Page 60 of Love in the Lab
I don’t see Jonathan’s truck in the parking lot, so he must still be on his way back from Slidell. He texted me earlier this morning with a message that said, “My bed was lonely without you last night.” Even though I wasn’t near a mirror, I know my face blushed bright red. Anyone else seeing that text wouldsoget the wrong impression.
Although, truth be told,mybed felt pretty lonely last night, too, after being curled up against Jonathan’s delicious bare chest the night before. I shake my head. I don’t know how I went from hating him to wanting him this much in just two months.
Through the front doors and up the stairs, I pause before scanning my badge to enter the lab. I take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth to help shift my brain into work mode. My badge beeps against the scanner, and I pull open the door.
I’ve taken barely three steps inside when Dr. Gantt rushes over to me. “Molly!” she exclaims, putting a hand on each of my shoulders. “Congratulations!”
“Um…” The back of my neck prickles as my thoughts swirl. This isn’t about Jonathan and I dating, is it? That would be weird, right? “Congratulations?” I echo.
“The gliders, Molly! The data started pouring in early this morning.”
I gasp, my heart pounding. “They did?”
Dr. Gantt bobbles her head. “You haven’t checked?”
“I … I checked yesterday afternoon, but when nothing was there…” I trail off, the news sinking in. The gliders aretransmitting data from the storm! Tears prick at the back of my eyes. I close them, bringing my hand up to cover my mouth.
I have to see for myself. My eyes pop open again, and I rush past Dr. Gantt to boot up my laptop at my desk. She follows, laughing.
I log in to the servers and navigate to the glider data. Dropping into my chair, I study the rows and rows of gorgeous numbers. A chuckle sounds, the reverberations tickling my throat. It’s me; I’m laughing. I sit back in the chair, running both hands through my hair.
“It worked!” I whisper between giggles, awestruck.
Dr. Gantt rests her hand on my shoulder. “Good work, Molly. I haven’t delved deeply into the data yet, but all three gliders have reported, and the data are continuous since yesterday afternoon. It’s comprehensive.”
Comprehensive. “Do you know what this means?” I ask.
She beams at me. “Not fully, not yet. But we’re bound to find some interesting patterns, hmm? This is it, Molly! Thank you. You did it. I’m going to start gathering everyone for the meeting. We have big news to share!” She walks away, leaving me at my desk, staring into the computer screen.
I did it. With Jonathan. He should be here, celebrating with us. I want him to be here.
Knowing a text will be useless if he’s driving, which I hope he is, I pick up my phone and call him.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Jonathan’s cheerful voice echoes in my ear.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Almost there. Is something wrong?” His tone has shifted, but I’m too focused on getting him here to pinpoint the change.
“No,” I answer, my throat too thick to elaborate. “Just get here, to the lab, as soon as you can. Please.”
“Moll—” I hear him say as I hang up the phone.
I jump to my feet, knees trembling, and join Dr. Gantt and about fifteen colleagues who are gathered in a circle near the entrance to the office.
Dr. Gantt calls everyone to attention. She starts with some platitudes about how she hopes everyone made it through the storm okay. A few of our coworkers share about small trees down in their neighborhoods and minor flooding in their backyards. I half listen, most of my attention focused on the glass entry door, watching for Jonathan to arrive.
Finally, I see him burst through the stairwell door and rush toward the lab, just as Dr. Gantt says, “As you know, we launched a risky project in tandem with the hurricane. Drs. Delaney and Stanch led the charge, and I’m excited to announce—”
Jonathan erupts through the door, his eyes on me, assessing and cataloging through furrowed brows. He pushes his way through our colleagues and across the center of the circle to stand in front of me. Ignoring—or maybe not even seeing—everyone else, he runs his hands over my arms, then lifts my chin while spinning me around.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he demands gruffly.
I take a step back, my face and neck flushed from a mixture of embarrassment and eager desire. Probably 70 percent desire, 30 percent embarrassment.
“I’m fine!” I insist breathlessly.
His face and posture relax as he lets out a long breath. “When you called, you sounded upset.” He cups my face in his hands. “I got here as fast as I could.”
