Page 31 of Love in the Lab
I dip my head. “Almost. Help me narrow it down for next time.”
She scoffs. “You’re assuming there’ll be a next time?”
I study her expression. Her words are hard, her tone cool, and her eyes guarded. “Hoping, yes. What’ll you have?”
“The royal croissant, please.”
I hand her the sandwich and uncover the red beans and rice for myself. I watch as Molly lifts the top of the croissant off her sandwich and removes the cheese, setting it on a napkin. She replaces the top and takes a bite.
“You don’t like cheese?” I’m gathering intel, gobbling up whatever tidbits I can glean until she lets me in more fully.
She scrunches her nose. “I don’t really eat dairy.”
“Are you lactose intolerant?”
“No…” She hesitates, blushing. “I just don’t really like the idea of dairy products, the texture of them and how they smell. Same with eggs.” She takes another bite of her sandwich, chews, and swallows. “I know I sound like a picky five-year-old.”
“You don’t.” I shrug. “I read that a lot of people with ADHD have sensory difficulties, too.”
Molly turns her face toward me, eyes wide, before she freezes. Did she forget she told me about her ADHD?
“Oh,” she says.
“You told me on the boat, remember?”
“No, I … I know I told you. But what do you mean you ‘read’ about it?”
I scratch my chin. “I didn’t know a lot about it and wanted to learn more, so I read some articles.”
She blinks. “Why?”
I can feel my ears turning red. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Molly’s acting like learning more about a neurodiversity that affects a coworker is not normal behavior. Okay,coworkeris understating what I feel about Molly at this point, but still, why wouldn’t I want to understand her better?
I shrug again. “I don’t know. I thought it would be helpful. For you.”
Molly continues to stare at me like I’m a dolphin with six heads. I squirm under the scrutiny. With every other woman, I’m smooth, confident. Some would say charming. Molly disarms me. Nothing in my usual arsenal works with her. The harder I try to impress her, the less impressed she seems to be. “Did I do the wrong thing?” I ask, sure the insecurity I feel is leaching into my voice.
“No,” she whispers, her eyes still on me, but glazed over as if she’s not really seeing me. She blinks and looks away. “I mean, no, that’s fine.”
“Are you sure? Because you seem kind of mad? Or something.”
She shakes her head, tossing her hair from side to side. “I’m not mad. I’m not. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
She forces out a breath. “Just, it was easier when you weren’t so nice to me.”
I’m taken aback. A million questions zing through my mind.Whatwas easier? And why? Also—
“Have I been being mean to you?” The possibility is so distasteful that I set down my food.
Molly screws up her face, her forehead scrunching and her lips forming a grimace. “Uh, no. No, not mean. I didn’t say that right. You’ve never been mean. Just … annoying?”
“Ouch.” Annoying is better than mean, but it’s still not exactly a compliment. Actually, I can work with annoying. It means I get under her skin.
She shakes her head, her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s probably on me, to be honest. I don’t always have great tolerance for, you know, people. And, as I told you, I try to avoid distractions so I can focus on my work.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m a distraction?”
