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“Our boyfriends have so much in common.” “They do. They think hating entire harmless families of food is a personality trait.”
“Adam was into her for ages. He probably secretly studied her eating habits and compiled seventeen databases and built machine-learning algorithms to predict her culinary preferences—” Olive burst into laughter.
“You two met the year before you started your Ph.D. here, when you came for your interview, and he’s been pining after you ever since.”
It had been Adam, after all. Olive had been right.
HYPOTHESIS: When given a choice between A (telling a lie) and B (telling the truth), I will inevitably end up selecting . . . No. Not this time.
“ ‘He who laughs at himself never runs out of things to laugh at.’ ” Holden popped a bit of fortune cookie in his mouth, blinking at the message inside. “Is that shade?” He looked around, indignant. “Did this fortune cookie just throw shade at me?”
You can fall in love: someone will catch you.
Her stubborn, mercurial fake boyfriend. Wonderfully, perfectly unique. Delightfully one of a kind.
“That’s the thing with science. We’re drilled to believe that false positives are bad, but false negatives are just as terrifying.” She swallowed. “Not being able to see something, even if it’s in front of your eyes. Purposefully making yourself blind, just because you’re afraid of seeing too much.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “What is the second thing?” She was still crying, but she’d never been happier. So she said it, probably in the worst accent he’d ever heard. “Ik hou van jou, Adam.”
RESULTS: Careful analyses of the data collected, accounting for potential confounds, statistical error, and experimenter’s bias, show that when I fall in love . . . things don’t actually turn out to be that bad.
“May I kiss you, Dr. Carlsen?”
