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effects of sugar over time.”
    He grins. “Something like that.”
    “What are you really studying?”
    “It’s top secret,” he tells her, his face utterly serious. “And you seem nice, so I don’t want to have to kill you.”
    “Gee, thanks,” she says. “Can you at least tell me your major? Or is that classified, too?”
    “Probably psychology,” he says. “Though I’m still sorting it out.”
    “Ah,” Hadley says. “So
that
explains all the mind games.”
    Oliver laughs. “You say mind games, I say research.”
    “I guess I better watch what I say, then, if I’m being analyzed.”
    “That’s true,” he says. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”
    “And?”
    He gives her a sideways smile. “Too soon to tell.”
    Behind him, an elderly woman pauses at their row, squinting down at her ticket. She’s wearing a flowered dress and has white hair so delicate you can see right through to her scalp. Her hand trembles a bit as she points at the number posted above them.
    “I think you’re in my seat,” she says, worrying the edges of her ticket with her thumb, and beside Hadley, Oliver stands up so fast he hits his head on the air-conditioning panel.
    “Sorry,” he’s saying as he attempts to maneuver out of her way, his cramped overtures doing little to fix things in such a tight space. “I was just there for a moment.”
    The woman looks at him carefully, then her gaze slides over to Hadley, and they can almost see the idea of it dawning on her, the corners of her watery eyes creasing.
    “Oh,” she says, bringing her hands together with a soft clap. “I didn’t realize you were
together
.” She drops her purse on the end seat. “You two stay put. I’ll be just fine here.”
    Oliver looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but Hadley’s busy worrying about the fact that he just lost his spot, because who wants to spend seven hours stuck in the middle seat? But as the woman lowers herself gingerly into the rough fabric of her seat, he smiles back at Hadley reassuringly, and she can’t help feeling a bit relieved. Because the truth is that now that he’s here, she can’t imagine it any other way. Now that he’s here, she worries that crossing an entire ocean with someone between them might be something like torture.
    “So,” the woman asks, digging through her purse and emerging with a pair of foam earplugs, “how did you two meet?”
    They exchange a quick glance.
    “Believe it or not,” Oliver says, “it was in an airport.”
    “How wonderful!” she exclaims, looking positively delighted. “And how did it happen?”
    “Well,” he begins, sitting up a bit taller, “I was being quite gallant, actually, and offered to help with her suitcase. And then we started talking, and one thing led to another….”
    Hadley grins. “And he’s been carrying my suitcase ever since.”
    “It’s what any true gentleman would do,” Oliver says with exaggerated modesty.
    “Especially the really gallant ones.”
    The old woman seems pleased by this, her face folding into a map of tiny wrinkles. “And here you both are.”
    Oliver smiles. “Here we are.”
    Hadley’s surprised by the force of the wish that wells up inside of her just then: She wishes that it were true, all of it. That it were more than just a story. That it were
their
story.
    But then he turns to face her again and the spell is broken. His eyes are practically shining with amusement as he checks to be sure she’s still sharing in the joke. Hadley manages a small smile before he swivels back to the woman, who has launched into a story about how she met her husband.
    Things like this don’t just happen
, Hadley thinks. Not really. Not to her.
    “… and our youngest is forty-two,” the old woman is saying to Oliver. The skin of her neck hangs down in loose folds that quiver like Jell-O when she speaks, and Hadley brings a hand to her own neck reflexively, running her thumb and forefinger along her throat. “And in August