Page 28 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter twenty-three

Molly

A fter our walk around Jonathan’s neighborhood, during which we saw minimal damage and lots of other people escaping their stuffy, dark buildings for the cool weather outside, we open the apartment windows and cuddle on the couch.

I meant it when I told Jonathan I’m done denying myself. Something happened to me on that boat yesterday—Was that only yesterday?—that changed me. A realization. An epiphany.

I can exhaust myself trying to control what I can control, but I’ll never be able to control enough. Maybe a better use of my energy is to continue excelling at my work while also embracing joy in my life. Nothing brings me more joy than Jonathan. Except maybe beignets.

Speaking of things I can’t control, I’m dying to see if the gliders have transmitted any data.

No electricity means the shore station can’t receive the satellite transmissions from the gliders, though.

Even if the server could receive the data, I can’t get online to check it. I’ll just have to be patient.

We spend the day on the couch, talking, laughing, and kissing. At one point, Jonathan pulls my feet into his lap and traces the small tattoo on the top of my foot. It’s the letters MNO in script.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a tattoo,” he says.

“It wasn’t my idea, and I don’t plan on getting another,” I glare almost accusingly in his direction.

He holds up his hands. “I wasn’t going to ask you to. What’s it mean?”

“The first initials of my and my sisters’ first names: Molly, Nicole, Olivia. We all went and got the same one together after Olivia turned eighteen. A little against my will.”

“I like it.” He grins. “It looks hot.”

I chuckle, but my face warms. I’m still getting used to the idea of someone, especially someone as handsome as Jonathan, thinking I’m hot.

In the late afternoon, the power blinks on in Jonathan’s apartment. As the fan starts spinning, and the appliances beep in the kitchen, I leap from the couch to boot up my university laptop.

Jonathan chuckles. “Give it a minute, Carrots. The router has to reconnect first.”

I carry the laptop back to the couch and sit, snuggling into Jonathan’s side. He loops an arm around my shoulders.

Finally, I’m able to get online and log in to our lab’s servers where the data from the gliders should be relayed. There’s nothing newer than yesterday morning and nothing at all from the three gliders we programmed to cross paths with Hernando.

I slump back against Jonathan’s arm. I can’t believe it. All of that for nothing? I risked my life, and Jonathan’s for that matter, for nothing?

Peering at the screen, Jonathan leans his head against mine. “Do you want to hear my long list of possible explanations?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter because the explanation at the top of the list is that the gliders all got damaged in the storm, and we have no data.” This was supposed to be a big break for my research and a huge bump for my career—and Jonathan’s.

“Okay, Gloomy McDoomy. Or , the gliders haven’t resurfaced yet. Or they did resurface, but the shore station still hasn’t powered back up enough to receive the transmission. Or—”

I groan, throwing my head back against the couch cushion. “I get it, Mr. Sunshine.”

He chuckles, his lips tickling the skin on my exposed neck as he nuzzles closer. “Patience. Give it some time. Nothing’s for sure yet.”

“I hate waiting,” I mutter.

My phone pings with an incoming text, so I distract myself with my phone. “It’s another text from my building manager,” I tell Jonathan. “Electricity’s back up at my place, too.”

My phone pings again, at the same time Jonathan’s makes a chiming noise. It’s a group text from Dr. Gantt.

Dr. Gantt:

Anyone who is still in town, please meet at the lab tomorrow morning at ten for a team meeting to debrief after the storm. Anyone who evacuated, please travel home safely, and we’ll see you next week.

Jonathan’s phone chimes again. He squints at the screen. “Dr. Gantt wants me to check in with the marina in the morning before the meeting to make sure our equipment there is in good condition.”

“Like call them? Or—”

“No, she wants me to go in person.” Now it’s his turn to groan. “Do you know how early I’ll have to wake up to get to Slidell and back before the meeting at ten?”

“Okay, message received. Beaker and I will get out of your hair.” I try to sit up, but Jonathan keeps his arms in place, holding me down. “Don’t you need to drive us home now?”

“Noooo,” he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip and clutching me tighter.

I giggle. “We’ll see each other at the lab tomorrow.”

His eyes spark. “I can’t do this at the lab.” He leans in and captures my mouth with his.

After a while, I break away. “I really should get home.”

Jonathan exaggerates a sigh. “Fine. Let me grab my keys.”

