Page 8 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter six

Jonathan

A week has passed since the jelly donut prank.

As I come up the stairwell at the lab, I peek around every corner.

When I get to my desk, I test my chair before sitting and carefully slide open the desk drawers, just in case.

At lunch, I pull apart the layers of the sandwich I brought from home and stored in the breakroom refrigerator, making sure only the turkey and Swiss I put in there remain.

As Willy Wonka said, “The suspense is terrible! I hope it’ll last.”

It’s a silent prank war. We don’t discuss it, don’t acknowledge it. Our unspoken rules are to never interfere with the specimens and samples, and don’t let Dr. Gantt find out. We’re sticking with unobtrusive tricks. The parameters make thinking of ideas all the more exhilarating.

I’m still shocked Molly decided to prank me in the first place.

I could tell the idea made her uneasy. She’s been clear that she doesn’t tolerate nonsense at work.

That day, as I tried to put on what I thought was my lab coat and quickly realized what was happening, an emotion bubbled up inside of me that I can only describe as giddiness.

Excitement was mixed in there, too. Was straitlaced Molly Delaney loosening up for me ?

Post-lunch, I feel confident that today is not the day for Molly’s next prank, which is why I don’t think twice when Molly calls me over to her workbench as soon as I walk into the lab, before I even have a chance to finish putting on my safety goggles.

“Can you please check this specimen?” She gestures at the microscope. "I need a second opinion. Does this look like residue from pesticides?"

She’s asking me for help! I must be making progress if she’s willing to ask my opinion.

Feeling smug, I sit on a nearby stool and peer into the microscope at the specimen.

I straighten and look at Molly. “No, it looks clean to me.”

Molly smiles … or actually, she looks like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Ah, cool. Thanks.”

Wait a minute. Molly’s being too nice to me. She hasn’t insulted me once since I walked over here.

Her lips clamp together as her face turns red.

I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”

She shrugs and turns away, her shoulders shaking. She’s laughing. Something is definitely going on.

I bend close to the microscope again and study it.

I run a fingertip along the eyepiece, and it comes away smudged with some sort of dark, creamy substance.

I groan. I pull out my phone and open the camera, flipping it into selfie mode to use like a mirror.

Yep. There are black rings around my eyes.

Molly turns back around, her fist pressed against her mouth. “You’ve got … you’ve got some gunk on your face, there, Dr. Stanch.”

“What is this stuff?” It’s gloopy and soft and smells vaguely of … coconut?

“I’m sure I don’t know. Looking at it for the first time, which is what I’m doing now, it looks like it could be lip balm mixed with charcoal powder.”

No longer bothering to hide her mirth, Molly is outright beaming now. It’s a glorious sight. So much so that I’m mesmerized and not remotely prepared when she lifts a paper towel to my face. I hadn’t noticed it sitting on the lab table.

“I’m sure it will come right off. Let’s see…”

Molly places one hand on my shoulder to stabilize herself, then gently dabs around my eyes with the damp towel.

She leans close as she focuses on her work—so close that she’s standing between my knees where my legs extend off the stool, so close I can feel her breath on my nose.

It smells like spearmint. The tip of her pink tongue peeks out from between her lips as she concentrates on cleaning my face.

With every delicate swipe, the tightness in my throat grows. She puts more pressure on my shoulder with her fingers, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, my skin heating despite the layers of clothing that separate it from her touch.

I want to raise my arms from where they’re currently immobilized on my lap and grip her hips. I want to bring my knees together, containing her against me. I want to tilt my head and slant my lips closer to hers. I want to kiss her.

I don’t do it.

Primarily because she’s given no indication she’d welcome that kind of contact, but also because it would complicate things. We have to keep working together as long as Dr. Gantt says, and my goal is to work harmoniously with Molly, not make things awkward.

When she finishes and steps away, I shiver in the absence of her body heat. I swallow hard and search her face. She looks calm, collected. Seemingly unaffected by our proximity five seconds ago.

