It seemed impossible that she’d been gone for less than a week. That all the chaos had unfolded in the span of a few days. Olive felt dazed, shell-shocked, as though her brain was winded from running a marathon. She was tired and wanted to sleep. She was hungry and wanted to eat. She was angry and wanted to see Tom get what he deserved. She was anxious, as twitchy as a damaged nerve, and she wanted a hug. Preferably from Adam.

In San Francisco, she folded her now-useless coat inside her suitcase and then sat on it. She checked her phone for new messages while Malcolm went to buy a bottle of Diet Coke. There were several from Anh, just checking in from Boston, and one from her landlord about the elevator being out of commission. She rolled her eyes, switched to her academic email, and found several unread messages flagged as important.

She tapped on the red exclamation point and opened one.

Today, 5:15 p.m.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Re: Pancreatic Cancer Project

Aysegul,

Thank you for reaching out to me. I had the privilege of seeing Olive Smith’s talk at SBD—we were on the same panel—and I was very impressed with her work on early detection tools for pancreatic cancer. I’d love to have her in my lab next year! Maybe the three of us can chat more on the phone soon?

Best,

Anna

Olive gasped. She covered her mouth with her hand, and immediately opened another email.

Today, 3:19 p.m.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected], [email protected]

SUBJECT: Pancreatic Cancer Project

Dr. Aslan, Ms. Smith,

Your work on pancreatic cancer is fascinating, and I would welcome the opportunity for a collaboration. We should set up a Zoom meeting.

-R

There were two more emails. Four total from cancer researchers, all following up on Dr. Aslan’s introductory message and saying they’d love having Olive in their labs. She felt a surge of happiness so violent, it almost made her dizzy.

“Ol, look who I ran into.”

Olive shot up to her feet. Malcolm was there, holding Holden’s hand, and barely a step behind them—

Adam. Looking tired, and handsome, and as large in real life as he’d been in her mind for the past twenty-four hours. Looking straight at her. Olive recalled the words he’d said last night in the restaurant and felt her cheeks heat, her chest constrict, her heart beat out of her skin.

“Hear me out,” Holden started without even saying hi, “the four of us: double date. Tonight.”

Adam ignored him and came to stand next Olive. “How are you?” he asked in a low tone.

“Good.” For the first time in days, it wasn’t even a lie. Adam was here. And all those emails were in her inbox. “You?”

“Good,” he replied with a half smile, and she had a weird feeling that much like her, he wasn’t lying. Her heart picked up even more.

“What about Chinese?” Holden interjected. “Everyone like Chinese here?”

“I’m cool with Chinese,” Malcolm muttered, though he didn’t seem enthusiastic at the idea of a double date. Likely because he didn’t want to sit across from Adam for an entire meal and relive the trauma of his graduate advisory committee meetings.

“Olive?”

“Um . . . I like Chinese.”

“Perfect. So does Adam, so—”

“I’m not having dinner out,” Adam said.

Holden frowned. “Why?”

“I have better things to do.”

“Like what? Olive’s coming, too.”

“Leave Olive alone. She’s tired, and we’re busy.”

“I have access to your Google Calendar, asshole. You’re not busy. If you don’t want to hang out with me, you can just be honest.”

“I don’t want to hang out with you.”

“You little shit. After the week we just had. And on my birthday.”

Adam recoiled slightly. “What? It’s not your birthday.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Your birthday is April tenth.”

“Is it, though?”

Adam closed his eyes, scratching his forehead. “Holden, we’ve talked daily for the past twenty-five years, and I have been to at least five Power Rangers–themed birthday parties of yours. The last one was when you turned seventeen.”

Malcolm attempted to cover his laugh with a cough.

“I know when your birthday is.”

“You always had it wrong, I was just too nice to tell you.” He clasped Adam’s shoulder. “So, Chinese to celebrate the blessing of my birth?”

“Why not Thai?” Malcolm interjected, addressing Holden and ignoring Adam.

Holden made a whiny noise and started saying something about the lack of good larb in Stanford, something Olive would have normally been interested in hearing, except that—

Adam was looking at her again. From several inches above Holden’s and Malcolm’s heads, Adam was looking at her with an expression that was half apologetic, half annoyed, and . . . all intimate, really. Something familiar they’d shared before. Olive felt something inside her melt and suppressed a smile.

Suddenly, dinner seemed like a great idea.

It will be fun, she mouthed at him while Holden and Malcolm were busy arguing about whether they should just try that new burger place.

It will be excruciating, he mouthed back barely parting his lips, looking resigned and put-upon and just so amazingly Adam that Olive couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Holden and Malcolm stopped arguing and turned to her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Olive said. The corner of Adam’s mouth was curling up, too.

“Why are you laughing, Ol?”

She opened her mouth to deflect, but Adam beat her to it.

“Fine. We’ll go.” He said “we” like he and Olive were a “we,” like it had never been fake after all, and her breath caught in her throat. “But I’m excused from any birthday-related outings for the next year. Actually, make it the next two. And veto on the new burger place.”

Holden fist-pumped, and then frowned. “Why veto on burgers?”

“Because,” he said, holding Olive’s eyes, “burgers taste like foot.”

—

“WE SHOULD START by addressing the obvious,” Holden said, chewing on the complimentary appetizers, and Olive tensed in her seat. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss the Tom situation with Malcolm and Holden before talking about it with Adam alone.

As it turned out, she shouldn’t have worried.

“Which is that Malcolm and Adam hate each other.”

Next to her in the booth, Adam frowned in confusion. Malcolm, who was sitting across from Olive, covered his face with his palms and groaned.

“I am reliably informed,” Holden continued, undeterred, “that Adam called Malcolm’s experiments ‘sloppy’ and ‘a misuse of research funds’ during a committee meeting, and that Malcolm took offense to that. Now, Adam, I’ve been telling Malcolm that you were probably just having a bad day—maybe one of your grads had split an infinitive in an email, or your arugula salad wasn’t organic enough. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Uh . . .” Adam’s frown deepened, and so did Malcolm’s facepalm. Holden waited pointedly for an answer, and Olive watched it all unfold, wondering if she should take out her phone and film this car crash. “I have no recollection of that committee meeting. Though it does sound like something I would say.”

“Great. Now tell Malcolm it wasn’t personal, so we can move on and have fried rice.”

“Oh my God,” Malcolm muttered. “Holden, please.”

“I’m not having fried rice,” Adam said.

“You can have raw bamboo while the normal people have fried rice. But as of right now, my boyfriend thinks that his BFF’s boyfriend and my own BFF has it out for him, and it’s cramping my double-dating style, so please.”