Page 32 of Love in the Lab
Molly’s eyes rake over me from head to toe and back up again. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it; she’s not trying to be flirtatious or send a message. More like she can’t help it. Her raw reaction thrills me—it’s guileless and natural, a brief slip of the mask she usually keeps firmly affixed.
When she finally answers the question, her voice is throaty and low. “Oh, definitely.”
A shiver runs up my spine. Yep, I can absolutely work with this.
Even so, it won’t help to push. I pick my container of red beans and rice back up and steer the conversation around to more neutral topics. “How’s your sandwich?”
“Delicious.” She peers into my bowl. “Your food smells good. What is it?”
I stare at her incredulously, but she appears to be serious. “Red beans and rice? New Orleans staple?”
“Is it spicy? So much of New Orleans food is seafood or spicy.” She shrugs. “I haven’t been very adventurous.”
“Red beans and rice can be spicy, but Cafe Beignet makes it with the tourists’ palates in mind. Flavorful but not spicy. Want to try some?” I push a forkful in the direction of her mouth, raising my eyebrows in question.
She leans her head away, her lips pinched together.
“Come on,” I encourage her. “You can’t live in New Orleans without at least trying red beans and rice.”
She gives a determined nod and takes the fork from my fingers. She slides the bite of food into her mouth and chews carefully.
“Well?” I ask as she swallows.
“I like it. You’re right; it’s not too spicy. It has a good flavor, and I like that it’s dry, not creamy or anything.”
I offer her my bowl. “Do you want the rest?” She smiles, and I suppress the urge to buy a hundred more bowls of red beans and rice to present to her. If that smile is my reward, the effort and cost would be well worthwhile.
“Yes, thank you. But only because you have, like, ten other options in that bag.” Her eyes sparkle as she teases me.
The grin on my face is automatic. I hand her the bowl. “So, what were you working on so intently this afternoon?”
“Oh, um … a data model.”
I perk up. “What kind of data model?”
She examines my face as if she’s determining whether to tell me more. Finally, she says, “I’m looking for a correlation between harmful algal bloom events and tropical activity.”
I pause. “You think hurricanes contribute to red tide outbreaks?”
Molly maintains eye contact. “Maybe. The correlation was statistically significant in the model.”
Huh. That would mean that the storms change the properties of the water enough to either cause or exacerbate conditions for the growth of harmful algal blooms. Of course, the correlation could just be because storms tend to increase pesticide runoff, which in turn causes harmful algal blooms to flourish. “The correlation might not mean what you think it means, though.”
“I know.” Her eyes narrow in annoyance. “Obviously I need more evidence. I’m working on it.”
I scratch my chin. I didn’t mean to belittle her project, but I can see how she might interpret it that way. I change tactics. “That will be a pretty huge breakthrough when you prove it.”
She brightens. “Thanks,” she says softly.
“I know you’ve got it, but if you need any help, let me know.”
She lifts her chin. “I will.”
The sun has fully set at this point, and the night is getting darker every minute we sit out here. “We should probably call it a night.”
“It’s been a pretty long day.” She yawns.
“You look exhausted.”
