Page 19 of Love in the Lab
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 researchfindings. 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’tneedyour 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.
Chapter seven
Jonathan
