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“This next one is for Eve and Zoey,” the band’s vocalist announced, “celebrating six years of love tonight. Here’s to sixty more.”
The song was a steamy cover of a song she’d loved in college. “Make You Feel My Love,” by Bob Dylan. Rowan sighed.
Harrison ducked his head to catch her eye. “What part do you disapprove of? The song choice, or the love stuff?”
“I doubt you actually want to know my answer.”
“I never ask a question I don’t want an answer for,” Harrison said.
She met his eyes. “I’ve always liked the song.”
He smashed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Ah. So, it’s the love bit that has you scoffing.”
“I didn’t scoff.”
“Oh, I definitely heard a scoff.”
Rowan shrugged.
“Love is what makes us human,” he said. “I’d even argue it’s a huge part of our success as a species.”
“Wow. You’re trying to make it about science?”
It was Harrison’s turn to shrug. “We protect what we love.”
Rowan leveled a cool look at him. “Animals protect what they share DNA with. It’s in our genes. If your peers are safe, you’re safe. Survival is a numbers game.”
“Humans are different.”
She smirked. “There are two things that make humans different from other mammals. Our tendency to seek self-destructive things, and our willful desire to be duped. It’s why we enjoy scary movies and fiction novels, and Santa Claus and artificial sweeteners.”
He breathed out a laugh. “Are all biologists as bleak as you about the human condition?”
“Why do you think I chose to dedicate my life to plants? Plants don’t fuck each other over.”
The smile faded from his eyes, and his arms stiffened. “Jesus, Rowan.”
“People don’t fall in love,” she said. “They fall inlustand call it love, to sanitize the fact they’re simply responding to the urges of their bodies.”
Fingertips briefly dug into her hip. “The urges of their bodies? Really?” His voice dipped to a low enough register she felt the rumble of it in her own chest.
“How many times have you been in love, Harrison?”
He hesitated. Swallowed. “Few times.”
“And how many of those people are you in love with now?” She plucked one of her hairs off his shirt and released it in the wind.
“Interesting line of questioning from someone who doesn’t believe in love.” Harrison’s eyes lifted, tracking the long curl as it floated away.
Rowan jerked her hand back down and rested it on his shoulder. “I’m a scientist. I’m gathering data.”
“Nicola and I, ah—” He spoke slowly. “We weren’t what the other needed.”
“Nicola,” Rowan echoed the name. “But if love is real, why didn’t it last?”
He hesitated. “Does a thing ending invalidate that it existed at all?”
“Don’t answer my questions with a question.”