“I think I got it all. Good thing whatever that substance is cleans off so easily. Should be easy to remove from the microscope, too.”

“Thanks,” I croak.

She smirks. “Be more careful next time.”

I’ve got no smart-aleck retort, not even a charming line. I’ve got nothing. My mind is mush. “Yep,” I stutter, standing from the stool so quickly it crashes to the vinyl floor with a thud.

“Sorry,” I mumble. I set the chair back upright and back away, needing to create distance.

My attraction to Molly is evolving into a full-fledged crush faster than I care to admit. I need to nip this in the bud, which is a challenge considering the amount of time Dr. Gantt is forcing us together.

I lay low for a while. No pranks. No excuses to tease Molly or spend time with her.

Instead, I busy myself with pick-up basketball games with a few guys down at the rec center and mastering the All-American level in my NCAA Football video game.

My dad calls one night while I’m relaxing at home playing NCAA .

I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail or even answer while I continue my team’s run to the national title game.

Instead, I pause the game. Ever since he officially broke the news to me that he and Sharon are getting married, I’ve been trying to be more supportive.

“Are you coming home for Christmas this year?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe.” I have no plans to go to Ohio for Christmas. As much as I’d like to see Tamara and the girls, I don’t know that I can keep up the veneer of support in such close quarters with my dad and Sharon for so many days.

“We’d really love for you to try. Sharon and I thought it would be a good time for the wedding, small of course, if everyone is around for Christmas already anyway.”

Grateful not to be on a video call, I drop my head back against the couch cushion and squeeze my eyes shut. They’re planning the wedding already?

I sigh. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ll see what I can do. I might have to work.”

The line is quiet. “Jonny…”

“I’ll try, Dad. Okay?”

I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the call. “Okay. Thanks, Jonny.”

“Talk to you later, Dad.”

“Bye, kid. I love you.”

“Yep,” I say and end the call.

I groan, hot pokers of guilt piercing my chest. I’m thirty years old.

When am I going to stop feeling and acting like a sulky teenager whenever I talk to my dad?

The divorce was almost twenty years ago, but I still can’t help reliving those painful days after Mom left.

Can’t help the grudge that grew and festered after I realized our family breaking apart was his fault; he wasn’t supportive enough of his wife’s career.

Now he wants a new wife, when he already failed to be the husband my mother needed.

It was an indelible lesson for me. Someday when I meet the right woman and become part of her life, I’ll become part of her whole life.

Her career will be as important to me as my own, maybe even more important.

I recognize how much women have had to sacrifice historically to get ahead in their work.

I watched it play out with my own mother.

My mind drifts to Molly. Like my mother, Molly is a woman who knows what she wants out of her career. I admire that about her. I appreciate her intelligence, her ambition. Her quick wit. Her eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea…

I shake my head to dislodge the thoughts. You’re supposed to stymie your crush, not feed into it , I scold myself. Either way, I can’t lay low much longer. We have to go out again and collect samples at the various sites we’re tracking.

Two days later, Molly and I are back in the field.

As promised, I give her ample warning and suggestions for what to wear and bring.

She has her own waders now that fit properly.

The day goes smoothly, but I hold back. I’m not sure how to act around her.

My normal behavior with anyone is sunny and flirty, but I can’t flirt with Molly because I actually mean it, which is concerning given how often she scowls at me.

As the day goes on, her frowns transition into worried looks. In the truck on the way to our final sample site of the day, she turns to me abruptly and asks, “Are you okay?”

I shift my eyes to her briefly before focusing back on the road. Her hair isn’t wet today, yet somehow the lavender scent is back, permeating the cab of my truck again. Though I’m not looking at her, I can’t forget she’s here, and it makes me feel fidgety in a way I can’t explain. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She wrings her hands. “You’ve just been so … serious today. Businesslike.”

