“You got one already?”

“No.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory for everyone.”

The set of Adam’s shoulders clearly broadcasted that he was, in fact, not everyone. “I never get sick.”

“I doubt it.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Hey, the flu is more serious than you might think.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is, especially for people like you.”

“Like me?”

“You know . . . people of a certain age.”

His mouth twitched as he turned into the campus parking lot. “You smartass.”

“Come on.” She leaned forward, poking his biceps with her index finger.

They had touched so much at this point. In public, and alone, and a mixture of the two. It didn’t feel weird. It felt good and natural, like when Olive was with Anh, or Malcolm. “Let’s go together.”

He didn’t budge, parallel parking in a spot that would have taken Olive about two hours of maneuvering to fit into. “I don’t have time.”

“You just agreed to go get coffee. You must have some time.”

He finished parking in less than a minute and pressed his lips together.

Not answering her.

“Why don’t you want to get the shot?” She studied him suspiciously.

“Are you some kind of anti-vaxxer?” Oh,

if looks could kill.

“Okay.” She furrowed her brow. “Then why?”

“It’s not worth the hassle.” Was he fidgeting a little? Was he biting the inside of his lip?

“It literally takes ten minutes.” She reached for him, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. “You get there, they scan your university badge. They give you the shot.” She felt his muscles tense under her fingertips as she said the last word. “Easy peasy, and the best part is, you don’t get the flu for a whole year.

Totally— Oh.” Olive covered her mouth with her hand.

“What?”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Are you— Oh, Adam.”

“What?”

“Are you afraid of needles?”

He went still. Completely immobile. He wasn’t breathing anymore. “I’m not afraid of needles.”

“It’s okay,” she said, making her tone as reassuring as possible.

“I know, since I’m not—”

“This is a safe space for you and your fear of needles.”

“There is no fear of—”

“I get it, needles are scary.”

“It’s not—”

“You are allowed to be scared.”

“I am not,” he told her, a little too forcefully, and then turned away, clearing his throat and scratching the side of his neck.

Olive pressed her lips together, and then said, “Well, I used to be scared.”

He looked at her, curious, so she continued.

“As a child. My . . .” She had to clear her throat. “My mother would have to hold me in a bear hug every time I needed a shot, or I’d thrash around too much. And she had to bribe me with ice cream, but the problem was that I wanted it immediately after my shot.” She laughed. “So she’d buy an ice cream sandwich before the doctor’s appointment, and by the time I was ready to eat, it’d be all melted in her purse and make a huge mess and . . .”

Dammit. She was weepy, again. In front of Adam, again.

“She sounds lovely,” Adam said.

“She was.”

“And to be clear, I’m not afraid of needles,” he repeated. This time, his tone was warm and kind. “They just feel . . . disgusting.”

She sniffled and looked up at him. The temptation to hug him was almost irresistible. But she’d already done that today, so she made do with patting him on the arm. “Aww.”

He pinned her with a withering look. “Don’t aww me.”

Adorable. He was adorable. “No, really, they are gross. Stuff pokes at you, and then you bleed. The feeling of it—yikes.”