Page 80 of The Love Hypothesis

He bit the inside of his cheek, looking pensive. “I’m sorry you won’t get to room with them.”

She waved her hand. “Oh, that’s not it. That would have been fun, but it’s just that now I need to find something else nearby, and there are no affordable options.” Her eyes fell on the screen of her laptop. “I’m thinking of booking this motel that’s an hour away and—”

“Won’t they know?”

She looked up from the grainy, shady-looking picture of the place. “Mm?”

“Won’t Anh know that you’re not staying with me?”

Oh. “Where are you staying?”

“The conference hotel.”

Of course. “Well.” She scratched her nose. “I wouldn’t tell her. I don’t think she’ll pay too much attention.”

“But she’ll notice if you’re staying one hour away.”

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“I . . .” Yes. They would notice, and ask questions, and Olive would have to come up with a bunch of excuses and even more half-truths to deal with it. Add a few blocks to this Jenga tower of lies she’d been building for weeks. “I’ll figure it out.”

He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault.”

“One could argue that it is, in fact, my fault.”

“Not at all.”

“I would offer to pay for your hotel room, but I doubt there’s anything left in a ten-mile radius.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head emphatically. “And I wouldn’t accept it. It’s not a cup of coffee. And a scone. And a cookie. And a pumpkin Frappuccino.” She batted her eyes at him and leaned forward, trying to change the topic. “Which, by the way, is new on the menu. You could totally buy it for me, and that would make my day.”

“Sure.” He looked slightly nauseous.

“Awesome.” She grinned. “I think it’s cheaper today, some kind of Tuesday sale, so—”

“But you could room with me.”

The way he put it forward, calm and sensible, almost made it sound like it was no big deal. And Olive almost fell for it, until her ears and brain seemed to finally connect with each other and she was able to process the meaning of what he’d just said.

That she.

Could room.

With him.

Olive knew full well what sharing quarters with someone entailed, even for a very short period. Sleeping in the same room meant seeing embarrassing pajamas, taking turns to use the bathroom, hearing the swish of someone trying to find a comfortable position under the sheets loud and clear in the dark. Sleeping in the same room meant— No. Nope. It was a terrible idea. And Olive was starting to think that maybe she had maxed those out for a while. So she cleared her throat.

“I could not, actually.”

He nodded calmly. But then, then he asked equally calmly, “Why?” and she wanted to bang her head against the table.

“I couldn’t.”

“The room is a double, of course,” he offered, as if that piece of information could have possibly changed her mind.

“It’s not a good idea.”