Category: test

奥利芙有三个绝对忍无可忍的雷点：别人张嘴嚼东西的声音、尴尬到抠脚的“moist”这个词，而排在最顶的，是爱情。说真的，她给过爱情好多机会，一次又一次，至今偶尔还会不受控制地抽一下眼角，那是她每次尝试都输得一塌糊涂的铁证。“你呼吸不对啊，”凯蒂通过蓝牙耳机说，“又吃了一堆坚果的东西吧？”这又一次提醒她，爱情对她来说有多灾难。奥利芙超爱花生，但她的身体对花生有致命过敏。“没，我没事，”她对着麦克风撒谎，心里默默夸自己把这种无伤大雅的小谎练得炉火纯青。练了好几年的手艺，让她能骗过几乎所有人，包括她从小玩到大的闺蜜。“说真的，我超棒，百分百状态在线，绝不夸张。”“你这是反讽吧？”凯蒂·特纳-布鲁克斯有过目不忘的本事，能心算复杂的数学题，还能一字不差背出几年前的对话——但反讽这种东西，她一次都get不到。“别瞎说，这是正向显化，”奥利芙纠正她，“我真的在努力说服自己我过得很好。”（她心里还补了一句：顺便别让自己直接 panic 发作。）“那你肯定能做到。”凯蒂永远不懂，奥利芙的日子从来没那么轻松过。小时候她就特别笨拙，拼命想融入，长大了也没好到哪去。她慢慢呼气，开车沿着太浩湖的海岸线行驶，欣赏着风景，朝着北端的山间小镇日出湾开去。她压下了变回那个孤独迷茫的少女的冲动。“我在最后一个加油站买了萨拉米肠、功能饮料和巧克力奶油派，这就是我现在脑子乱成浆糊的原因。”“有什么好紧张的？几乎没人记得你当年撞了小镇金童那事儿。”奥利芙沉默了，凯蒂叹了口气：“看来我还是不会讲笑话。我都读了一整本喜剧技巧的书了。”“还是有点笑点的，重点是‘有点’。”奥利芙很清楚，整个小镇都没忘记她的错。诺亚·特纳，那个所谓的小镇英雄，有一堆标签：最可能成大器的人、备受疼爱的独子、凯蒂的同卵双胞胎哥哥——还有奥利芙高中时的假男友，这细节可不能忘。“你干嘛在乎陌生人的想法？”凯蒂追问。“我不在乎，我只是累了，因为我的生活永远没法完全理顺。”“撑到你做到为止，姐妹，”凯蒂提醒她，“这话是你当年跟我说的。”旧回忆涌上来，堵得奥利芙喉咙发紧，她把所有注意力放回挡风玻璃外的风景上。天空亮得晃眼，澄澈得像水晶；湖水是深到不真实的宝蓝色；无边无际的松林覆盖着群山，山顶常年积着雪。每一寸风景都充满鲜活的生命力——要不是太有生气了，这场景简直就是一幅完美的油画。凯蒂的声音打断了她的惊叹：“你当年还说过，不管碎多少次，总能拼回原样。”“是啊，那时候的我乐观多了。你要是能试着忘掉我这几年瞎念叨的那些蠢话就好了。”“我怎么把那些和你真正有意义的话分开？”奥利芙轻笑一声：“哇，这居然是个笑话！”“谁说是笑话了？”“笑死了。”“随便你。”凯蒂清了清嗓子，语气变得温柔起来。“真的谢谢你开车过来帮我照顾小乔伊。图书馆给了我无限期假，但你在这儿能帮我减轻好多负担。我就能有更多时间在医院陪乔，这对我来说太重要了。”“我当然会来。”凯蒂很少求别人帮忙，尽管她给了奥利芙父母给不了的一切：安全感、稳定、无条件的接纳。“我全听你的，不管你需要什么。

