Page 38 of Hacking the Holidays
“What?” Rose asked.
“Your eyes …”
“What about them?”
“Your pupils are dilated,” I pointed out.
“And?”
I shrugged. “I guess it’s a little odd, considering it’s so bright in here.”
“There are other reasons for dilated pupils, you know,” Rose said.
“Prescription and recreational drugs,” I said.
“Do I need to pee in a cup for you?”
“Hard pass, plus you broke my cup.”
Rose laughed. “For your information, Mr. Smarty Pants,the pupils can also dilate when the brain releases feel-good hormones and neurotransmitters like oxytocin and dopamine.”
“Very true,” I said, thinking about it. “Does that mean you’re feeling good right now?”
She shrugged with a hint of a satisfied smile. “You’re taking care of me. And I like that.”
“Interesting,” I said. “So, now your pupils are dilatedandyou’re blushing. What does that mean, scientifically speaking?”
“It means I shouldn’t have said that out loud. Also, you need to quit being so observant.”
“Fair enough,” I said with a chuckle, then finished wrapping the bandage around her finger. “All set. Try to keep it dry for the rest of the day, or I’ll have to amputate it and use it as fish bait.”
Rose shook her head, almost looking amused. “Have you always been so corny?”
I shrugged. “It’s a bit I’ve been working on as I get older. What do you think?”
“It’s an acquired taste.” She chuckled and flexed her hand, testing the bandage. “So, really, I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t start working. This bug we’re supposed to hunt down. Ready to finally get started?”
Right. The bug. The actual reason she was here. Work. Professional collaboration between two colleagues who definitely weren’t having weird moments over first aid procedures.
I stood and gestured toward the workstation she’d usedthe day before. “You’ll be working in the same place.” I wrote the login on a Post-it note and handed it to her. “You already know exactly what you’re looking for, so have at it. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sounds good,” Rose said, moving to the workstation and settling into the chair with visible relief at having something concrete to focus on.
I forced myself to focus on the budget reports I’d been neglecting for the past three days. Numbers, spreadsheets, funding allocations—all important, all requiring attention, all significantly less interesting than watching Rose. I mean, watching Rose work.
I glanced over at her, then mentally scolded myself and got back to my spreadsheet. Five minutes later, I glanced again.
Then again, ten minutes later.
This was getting ridiculous.
I did some mental math, estimating how long it would take a reasonably skilled programmer to identify and fix this bug. Given the complexity of the issue, a competent developer would probably need—conservatively—twenty-four hours. Maybe thirty-six if they ran into unexpected complications.
Rose had a high IQ, no doubt, so I did not know what to expect.
Four hours later, I glanced over at her again.
She suddenly pushed back from her desk and stretched.
