There’s always something in his tee pocket. A pencil. Glasses. A Post-it. He follows my gaze down to it and then tugs it out, flips it over, clasping it between two long fingers. “I was working on this when you called.” His right brow hitches. “It’s the secret to the future of our universe.” I huff out a laugh, despite myself. “You wrote the secret to the future of our universe on a Post-it?” “Can you think of a better place?” “Not really.” I tip my chin toward it. “What is it?” He tilts his head. “It’s just a couple of Euler-Lagrange equations.” I frown. “I know that. The shortest distance
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