Special operatives Noah and Katie’s husband Joe used to serve together at ISB—the National Park Service’s Investigative Services Branch under the U.S. Department of the Interior, based in Yosemite, just three hours south of here. The two had been tracking a string of vehicle break-ins and robberies, which escalated into a brutal high-speed chase. A suspect in the fleeing car opened fire on them, shattering the patrol car’s windshield, blowing out two tires, and flipping the vehicle violently off the road. A helicopter airlifted Joe to a hospital in the Tahoe area, where he’d been stuck in the ICU for a full week after the crash. Noah got discharged, but the medical team hadn’t cleared him to return to work—he was still healing from multiple injuries, including a damaged right leg. That leg wound was a repeat of an old one: years ago, Olive had accidentally hit him with her car. She’d locked that memory away in a mental folder labeled "Don’t Think About This Right Now." "How’s Joe doing?" "He’s still in a coma," Katie said flatly. "Short answer: he’s unresponsive, stuck in an unconscious state because of damage to the brain’s ascending reticular activating system—ARAS, the part that controls wakefulness." "He’ll make it," Olive whispered softly. "He better. If he doesn’t wake up, I’m going straight into that coma and yank him out myself." "I’ll help you." "Misfits stick together." Olive let out a soft huff of laughter, repeating the line. "Misfits stick together." That had been their motto since she moved in with her grandma at 14, right next door to the Turners. Before that, she’d been homeschooled on a remote off-grid farm hours north of Lake Tahoe, hidden in a wilderness almost no one dared step into. She could build a raging fire in three minutes flat, but had zero clue how to talk to kids her age. Katie was just as socially awkward, making them easy targets for school bullies. As for Noah—he wasn’t an outcast or troublemaker at all—he’d reluctantly become their unofficial protector back then. "You almost here?" Katie asked. Olive glanced at the lake on her right. Its deep blue waters were so big they could swallow the entire Empire State Building. Tall pine forests climbed the mountain slopes, their treetops almost touching the thin, fluffy white clouds floating above. Just looking at the landscape calmed her racing heart. "I’m passing your library building now." "The library? Great! You’ll be here in exactly ten and a half minutes. Don’t get lost." Olive laughed. "It hasn’t been that long, I never get lost." "That’s a lie! Remember your driver’s test? The DMV guy told you to turn right, but you always mix up left and right, so you swerved left instead—" "I’ve got left and right down now," Olive joked, trying to cut the story short. But her hope was slim—Katie never let a side tangent die once she started talking. "You ended up going the wrong way on a one-way street and totally panicked. You jerked the wheel to turn right, but it wasn’t a road—just a hiking trail with No Vehicle Access signs everywhere. You failed the test right away—" "I remember every single detail." "The examiner ended up with severe chest pains and got rushed to the hospital by ambulance—only for doctors to find it was just indigestion. He’d stuffed four hot dogs from that lakefront food shack, the one that got shut down after poisoning dozens of visitors. Remember that part?" "Vaguely," Olive said flatly. "You made the local paper’s front page. Almost no one does that, but you did it again a few years later when—" "Let me stop you there, okay? I haven’t forgotten any of my embarrassing mistakes. I’ll see you in a couple minutes—" Her words cut off when a man stepped off the sidewalk without looking for cars. She slammed on the brakes hard, her rented Mini Cooper skidded to a stop just feet away from him, her heart jumping into panic. When he turned to face her, Olive gasped in total shock. "What’s happening?" Katie’s voice crackled through the Bluetooth. Olive’s car was crooked halfway into the crosswalk, the sharp smell of burnt rubber filling her nose. The stranger she almost hit pulled out one earbud, raised a hand to block the sun, clearly trying to see her face through the tiny rental car’s windshield. A shaky breath of relief escaped her. It was Noah Turner. He mouthed a quick sorry before walking on, his gait uneven as he clearly favored his injured right leg. "He mouths an apology?" Olive muttered to herself. "I almost had a heart attack, and all he gives me is a silent sorry—" "Who are you talking to?" "I almost ran over your brother. Again." "He’s not gonna be happy to hear that." Olive fought the urge to bang her head on the steering wheel. "I’m pretty sure he couldn’t recognize me through the glass, and I have no plans to tell him anything. You can’t mention this either." "No problem," Katie said casually. "Around here, you’re known as The One Who Shall Not Be Named." "Excuse me?" "Shoot," Katie muttered, then made a sound like she smacked her own forehead. "Don’t tell Olive I called her that nickname." "Are you kidding? That’s what they call me?" "Don’t take it personal," Katie rushed to calm her. "He’s got a whole list of off-limits topics Mom and I can’t bring up. One category is women and marriage—all women, not just you." Olive let out a choked laugh. "Wow, that’s harsh." "We’re also not allowed to ask when he’ll settle down and start a family. Honestly, he should’ve added matchmaking to the rulebook. Mom keeps trying to set him up with every single single woman she meets." For the first time all day, a real smile tugged at Olive’s lips. She’d spent the whole drive dreading running into Noah, but it sounded like he was busy dodging blind dates.