I make it to the lab by 9:45 the next morning.

Like in Jonathan’s neighborhood, the extent of the damage in downtown New Orleans seems to be downed tree branches.

On my walk to the lab, I see a few shingles loose on buildings with older roofs in the area.

I caught Dennis Jackson’s broadcast this morning summing up Hurricane Hernando.

It ended up making landfall as a weak Category 1, with sustained winds at eighty miles per hour.

Dennis explained that because Hernando sped up so much, the damage was minimal.

It didn’t stick around long enough to cause flooding issues or wind damage, and even storm surge wasn’t an issue. We were all pretty fortunate.

I don’t see Jonathan’s truck in the parking lot, so he must still be on his way back from Slidell.

He texted me earlier this morning with a message that said, “My bed was lonely without you last night.” Even though I wasn’t near a mirror, I know my face blushed bright red.

Anyone else seeing that text would so get the wrong impression.

Although, truth be told, my bed felt pretty lonely last night, too, after being curled up against Jonathan’s delicious bare chest the night before. I shake my head. I don’t know how I went from hating him to wanting him this much in just two months.

Through the front doors and up the stairs, I pause before scanning my badge to enter the lab. I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth to help shift my brain into work mode. My badge beeps against the scanner, and I pull open the door.

I’ve taken barely three steps inside when Dr. Gantt rushes over to me. “Molly!” she exclaims, putting a hand on each of my shoulders. “Congratulations!”

“Um…” The back of my neck prickles as my thoughts swirl. This isn’t about Jonathan and I dating, is it? That would be weird, right? “Congratulations?” I echo.

“The gliders, Molly! The data started pouring in early this morning.”

I gasp, my heart pounding. “They did?”

Dr. Gantt bobbles her head. “You haven’t checked?”

“I … I checked yesterday afternoon, but when nothing was there…” I trail off, the news sinking in. The gliders are transmitting data from the storm! Tears prick at the back of my eyes. I close them, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth.

I have to see for myself. My eyes pop open again, and I rush past Dr. Gantt to boot up my laptop at my desk. She follows, laughing.

I log in to the servers and navigate to the glider data. Dropping into my chair, I study the rows and rows of gorgeous numbers. A chuckle sounds, the reverberations tickling my throat. It’s me; I’m laughing. I sit back in the chair, running both hands through my hair.

“It worked!” I whisper between giggles, awestruck.

Dr. Gantt rests her hand on my shoulder. “Good work, Molly. I haven’t delved deeply into the data yet, but all three gliders have reported, and the data are continuous since yesterday afternoon. It’s comprehensive.”

Comprehensive . “Do you know what this means?” I ask.

She beams at me. “Not fully, not yet. But we’re bound to find some interesting patterns, hmm? This is it, Molly! Thank you. You did it. I’m going to start gathering everyone for the meeting. We have big news to share!” She walks away, leaving me at my desk, staring into the computer screen.

I did it . With Jonathan. He should be here, celebrating with us. I want him to be here.

Knowing a text will be useless if he’s driving, which I hope he is, I pick up my phone and call him.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Jonathan’s cheerful voice echoes in my ear.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Almost there. Is something wrong?” His tone has shifted, but I’m too focused on getting him here to pinpoint the change.

“No,” I answer, my throat too thick to elaborate. “Just get here, to the lab, as soon as you can. Please.”

“Moll—” I hear him say as I hang up the phone.

I jump to my feet, knees trembling, and join Dr. Gantt and about fifteen colleagues who are gathered in a circle near the entrance to the office.

Dr. Gantt calls everyone to attention. She starts with some platitudes about how she hopes everyone made it through the storm okay.

A few of our coworkers share about small trees down in their neighborhoods and minor flooding in their backyards.

I half listen, most of my attention focused on the glass entry door, watching for Jonathan to arrive.

Finally, I see him burst through the stairwell door and rush toward the lab, just as Dr. Gantt says, “As you know, we launched a risky project in tandem with the hurricane. Drs. Delaney and Stanch led the charge, and I’m excited to announce—”

Jonathan erupts through the door, his eyes on me, assessing and cataloging through furrowed brows.

He pushes his way through our colleagues and across the center of the circle to stand in front of me.

Ignoring—or maybe not even seeing—everyone else, he runs his hands over my arms, then lifts my chin while spinning me around.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he demands gruffly.