROM: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

TO: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study

Hi Tom,

Oops, forgot the attachment.

Sincerely, Olive

Today, 3:20 p.m.

FROM: Tom-Benton@harvard.edu

TO: Olive-Smith@stanford.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Report on Pancreatic Cancer Study

Olive,

Done reading the report. Do you think you could come over to Adam’s to chat about it? Maybe tomorrow morning (Tue) at nine?

Adam and I will be leaving for Boston on Wed afternoon.

TB

Olive’s heart beat faster—whether at the idea of being in Adam’s home or at the thought of getting her answer from Tom, she wasn’t sure. She immediately texted Adam.

Olive: Tom just invited me to your place to talk about the report I sent him. Would it be okay if I came over?

Adam: Of course. When?

Olive: Tomorrow at 9 a.m. Will you be home?

Adam: Probably. There are no bike lanes to my house. Do you need a ride? I can pick you up.

She thought about it for a few moments and decided that she liked the idea a little too much.

Olive: My roommate can drive me, but thanks for offering. —

MALCOLM DROPPED HER off in front of a beautiful Spanish colonial house with stucco walls and arched windows and refused to back out of the driveway until Olive agreed to slide a can of pepper spray in her backpack. She walked over the brick-tile path and up to the entrance, marveling at the green of the yard and at the cozy atmosphere of the porch. She was about to ring the doorbell when she heard her name.

Adam was behind her, bathed in sweat and clearly just back from his morning run. He was wearing sunglasses, shorts, and a Princeton Undergrad Mathletes T-shirt that stuck to his chest. Out of the ensemble, the only