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

Chapter two

Jonathan

T oday part one of my plan to win over Molly Delaney starts. When Dr. Gantt told me yesterday that Molly would be joining me in the field for the foreseeable future, I knew I had to find a way to get her to at least tolerate me.

Why is winning her over so important to me as to warrant a plan?

Yeah, I’m not really sure. I mean she’s gorgeous: petite with brown hair the color of caramel, usually tied up or back in a practical ponytail, and deep blue eyes framed behind round glasses and long, fluttery eyelashes.

She’d be attractive even if I wasn’t already predisposed to think women in science are hot.

I hope I’m not so shallow that her looks are the reason she intrigues me.

Molly Delaney is a puzzle. I’ve known her for about six years now—we’re the only two scientists in Dr. Gantt’s lab that came up through the grad program together—but I don’t really know much about her.

Her brilliance, and peculiarity, are widely known around the department, not just in our lab.

Peculiar in that she’s quiet, even aloof, and serious to a fault.

And she doesn't like me. I have a reputation for being a likable guy, so honestly the fact that she doesn’t like me kind of makes me not like her, because what the heck? Not even sure what I did. I like when people like me, so it also makes me want to change her mind.

So yeah, Molly’s a puzzle, but one I'm willing to put in the time to solve, at least for the harmony of my work life for the next couple of months.

Of course, Dr. Gantt forcing Molly to work with me in the field makes the whole winning-her-over thing more difficult.

I know she wouldn’t be working with me willingly, and the daggers she shot at me as she came out of Dr. Gantt’s office yesterday made it clear this is against her will.

Molly gravitates toward the lab-based work of testing samples, studying data, and writing up reports.

The understanding around the lab is that she has a fear of the ocean and doesn’t like boats.

Doesn’t make sense to me considering our line of work, but what do I know?

The field is where the real action happens.

Which is why I'm excited for my assignment today. I’ll ease her into my work by collecting water samples from a nearby swamp. No boats required, just wading boots.

I get to the office and find Molly at her computer, swiveling her chair back and forth as her eyes remain focused on the screen.

“You ready?” I pair the question with my most charming smile.

Molly lifts her gaze from the computer screen and stares at me blankly. “For?”

“Fieldwork. We’ve got some water samples to collect.”

Her jaw clenches, and she narrows her eyes. “We’re doing that today?”

“Yeah. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

She appraises what I’m wearing—lightweight fishing pants and a long-sleeve UV shirt. “I’m not dressed for fieldwork today. I’ll come with you another time.”

From what I can tell, she’s wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt. “Your clothes are fine. I have waders you can borrow.”

She looks appalled. “I’ll just go with you another time. I didn’t plan to do fieldwork today. I mean, I … put makeup on and everything this morning,” she finishes lamely.

I know she supposedly has this fear of the ocean, but I never pegged her for prissy. And is she wearing makeup? I study her face. She looks the same as always— beautiful, natural, fresh.

“Look, I don’t want to play the boss card, but Dr. Gantt told me that you should come with me for field research whenever I go until she says it’s enough.” I widen my eyes in a pleading look. “Don’t make me let our PI down, Dr. Delaney.”

She huffs. “Fine. Just … fine. Can you at least give me about twenty minutes to finish what I’m doing?”

“Absolutely. I’ll check my email and meet you back here at,” I check my watch, “nine thirty.”

She grumbles something under her breath, so I whistle as I walk away. Why does it give me so much pleasure to annoy her? Is it because I know she hates me? Or does she hate me because I tend to annoy her? It’s a chicken-egg situation, for sure. I’m not sure which came first.

The thing is, my behaviors that seem to annoy her the most are the ones that charm other women.

The smiling. The winking. Paying extra attention to her.

I usually get good results with these tactics.

Not that that’s what I’m doing here, of course.

I’m not trying to get any results from Molly except annoyance.

Well, I guess now I’m trying to get her to tolerate me well enough that we won’t kill each other as we work together.

Which means I should probably stop intentionally aggravating her.

Because I’m feeling generous, I give Molly an extra ten minutes before I’m back at her desk. “Ready now?”

“No, but let’s get this over with.”

I grin. “That’s the spirit!”

Down in the parking lot, I point Molly toward my blue pickup truck. “I’ve got all the gear loaded into my truck, so I’ll drive.”

