Page 22 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

I hear his sharp intake of breath and raise my eyes to take in his expression.

He looks stunned. He shakes his head and opens his mouth as if to argue, then closes it again.

He steps closer, backing me up against the wall next to the door.

Slowly, he slides a hand behind my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and leans forward.

His lips brush mine in the softest, sweetest kiss.

A few seconds of contact and it’s over, much too soon.

I want to fist my hand in his shirt and pull him back to me, beg him to kiss me for real. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

He rocks back on his heels, his face inches from mine, not touching. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into mine. “You’re wrong,” he whispers in a broken voice.

He reaches behind me and twists the doorknob, swinging the door to my apartment open.

As he turns away, I stop him. “I … I need my spare key back.” I try to keep my voice steady, though my heart is pounding.

Without turning around, he answers me in a rough tone. “Not yet.” Then he walks away.

The interaction guts me, and I feel the full weight of the decision I’ve made to live a solitary life focused on my research. It’s a heavy weight, situated primarily on top of my heart.

But Jonathan’s parting words ignite a flicker of hope deep within me. Why do those two words, despite my insistence that love is not for me, make me so inordinately happy? He came here tonight to help me, no questions asked. He didn’t have to.

Keeping the key feels like a declaration. He wants to be there for me, and he’s not done with me yet.

I wake up Sunday morning feeling ready to take on the day. I shower, get dressed, and go grocery shopping—with a list and everything. In the afternoon, I head to the lab to get started processing the water samples Jonathan collected without me on Friday.

As afternoon turns to evening, Jonathan doesn’t come to the lab. Not that I expect him to after our interaction yesterday. It’s just that he’s become such a part of my routine over the last few weeks. I’ve gotten used to seeing him at the lab on weekend evenings.

He usually arrives right around the time I should be taking a break, and though two months ago I would have said his timing interrupts my workflow, now it seems fortuitous.

I never forget to eat dinner on the nights when Jonathan comes into the lab while I’m working.

I don’t tonight either, but not because Jonathan comes in.

It’s because I never get to hyperfocus; I’m so distracted by watching the door.

The disappointment is a palpable sludge I feel inside my body, oozing from my heart into my stomach and weighing down my legs. I trudge home while it’s still light out.

At home, I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

I’m planning to go to bed early and dissociate by scrolling on social media for a while before I fall asleep.

At least I’ll see Jonathan tomorrow at work though I’m not sure how to act around him.

Smile politely? Ignore him? Surreptitiously watch him out of the corner of my eye all day while not approaching him directly?

That seems like the most realistic option.

The thoughts distract me from seeing the piece of paper on the front of my refrigerator at first. Once I notice it, it’s all I can see. An indigo-colored sticky note hangs on the refrigerator door with the message “You are beautiful” written across it in messy handwriting.

I know that handwriting. I recognize that sticky note in the hard-to-find indigo color. And who else even has access to my apartment?

Jonathan was here , sometime today while I was out. Maybe I should feel indignant, angry even. He doesn’t have permission to use the key to enter my apartment, after all.

Instead, I’m elated he hasn’t given up on me, which is selfish because I’m not going to change my mind. I can’t tell him we can’t be together one day and then secretly want him to continue pursuing me. I don’t want to play games with his emotions. I care about him too much for that.

Still, I feel lighter as I get ready for bed. When I’m finally situated under the covers, phone in hand, I remember that Jonathan said something about a potential hurricane in the Caribbean.

I open a web browser app and search for information.

Sure enough, there’s a tropical storm named Hernando southeast of Cuba.

The track forecast cone has Hernando potentially continuing northwest into the Gulf, making landfall as a low category hurricane somewhere between the Florida panhandle and coastal Texas within a week.

Of course, my mind instantly goes to my research.

If Hernando comes close enough to New Orleans, I could try to gather data on how the properties of the water change because of the storm.

Although, it would be too dangerous to be out in the Gulf collecting data in the middle of a hurricane.

How else could I get real-time data about the water as a hurricane passes through?

An idea sparks in my brain, and I kindle it, letting it grow to an ember and then a small lick of a flame until the fire is burning hot and bright. It could work. I just need to convince Dr. Gantt. It’s going to be a long night.