Page 13 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter eleven

Molly

I t’s my turn to prank Jonathan, and my sister Olivia gave me the fun, time-consuming idea to cover his cubicle in sticky notes.

Getting up early to stick the notes was not a realistic plan for me—I do recognize my own limitations—so I’m here at the lab late.

I wish my ADHD had a control panel because now would be a fantastic time to hyperfocus.

Unfortunately, the task is not nearly interesting enough to flip that switch in my brain.

Despite the seven different colors of notes I’m using, this is drudgery.

I chuckle as I put up another row in perfect rainbow order.

It wasn’t easy, but I bought sticky notes in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

Finding indigo—a blue-violet hybrid that most resembles a darker blue—was especially challenging.

I did it, though, and now I’m ROY G BIVing the heck out of Jonathan’s cubicle.

Technically, I should get two pranks in a row now because he did, if you count the flowers as a prank.

The fuss everyone in the lab made about them was embarrassing, which makes it more prankish.

But they made me feel really … happy, which makes it more a sweet gesture than anything else.

I’ve never gotten flowers before. I suppose that’s a strange admission for a twenty-nine-year-old woman to make, but it’s the truth.

I haven’t dated much. In high school, I was focused on my schoolwork and was also kind of the weird girl, so I didn’t exactly have guys knocking down my door to ask me to the homecoming dance.

After my first semester of college—and I wouldn’t call what I did in that first semester of college “dating”—I was all about focusing on my classes. I’ve been that way ever since.

I’ve also been focused on blending in, masking my ADHD so my classmates and coworkers won’t think twice about me or my behavior, won’t think I’m too much. Who, me? Just a typical, normal person like everyone else.

Jonathan’s flowers made everyone see me.

I felt special, not like everyone else. And it felt good.

All of this—the pranks, the goofing off at work, the time out of the lab, the almost kissing a handsome man—feels very much unlike me, at least the me I’ve curated over the last ten years, and feels very good .

Maybe too good? Maybe the kind of good that is self-indulgent and will distract me from my goals.

My brain wants instant gratification, new and shiny, constant stimulation, and messy, emotional reactions.

I fight against those inclinations every day.

Until recently with Jonathan, when I’ve been giving in, a little here, a little there, convincing myself it doesn’t matter. It’s a dangerous game.

I shake my head, realizing I’ve been lost in thought and have stopped putting up sticky notes. I refocus my attention, filling in the last row on the cubicle walls before I move on to the desktop and computer monitor.

Good thing Jonathan’s desk is clean and uncluttered, unlike mine. My desk has so many piles of paper and notebooks crammed on top of it that placing sticky notes would be a challenge.

When I finish, I stand in the doorway and admire my work.

I grin. It looks amazing. I dig a pen out of my bag and add one last detail.

On the backside of a sticky note in the corner, I draw a small heart.

Jonathan will probably never even see it, and I don’t want him to.

I’m not even sure why I’m drawing it. Just another example of giving in to my impulses where Jonathan is concerned.

I’m late for work the next morning, rushing in while balancing my lunchbox, computer bag, and water bottle.

I overslept, stumbled through getting ready, and then couldn’t remember if I had fed Beaker or not.

Considering the way she was yowling at me all morning, I wondered if I had even fed her last night.

That’s the nice thing about having a cat—they don’t let you forget to take care of them.

Plus, my mom called as I was driving in to let me know that she and my dad were planning to visit this weekend.

I told her I’d have to call her back after work to hear more.

I stop short when I see Jonathan’s cubicle. I didn’t forget I plastered it with the colors of the rainbow, of course. I just hadn’t thought about it this morning, and it is an unmissable blast of color. I instantly perk up, discreetly peering through the doorway to see if Jonathan is here.

He’s sitting in his chair, crushing the sticky notes covering the seat, with his laptop—which was not in his cubicle last night—set on top of his sticky-noted desk.

He hasn’t connected the laptop to the external keyboard or monitor—both covered in sticky notes—but he’s busy typing away as if nothing is amiss.

He casually glances up and sees me standing in the doorway of his cubicle. He grins. “Oh, hey, Molly.”

“Hey.” I look around pointedly. “What happened to your space?”

He scans the cubicle and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Now, I frown. “Jonathan,” I warn.

He’s trying to keep his expression serious, but I notice the way his eyes are dancing, and the corners of his mouth are twitching. “Molly.”

I’m startled by a voice behind me. “Dr. Stanch, what is all this?” asks Dr. Gantt.

Jonathan rubs the back of his neck. “I redecorated,” he says, putting an upturned hand out to the side in a ta-da gesture.

Dr. Gantt’s forehead pinches. “Take it down, please. Let’s keep things professional at the lab, shall we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan responds.

As she turns to leave, Dr. Gantt says over her shoulder, “It’s been awfully exciting around here this week, hasn’t it?” She levels a look at Jonathan, her eyebrows raised, before walking off in the direction of the lab area.

“Oof,” Jonathan says, and I cringe.

“Sorry,” I say softly. This prank war is getting out of control. Neither of us were supposed to get in trouble over it.

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t be. This is amazing. And all for me, huh? ROY G BIV and all.” He stands and steps closer to me.

Warmth creeps into my cheeks and across my chest. He noticed and recognized the pattern. “Want help cleaning it up?”

