Olive’s stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I think I forgot to eat today.”

His eyebrows arched. “I didn’t think you capable.”

“Hey!” She glared at him. “The sustained levels of despair I’ve been engaging in for the past week require a staggering number of calories, in case you— What are you doing?”

Adam was leaning over his suitcase, rummaging for something that he held out to Olive.

“What is it?”

“Calories. To fuel your despair habits.”

“Oh.” She accepted it and then studied the protein bar in her hands, trying not to burst out crying. It was just food. Probably a snack he’d brought for the plane ride and ended up not eating. He didn’t need to despair, after all.

He was Dr. Adam Carlsen. “Thanks. Are you . . .” The wrapping of the bar crinkled as she shifted it from one hand to another. “Are you still coming to my talk?”

“Of course. When is it exactly?”

“Today at four, room 278. Session three-b. The good news is that it partially overlaps with the keynote address, which means that hopefully only a handful of people will show up . . .”

His spine stiffened noticeably. Olive hesitated.

“Unless you were planning to go to the keynote address?”

Adam wet his lips. “I . . .”

Her eyes chose that precise moment to fall to the conference badge dangling from his neck.

Adam Carlsen, Ph.D.

Stanford University

Keynote Speaker

Her jaw dropped.

“Oh my God.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed, and . . . Oh God. At least he had the grace to look sheepish. “How did you not tell me that you are the keynote speaker?”

Adam scratched his jaw, oozing discomfort. “I didn’t think of it.” “Oh my God,” she repeated.

To be fair, it was on her. The name of the keynote speaker was likely printed in font size 300 in the program, and all the promotional material, not to mention the conference app and the emails. Olive must have had her head very much up her butt to fail to notice.

“Adam.” She made to rub her eyes with her fingers, and then thought better of it. Damn makeup. “I can’t be fake-dating SBD’s keynote speaker.”

“Well, there are technically three keynote speakers, and the other two are married women in their fifties who live in Europe and Japan, so—”

Olive crossed her arms on her chest and gave him a flat look until he quieted. She couldn’t help laughing. “How did this not come up?”

“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugged. “I doubt I was their first choice.”

“Right.” Sure. Because a person existed who’d refuse to be keynote speaker at SBD. She tilted her head. “Did you think I was an idiot, when I started complaining about my ten-minute talk that will be attended by fourteen and a half people?”

“Not at all. Your reaction was understandable.” He thought about it for a moment. “I do sometimes think you’re an idiot, mostly when I see you put ketchup and cream cheese on bagels.”

“It’s a great mix.”

He looked pained. “When are you presenting in your panel? Maybe I can still make it.”

“No. I’m exactly halfway through.” She waved a hand, hoping to seem unconcerned. “It’s fine, really.” And it was. “I’m going to have to record myself with my iPhone, anyway.” She rolled her eyes. “For Dr. Aslan. She couldn’t come to the conference, but she said she wants to listen to my first talk. I can send it to you, if you’re a fan of stammering and secondhand embarrassment.”

“I’d like that.”

Olive flushed and changed the topic. “Is that why you have a room for the entire length of the conference even though you’re not staying? Because you’re a big shot?”

He frowned. “I’m not.”

“Can I call you ‘big shot’ from now on?”

He sighed, walking to the bedside table and pocketing the USB she’d noticed earlier. “I have to take my slides downstairs, smart-ass.”

“Okay.” He could leave. It was fine. Totally fine. Olive didn’t let her smile falter. “I guess I’ll maybe see you after my talk, then?”

“Of course.”

“And after yours. Good luck. And congrats. It’s such a huge honor.”

Adam didn’t seem to be thinking about that, though. He lingered by the door, his hand on the knob as he looked back at Olive. Their eyes held for a few moments before he told her, “Don’t be nervous, okay?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’ll just do what Dr. Aslan always says.”

“And what’s that?”

“Carry myself with the confidence of a mediocre white man.”

He grinned, and—there they were. The heart-stopping dimples. “It will be fine, Olive.” His smile softened. “And if not, at least it will be over.”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was sitting on her bed staring at the Boston skyline and chewing on her lunch, that Olive realized that the protein bar Adam had given her was covered in chocolate. —

SHE CHECKED WHETHER she had the correct room for the third time—nothing like talking about pancreatic cancer to a crowd that expected a presentation on the Golgi apparatus to make an impression—and then felt a hand close around her shoulder. She spun around, noticed who it belonged to, and immediately grinned.

“Tom!”

He was wearing a charcoal suit. His blond hair was combed back, making him look older than he had in California, but also professional. He was a friendly face in a sea of unfamiliar ones, and his presence took the edge off her intense desire to puke in her own shoe.

“Hey, Olive.” He held the door open for her. “I thought I might see you here.”