“Technically, yes, there’s usually food at these things—there was today. But the problem—and the thing I still forget, even though I’ve been in this job for going on two years now—is that even when there’s food I almost never get the opportunity to actually eat it.” He laughed. “Today wasn’t so bad, because the food was just things like sandwiches and vegetables and dip, but a few months ago I went to something in the Central Valley and there was all of this amazing Mexican food and I kept putting food on a plate and taking one bite and then having to shake someone’s hand or take a picture with someone else and my plate would disappear and I would get a new one and it would happen all over again. I think I gave up after my fifth plate and just made my staff go out to an enormous Mexican meal with me after we left.”

Olivia handed him a piece of baguette, covered in that good, oozy cheese.

“Here, eat this. I can’t have a senator faint from hunger in my living room. That feels like a felony of some sort.”

He looked away from her and pretended to check the bag to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He’d briefly forgotten why they were here on her living room floor instead of on their way to the Getty, but those jokey words of hers brought everything back.

He cleared his throat.

“I … the reason I was upset this afternoon …” He put his wineglass down and rubbed his temples. “It’s kind of a long story, we don’t have to go into all of that.”

She touched his arm gently.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I don’t mind long stories.”

He looked into her eyes and could tell she meant it.