Love on the Brain

“You’re not going to slow down your pace to match mine, are you?”

“Of course I am.”

“I saw you smile at least four times.” I pat his arm comfortingly. “That can’t have been easy.”

“I saw you smile at least four times.” I pat his arm comfortingly. “That can’t have been easy.”

and closer to my ear . . . someone is panting. Less than an inch from me.

I open my eyes, gasping for breath, and . . .

Green.

Then, on Monday at 4:33 p.m., my email pings with a message from NASA. I read the name of the person who will be co-leading BLINK with me, and all of a sudden I’m none of those things anymore.

When they’re just little dots on the street, he tells me, “That was excellent practice for when we’ll have teenage daughters.”

“Bee, I don’t—” He exhales hard. “Get in the truck.”
“Why?”
“I’m driving you back to the cemetery and feeding you to the coyotes.”

“I’m not taking you to the cemetery.” He’s not looking at me. “Fasten your seat belt.”
“What?”
“Fasten your seat belt,” he repeats.
I do, confused. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“Whose home?”
“My home.”
My jaw drops. I must have misheard. “What?”
“You need a place to stay, no?”

“There is no other neuroscientist I’d want to do this project with. Not a single one.”

“Not nearly as good as her, not when it comes to neurostimulation.”