She doesn’t answer but follows me across the lot. I try to decide if opening her car door falls into the “intentionally annoying her” category. Erring on the side of caution, I leave it alone and get myself situated in the driver’s seat.

Cranking the engine, I set my phone in the center compartment. “Do you mind music?”

She shakes her head, looking miserable.

I pull up my Avett Brothers playlist on Spotify and “Kick Drum Heart” starts playing over the truck speakers. I love this song. I turn the volume up.

“Come on, perk up.” I grin. “How can anyone be sulky with this song on?” I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I back out of the parking space and start down the road.

“I don’t know what this is,” Molly grumbles. “But it’s too loud.”

“Sorry.” I turn the volume back to a normal level.

“Thank you, Dr. Stanch.”

I chuckle. Man, she kills me. “We don’t need to be so formal, you know,” I say. “Just call me Jonathan.”

“Fine.”

“And I should call you…?” I know her first name, of course, but she’s just too easy to irritate.

“Molly.”

“Can I call you Mol?”

She pinches her lips together. “No.”

“How about Mollywog?”

She glowers. “Absolutely not.”

Molly turns her head toward the window, so I take the hint and stop talking to her. The song changes over to “I and Love and You,” and I have to stop myself from singing along.

When we stop at a red light, I glance over at the passenger seat. Molly’s searching around like she lost something.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“My phone. I think I probably left it on my desk.” She pats her pockets one more time.

“Do you need it? We can turn back.”

“No. I’ll be fine.” She folds her arms across her chest.

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a problem to—”

“I said it’s fine,” she snaps.

“Okay. Jeez. We’re almost there anyway.” Even though I know I’m pushing her too much, the words still sting.

Molly sighs. “I’m sorry. This is all a little—”

A trilling ringtone interrupts her, followed by a robotic voice repeating, “Incoming call from … Dad” over the speakers in the cab.

Inwardly, I groan. I’m not dealing with this today. I let it ring.

Molly stares at me. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nope.”

After another few seconds, the phone stops ringing and the speakers switch back to music.

I try to shake off the irritation my dad’s call brought up by focusing my attention back on Molly.

I grin at her. “We’re almost to the first site. We need to collect samples from four sites today. We can probably get two of them done before lunch and two after.”

“This is an all-day thing?”

“Yep.”

I pull off the road near what used to be the Bayou Bienvenue Wetland Platform. The Wetland Triangle is our first stop. Without waiting for Molly, I get out of the truck to pull supplies out of the bed.

I pause to admire the scenery. Looking out over the water, I’m reminded once again how much I love my job.

Here it is, a weekday, and I get to be outside in the sunshine playing in the water.

Bayou Bienvenue is approximately four hundred acres of open water stretching out in front of me, though some remnants of the cypress swamp it used to be are evident in the handful of limbless trunks poking out from under the surface.

They call it a ghost swamp because it’s now a sad echo of the thriving ecosystem it once was. Still, the water sparkles and the grass surrounding it is green and lush. Sure beats sitting in front of a computer.

Behind me, I hear Molly’s door slam closed. She walks around the back of the truck and stops next to me. I hand her my extra set of chest waders.

“Aren’t we going on a boat?” Molly asks.

“Not today.”

I see a flicker of emotion cross her face, but it’s not relief. It’s … disappointment? Weird. Not that I know her expressions, so maybe I’m reading it wrong.

She stares at the rubber clothing. “I can’t wear this.”

“It’ll be big on you, but it’ll work.”

She shakes her head, her cheeks turning pink.

“Oh.” I set a wide-brimmed fishing hat on top of the pile in her arms. “You’ll need that, too.”

The pink on her cheeks turns to red and spreads up to her hairline. I brace myself for a tongue lashing, but instead she sets her jaw and moves to the back of the truck. When she starts shoving her shoes into the waders, I look away and refocus on putting on my own gear.

I’ve just gotten the suspenders on my waders fastened when she appears in front of me again, hands on her hips. As soon as I realize what I’m seeing, I crack up. I can’t help it.

I’ve never noticed how tiny Molly is. The spare waders swallow her whole.

I’m six feet tall, and she’s got to be a good nine inches shorter than me.

The extra material bunches around her ankles, and even though she adjusted the suspenders to the smallest setting, the bib still sits under her um …

let’s just say chestal region. The built-in boots are clown shoes on her.