“Whereas normally I’m flippant and unprofessional?”

“Well … yes.”

That’s fair. In actively trying not to act weird around Molly, I’m apparently acting even weirder than if I just acted normal. Or something like that.

“And the … issue … you had with the microscope was more than a week ago,” she continues.

My lips curve into a smile. Seems Molly is as invested in this prank war now as I am. She is the one who started it. “You feeling a little tense, Molly Rancher? A little on edge, perhaps?”

Her mouth drops open. “Is that your plan? Drive me crazy with anticipation?”

I pull up to a stop sign and use the pause as an excuse to study her face.

My eyes linger on her lips, pink and glossy from her SPF 30 lip balm.

I wonder if it’s flavored. As if she can read my mind, Molly’s tongue darts out of her mouth, licking her upper lip.

I suppress a groan. Who’s driving who crazy with anticipation, exactly?

I turn my head back to the road in front of us, flipping on the blinker and turning the wheel to the right.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” I rumble.

I get to the office early the next day. I want to be there before Molly. She told me yesterday that the deadline’s looming for the third-quarter report she has to write about the team’s research findings. I’m counting on her working on it today, so I make a small adjustment to her word processor.

Then, I wait. I stay at my cubicle, so I make sure I see when Molly arrives. When she does, I watch as she puts her lunch away in the breakroom refrigerator and settles in at her desk. From where I sit, I can’t see her computer screen, so I’m not sure if she’s working on the report yet.

She must sense my eyes on her because she lifts her head and catches me. She glares and I duck my head. Okay, clearly, I can’t sit here staring at Molly all day to see her reaction to my prank, or for … other reasons.

Instead, I head into the lab and busy myself testing the water samples we collected yesterday. I find a quiet workbench in the corner, but there aren’t many people in the lab today anyway.

It’s not long before Molly finds me, a single piece of paper pinched between her fingers. Her other hand rests on her hip, her head is tilted, and she has an amused scowl on her face.

“Hey,” I greet her.

She holds up the paper and points to the title in bold at the top. “Do you have any idea why I’m writing a report called ‘Determinants of Harmful Orlando Bloom in the Waterways of Southern Louisiana’?”

I grin. “No, but that sounds fascinating. How does one even test for determinants of ‘harmful Orlando Bloom’ in the waterways?”

“Yeah. Funny thing. Whenever I type ‘algal bloom’, which I do at least ten times per page, the computer automatically changes it to ‘Orlando Bloom.’ Why do you think that is?”

I hold a hand to my chest. “I’m sure I have no idea. There’s probably an autocorrect setting in your word processor.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I wonder how that could have happened?”

“Computer goblins, maybe.”

A hint of a smile creeps across her face. “I heard there’s been an increase in computer goblin attacks this year.”

I nod seriously. “Yeah. It’s becoming a real problem.”

Her lips twitch. Come on , I think, just a little more and it’ll be a real smile . “Do you know how to fix it, or should I call IT?” she asks.

I smirk. “You need my help, huh?”

She frowns. Oof. I guess that was the wrong thing for me to say. “No. I don’t need your help,” she responds airily.

“Come on, Molly Parton,” I urge. “Let me help.”

“I can figure it out on my own.”

“I have no doubt. But if you let me help, you won’t have to.”

She grimaces but seems to be considering it. I can’t help but wonder if she’s hesitant because it’s help from me, specifically, or because she’s used to doing things on her own. Does she have anyone in her life that helps keep the weight off her shoulders? Is she open to applicants?

Before I think better of it, I reach out my hand and tuck a lock of her caramel brown hair behind her ear. My fingers linger, brushing over her jawline. “Please, Molly,” I murmur. “Let me help you.”

She’s anchored in place, her eyes fixed on mine. She leans slightly into my hand, as if she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

“Okay,” she whispers, quickly turning away and breaking contact. But not before I see the shy, pleased smile on her lips.

There it is .