He inches closer so we’re standing toe to toe. “Nah, but thanks. Go get some work done, Mollapalooza.” He smirks, looking down into my face. I tip my head back to see him, my heart pounding. “I’ve got you.”

Despite the time I’ve spent recently on fieldwork and pranks at work, I finally finished my data model.

As I hoped, it shows a correlation between harmful algal blooms and tropical weather systems. That is to say, years with higher tropical activity were also years with water conditions suited for harmful algal blooms to prosper.

Of course, as any even mediocre data scientist will tell you, correlation is not causation.

The data don’t prove that tropical storms and hurricanes contributed to outbreaks of harmful algal blooms. I wish I had real-time data of water conditions during a tropical storm or hurricane.

I’m focused on the finer points of my research when my phone rings. It’s my mom. I forgot I told her I’d talk to her later today about her and Dad visiting this weekend. I check the time. Somehow, it’s already seven in the evening, and I’m still at the lab.

Stretching my back and shoulders from my desk chair, I answer the phone. “Hi, Mom. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I got caught up with something at work.”

“Hi, honey. No worries. I figured it was something like that.” I can hear the smile in her voice even over the phone.

Now that I’m not wrapped up in my work, I realize I’m famished. I didn’t plan on being at work late tonight, so I only packed a lunch, which I ate at lunchtime, of course.

“So, you and Dad are coming to New Orleans?” I put my phone on speaker and set it on my desk while I rummage through my bag for a granola bar or anything edible.

“Yes! Your father and I both took some time off work, and we’re going on a road trip! We’ll leave Austin on Thursday and see you in New Orleans this weekend, and then we’ll leave New Orleans Monday morning and see your sister in Florida next week.”

I chuckle, pulling a pile of receipts from my bag. “Is this because you want to meet Adam, and I just happen to be on the way?”

“Not only because we want to meet your sister’s boyfriend. They do seem serious, though, and even though Nicole promised she’d bring him home for Thanksgiving this year, we just don’t want to wait that long.”

I shake my head. Thanksgiving is only a couple of months away, and when my mom says we , I’m pretty sure it’s mostly her that’s impatient to meet Adam. My dad wants to meet him but is probably fine waiting until Thanksgiving.

“But,” my mom continues, “we also want to see you . You haven’t been home since Christmas, Molly, and we miss you.”

“I’m coming to Texas for Thanksgiving this year, too, you know.”

My mom has started responding when a hand comes down heavy on my shoulder. I yelp and startle halfway out of the chair. I spin to find Jonathan standing behind me, a sheepish look on his face.

“Sorry!” he mouths, taking a step back.

I glare and wave him away while Mom worries on the other end of the phone. “Molly, honey, are you okay? It sounded like you yelled. Where are you? Are you safe?”

My heart is still beating rapidly from the fright. “I’m fine. I’m at the lab and a coworker …” I scowl at Jonathan, who’s still hovering in my cubicle. “...startled me, that’s all.”

“Is that your mom?” Jonathan whispers.

I try to shoo him away again, but he’s not deterred. Instead, he clears his throat and says, “Mrs. Delaney? Hi, this is the coworker. Sorry to interrupt your call.”

The line is silent for so long that I wonder if the call dropped. “Mom?”

“I’m … here. Molly, will you introduce me to your friend?”

I groan. “Mom, it’s just my coworker Jona … Dr. Stanch. He was just leaving.” I glower, hoping Jonathan takes the hint and disappears.

But, of course, he doesn’t. He flashes a charming smile toward the phone, even though it’s just a voice call, and my mom can’t see him. “Jonathan Stanch, Mrs. Delaney. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Jonathan! Where are you from, dear?”

“Originally Ohio, but I’ve been in Louisiana for a while now. Molly and I were actually in the same cohort for graduate school here at New Orleans State.”

“Really? A wonder I’ve never heard your name before. Wait a minute … Jonathan, did you say?”

I sigh and close my eyes. I know my mother just made the connection between my coworker talking to her now and the coworker I constantly complain about to my family.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan answers. “I’m surprised Molly’s never mentioned me.” He slides his eyes toward me and smirks. Ugh. He knows, too, that if I have ever talked about him to my mother, it wasn’t complimentary.

“Well, maybe in her way, she has. Molly, honey, I’ll let the two of you go. I’m sure you have lots of work to do,” she says slyly.

“No, Mom, it’s—”

She cuts me off before I can finish my protest. “I’ll text you the details for this weekend. Bye!”

I stare at my phone as she disconnects the call. Just great. Now she’s going to think, or hope, there’s something going on romantically between me and Jonathan. Isn’t there? An unhelpful voice inside my head asks. Of course not , I argue back.

“Well, that was nice,” Jonathan says. “Your parents are visiting this weekend?”

I spin my chair to face him, my hands in fists. “Did you not see me motioning for you to go away?” I stand, trying to minimize the height difference between us.

His smile is soft; he reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I did, but I wanted to see if you were hungry. You’ve been working over here for hours without a break.”

My stomach growls. I relax my hands and smooth them down the front of my shirt. “And if I am? Hungry, I mean.”

He grins. “Then you’re in luck. I just so happen to have a picnic ready to go, if you’ll join me outside.”

A … picnic? I hesitate, but my stomach growls again, sealing my decision. I’m voting with my tummy. “Okay.”