Oh, and you’re crashing at our place,

A tiny, soft mew caught Olive’s ears. Her eyes darted down, landing on a small gray-and-white kitten fixated on her, its pale blue eyes slightly crossed and wide as saucers. “Hey there, little one.” She reached out a hand toward the kitten, only for the tiny creature to hiss and dart back. “Tiny frame, huge attitude, huh? I’m not here to hurt you, promise.” “Maybe you aren’t, but she definitely is,” Grandma said, stepping out onto the porch with a wooden tray. “That’s a stray that wandered onto our land out of nowhere yesterday. I named her Pepper—perfect for such a feisty little spitfire.” “She’s way too skinny.” “I know. I’ve been leaving bowls of kibble and fresh water out for her, and I’m gonna feed you in a sec.” Olive turned to face Grandma and chuckled, spotting the tray piled with cold milk and chocolate chip cookies—just like their childhood afternoon rituals. Grandma gave a big grin: “I’ve always loved strays of all kinds.” Olive dipped a cookie into her milk, watching closely to get the soak just right—too short and it stays dry, too long and it turns to mush. “Is work stress getting to you? I thought you adored living in London and running your own firm.” Olive thought about it, leaning forward over her mug, only to accidentally spill milk all down her sundress. Total embarrassment. “I really do love it—London’s awesome, and being my own boss is even better.” Grandma dunked her cookie flawlessly, lifting it to her mouth with zero spills. “While you’re here, I need your PR help at the local senior center. We wanna expand our facilities and need help getting funding.” “Absolutely, I’d love to help.” Grandma’s grin widened. “What about your boyfriend? His name was Ian, right? The one who got you that pretty silver bracelet.” Ian was the last person she wanted to talk about. He’d left her emotionally wrecked, with constant headaches and trust issues after cheating on a friend she thought was close. She’d bought that bracelet for herself after they split up. “I’m… seeing someone new.” “Oh, that’s awesome news,” Grandma brightened instantly. “What’s his name?” “Matt.” He’s funny, kind, loyal, has a solid job, and comes from a loving family. The catch? He’s totally made up—so he’s the perfect fake boyfriend. “He didn’t wanna come with you?” Grandma glanced at her bare ring finger. “I would’ve loved to meet him.” That’s the worst part of having a fake partner. But at least she didn’t have to answer endless questions about being single, or why she’s scared to love again. Plus, it made her life look way more put-together than it actually was, and she’d take any small win she could get. “He’s swamped with work lately, so—” “Nonsense. No one’s too busy for love. You deserve a happy, steady relationship more than anyone I know.” Olive didn’t want romance or love at all. What she craved was stability—something her messy childhood never gave her. So every romantic relationship she entered inevitably repeated the chaotic unpredictability she’d grown up around. A pickup truck rumbled up the shared driveway, stopping at the top of Katie’s side of the property. The man who got out was exactly like Olive remembered: tall, lean and muscular, dark loose curls peeking out from under a baseball cap, mirrored sunglasses masking his eyes. Once, he had a permanent easy smile, but today his jaw was tight. He shrugged his broad shoulders like he was fighting constant pain, then froze the second his gaze landed on the tiny Mini Cooper parked next to Grandma’s house. The same car that almost hit him half an hour earlier. Olive gasped and sank deep into the wooden porch swing. She held her breath as he pushed his sunglasses up to his cap, peered through the car windows, then lifted his head—zeroing in on her position, their eyes locking instantly.

Olive huddled as deep into the porch swing as she possibly could, just barely avoiding slipping straight onto the ground, desperate to stay out of sight from the white picket fence at the front. “What on earth are you doing?” Gram asked her. “Playing invisible. You didn’t catch even a hint of me—I’m not even here—” “I’d beg to differ,” a male voice cut through her rambling. That unbearably familiar tone yanked up every bright, glowing memory from the best days of her youth. And every agonizing memory from the worst ones, too. She cringed and lifted her gaze upward. Noah stood before her, looking far too put-together for someone she’d once convinced had ruined her entire life. His eyes were slitted tight, his jaw set in a harsh, rigid line, every muscle along his jaw pulled taut with tension. “Olive Porter, in the flesh,” he said flat, zero warmth or emotion in his words. That made her twice as furious—annoyance piling on top of raw irritation. Though truthfully… he’d never ruined her life. She was the one who’d ruined his. “It’s so good to see you again,” Gram greeted him warmly. “It’s been ages since you’ve come back to town.” Noah flashed his most practiced, charming grin. “Adele. You look fantastic as ever.” Gram, like nearly every woman who crossed his path, instantly fell for his rugged, effortless charm and broke into a bright smile. “You’re quite the smooth talker, aren’t you.” She flicked a glance at Olive. “Is your Matt half this sweet?” For starters, Noah never had an ounce of soft sweetness in his bones. Sharp-witted, quick with jokes, thrillingly dangerous—absolutely. Sweet? Not a chance. Second, why had she ever thought making up a fake boyfriend was a smart move? Why couldn’t she have just admitted she didn’t need a man to complete her life? She truly didn’t, not even in the slightest. Hindsight really is a cruel curse. “Matt’s far gentler and sweeter than you’ll ever be.” Noah only shot her a smug, taunting smirk, the infuriating man. “I need a word with you alone.” Olive grabbed another cookie from the tray. “I’m fully occupied right now.” But he’d already wrapped his fingers around her wrist, hauled her gently to her feet and led her away with that uneven, strained gait of his. A sharp, twinging ache shot straight through her chest at the sight of his limp. Stupid, traitorous heart. She must have made some small, involuntary sound, because he glanced back over his shoulder, caught the pained flicker across her face, and his own expression hardened instantly. “Feeling sorry for me all of a sudden?” “Not even remotely.” She bit down hard into the cookie she’d clung onto mid-escape.