It took Adam two whole steps to realize that Olive had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He whirled around to look at her. “What?” “There.”

She pointed to the red-and-white sign across the road.

Adam’s gaze followed, and for a long moment he simply stared, blinking several times. And then: “No.”

“There,” she repeated, feeling her cheeks widen into a grin.

“Olive.” There was a deep vertical line between his eyebrows. “No. There are way better restaurants we can—”

“But I want to go to that one.”

“Why? There’s—”

She moved closer to him and grasped the sleeve of his blazer. “Please.

Please?”

Adam pinched his nose, sighed, and pursed his lips. But not five seconds later he put his hand between her shoulder blades to guide her across the street. —

THE PROBLEM, HE explained in hushed tones as they waited to be seated, was not the sushi train, but the all-you-can-eat for twenty dollars.

“It’s never a good sign,” he told her, but his voice sounded more resigned than combative, and when the server ushered them inside, he followed her meekly to the booth. Olive marveled at the plates traveling on the conveyor belt weaving across the restaurant, unable to stop her openmouthed grin.

When she remembered Adam’s presence and turned her attention back to him, he was staring at her with an expression halfway between exasperated and indulgent.

“You know,” he told her, eyeing a seaweed salad passing by his shoulder,

“we could go to a real Japanese restaurant. I am very happy to pay for however much sushi you want to eat.”

“But will it move around me?”

He shook his head. “I take it back: you are a disturbingly cheap date.”

She ignored him and lifted the glass door, grabbing a roll and a chocolate doughnut. Adam muttered something that sounded a lot like “very authentic,”

and when the waitress stopped by he ordered them both a beer.

“What do you think this is?” Olive dipped a piece of sushi in her soy sauce.

“Tuna or salmon?”

“Probably spider meat.”

She popped it into her mouth. “Delicious.” “Really.”

He looked skeptical.

It wasn’t, in all truth. But it was okay. And this, well, this was so much fun. Exactly what she needed to empty her mind of . . . everything. Everything but here and now. With Adam.

“Yep.” She pushed the remaining piece toward him, silently daring him to try it.

He broke apart his chopsticks with a long-suffering expression and picked it up, chewing for a long time.

“It tastes like foot.”

“No way. Here.” She grabbed a bowl of edamame from the belt. “You can have this. It’s basically broccoli.”

He brought one to his mouth, managing to look like he didn’t hate it.

“We don’t have to talk, by the way.” Olive

tilted her head.

“You said you didn’t want to talk to anyone back at the hotel. So we don’t have to, if you’d rather eat this”—he glanced at the plates she had accumulated with obvious distrust—“food in silence.”

You’re not just anyone, seemed like a dangerous thing to say, so she smiled. “I bet you’re great at silences.”

“Is that a dare?”

She shook her head. “I want to talk. Just, can we not talk about the conference? Or science? Or the fact that the world is full of assholes?” And that some of them are your close friends and collaborators?

His hand closed into a fist on the table, jaw clenched tight as he nodded.

“Awesome. We could chat about how nice this place is—”

“It’s appalling.”

“—or the taste of the sushi—”

“Foot.”

“—or the best movie in the Fast and Furious franchise—”

“Fast Five. Though I have a feeling you’re going to say—”

“Tokyo Drift.”

“Right.” He sighed, and they exchanged a small smile. And then, then the smile faded and they just stared at each other, something thick and sweet coloring the air between them, magnetic and just the right side of bearable.

Olive had to rip her gaze from his, because—no. No.

She turned away, and her eyes fell on a couple at a table a few feet to their right. They were the mirror image of Adam and Olive, sitting on each side of their booth, all warm glances and tentative smiles. “Do you think they’re on a fake date?” she asked, leaning back against her seat.

Adam followed her gaze to the couple. “I thought those mostly involved coffee shops and sunscreen applications?”

“Nah. Only the best ones.”

He laughed silently. “Well.” He focused on the table, and on angling his chopsticks so that they were parallel to each other. “I can definitely recommend it.”