“No. Why would I hate you?”
“Because he’s been horrible to you, made you throw out a ton of data. It’s just—with me he’s not—”
“I know. Well,” he amended, waving his hand, “I don’t know know. But I can believe he’s different with you than when he was in my damn graduate advisory committee.”
“You hate him.”
“Yeah— I hate him. Or . . . I dislike him. But you don’t have to dislike him because I do. Though I do reserve the right to comment on your abysmal taste in men. Every other day or so. But, Ol, I saw you guys at the picnic. He definitely wasn’t interacting with you like he does with me. Plus, you know,”
he added begrudgingly, “he’s not not hot. I can see why you’d hit that.”
“This is not what you said when I first told you about the fake dating.”
“No, but I’m trying to be supportive here. You weren’t in love with him at the time.”
She groaned. “Can we please not use that word? Ever again? It seems a little premature.”
“Sure.” Malcolm brushed nonexistent dust off his button-down. “Way to bring a rom-com to life, by the way. So, how are you going to break the news?”
She massaged her temple. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you have a thing for him, and you two are friendly. I’m assuming you’re planning to inform him of your . . . feelings? Can I use the word
‘feelings’?”
“No.”
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re going to tell him, right?”
“Of course not.” She snorted out a laugh. “You can’t tell the person you’re fake-dating that you”—her brain scanned itself for the correct word, didn’t find it, and then stumbled on—“like them. It’s just not done. Adam will think I orchestrated this. That I was after him all along.”
“That’s ridiculous. You didn’t even know him at the time.”
“Maybe I did, though. Do you remember the guy I told you about, who helped me decide about grad school? The one I met in the bathroom over my interview weekend?” Malcolm nodded.
“He might have been Adam. I think.”
“You think? You mean you didn’t ask him?”
“Of course not.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Because maybe it wasn’t him. And if he was, he clearly doesn’t remember, or he’d have mentioned it weeks ago.”
He hadn’t been the one wearing expired contacts, after all.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Listen, Olive,” he said earnestly, “I need you to consider something: What if Adam likes you, too? What if he wants something more?”
She laughed. “There is no way.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because he’s him. He’s Adam Carlsen, and I . . .” She trailed off. No need to continue. And I’m me. I am nothing special.
Malcolm was quiet for a long moment. “You have no idea, do you?” His tone was sad. “You’re great. You’re beautiful, and loving. You’re independent, and a genius scientist, and selfless, and loyal—hell, Ol, look at this ridiculous mess you created just so your friend could date the guy she likes without feeling guilty. There’s no way Carlsen hasn’t noticed.”
“No.” She was resolute. “Don’t get me wrong, I do think he likes me, but he thinks of me as a friend. And if I tell him and he doesn’t want to . . .”
“To what? Doesn’t want to fake-date you anymore? It’s not like you have much to lose.”
Maybe not. Maybe all the talking, and those looks Adam gave her, and him shaking his head when she ordered extra whipped cream; the way he let himself be teased out of his moods; the texts; how he seemed to be so at ease with her, so noticeably different from the Adam Carlsen she used to be half-scared of—maybe all of that was not much. But she and Adam were friends now, and they could remain friends even past September twentyninth. Olive’s heart sank at the thought of giving up the possibility of it. “I do, though.”
Malcolm sighed, once again enveloping her hand with his. “You have it bad, then.”
She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly to push back the tears.
“Maybe I do. I don’t know—I’ve never had it before. I’ve never wanted to have it.”
He smiled reassuringly, even though Olive felt anything but reassured.
“Listen, I know it’s scary. But this is not necessarily a bad thing.”
One single tear was making its way down Olive’s cheek. She hastened to clean it with her sleeve. “It’s the worst.”
