Page 83 of Good Directions

21

SAWYER

At this point, I feel like if my lab results could tell me to fuck off, they would.

Still, the math isn’t mathing, as Anton likes to put it. Because everything—and I do mean everything—tells me that my results should be different. Every model I’ve run. Every calculation I’ve made. Absolutely everything.

Yet here I am, weeks into this, and it’s still the same. Is it better than what it was when I arrived? Sure. But better still isn’t good enough. Isn’t where I said it would be. And failure is not an option.

Not when Lead Research and Development Manager is on the line.

And the future success of crop soil across the state.

I need to figure out where I went wrong.

Throwing myself back in my chair, I heave out a heavy sigh, the weight of all of it more than enough to roll me backward.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Cary comments.

“I won’t…” I huff out a breath, like a dragon breathing fire, as I wildly gesture toward the monitor.

Anton rolls over in his chair, the plastic wheels scratching against the tile floor like nails on a chalkboard, my nerves already fraying. His hand lands on my knee, squeezing, the warmth and comfort from his touch helping to soothe the irritation flowing through me.

“Wanna talk it through?”

I look at him, still annoyed but less so, hoping that I don’t look like a lost puppy. “It’s generally accepted that it’s easier to disprove a hypothesis than to prove it, because a single piece of contradictory evidence can essentially refute the whole thing. All swans are white—at least until you see a black swan.”

“Riiiight…”

He drags out the word, his deep drawl rumbling through me and making me want to curl up in his lap, as he nods along to let me know he’s paying attention. As if those striking blue eyes staring back at me didn’t give it away.

“And that’s my problem.”

“That you’re disproving it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “But I’m not proving it either. My numbers are only partially lining up.”

“What happened to outperforming more rapidly than expected?”

“We were…until we weren’t.”

I point at the screen, talking him through each part of the result. Showing him exactly where each number came from and how I’ve been measuring and making my calculations. What all my models show it should be.

“Something is off in your data set; there’s no denying that,” he says, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. His shirt lifts slightly, enough to show off a sliver of his untanned belly, making me want to poke him. “Question is what. And all your samples are from the same grove?”

I nod, holding back a silly, smitten grin. This is the Anton I think I’ve fallen for the hardest. The nerdy science guy. Don’t get me wrong—every part of him is unique and special, even the Mr. Too good-looking for his own good fruit-stand guy part. But the science guy is the one who has absolutely stolen my heart.

“Hmmm…”

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

I can see the wheels turning in his head, and wish I had some sort of trick to pull the information out. There’s a lot of it up there. Anton has a strange, vast knowledge base, which makes me think that once he gets the gears going, there might be a chance the answer lies in there.

“That I still only know enough about soil to not fuck up my crops. But, if you’d like to talk about freestone peach cultivars, then I’m your man.”

You’re my man, regardless…

I throw my head back, letting out a laugh that resembles that of a fourteen-year-old girl standing in the hallway talking to her crush. Which is about what I feel like.