He didn’t argue with her. Right now, he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be than standing here with her, in the sunshine, with nowhere he had to be for hours.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“This was a great idea,” he said.

They’d been standing there for about ten minutes, inching closer and closer to the tacos, when Olivia felt Max stand up straight.

And then, very slowly, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“I just realized that I know the woman standing right behind us. She’s a reporter with the San Francisco Chronicle, she’s interviewed me a few times. I don’t quite look like my senator self today, but . . .”

Olivia froze, and then nodded slowly.

“Okay. Um, do you want to go?”

Max looked at her like she’d asked him if the sky looked green.

“And deny myself the chance to have the best tacos in the Bay Area, maybe all of California? Are you kidding me?” He pressed his lips together and paused for a moment. “But do you want to go? We can if you want to.”

She thought about that for a minute. The smart thing to do would be to leave right now, so the reporter didn’t recognize Max and blow their secret. Especially because the two of them had been standing there hand in hand for the past ten minutes; it would be pretty obvious to anyone who saw them that they were together. They never did that when they were out in public together in L.A., but somehow in the Bay Area, away from their regular lives, it felt like they could do whatever they wanted. And she didn’t want to stop. She shook her head.

“We came all this way. And the tacos smell so good.” She put her hand on his stubbly cheek. She kind of liked him all scruffy like this. “Don’t you have an embarrassing cousin who lives in the Bay Area anyway? Peter, right? He works in advertising or something?”

He kissed her on the cheek and smiled at her.

“Mmm, yes, yes I do, thanks for reminding me.”

Max kept his back to the reporter for the next five minutes until they got to the front of the line, and Olivia kept trying to remember to call him Peter, which just made them both giggle. Max ordered two of everything on the menu, which she’d known he would do before they even discussed it, and they claimed a corner of a picnic table.

“Are we going to take the tacos to go, or eat here and tough it out?” Max asked her.

She grinned at him.

“We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

He reached for her hand and held on tight.

“I’m so glad we have,” he said.

She looked into his warm, kind, mischievous eyes.

“Me, too,” she said.

Max felt that usual burst of adrenaline as he strode into the hotel and toward the ballroom for the fundraiser. He loved this part of his job. He gave a damn good speech, and he knew it, and he knew he was going to do it tonight, too. He turned to grin at his two staff members who were there with him, and then sighed. Georgia and Zachary were both great at their jobs, but he wished he had Olivia next to him tonight instead.

That morning and afternoon together had been so fun and relaxed, he’d wished it didn’t have to end. She’d looked so happy when they finished their pile of tacos that he hadn’t wanted to leave her. He was really glad, though, that she’d be there in the hotel waiting for him tonight, after this fundraiser was over. Even though he enjoyed events like this, they took a lot out of him. That wasn’t something he’d expected when he first started a life in politics. He’d always been an extrovert, he’d always been good at parties, but political events were on a whole different plane than anything else he’d experienced. He had to be on all the time; he had to give every single person who wanted to talk to him his full attention; he had to show them all the Max Powell they’d come for. And it wasn’t that he resented any of that—he wanted to do that, he liked meeting people, he wanted to hear their stories and give of himself to them. But he hadn’t realized how exhausting it would be, every time. He was glad he wasn’t going to have to go back to a lonely hotel room tonight.

He walked into the greenroom and snapped his mind away from Olivia and onto this fundraiser tonight. After the parade of likely boring speeches, it would be a zoo of picture taking with donors, and glad-handing and chatting with all of the other politicians in the room. These things were part of the job in any election year, even one where he wasn’t up for reelection. Thank goodness Wes would be at this one—not that they’d even get to really talk to each other, but at least he’d have someone to make eye contact with when one of the speeches got boring, or annoying, or laughable, which happened every single time.

After the usual rigmarole with the organizers, they ushered him onstage, where the governor introduced him to lots of cheering. Max went on and gave an abbreviated version of the same speech he’d been giving at these things all year—he always tried to keep his speeches short, punchy, and just a little funny. He ended on a laugh line, waved at the crowd, and went backstage with a smile on his face, while their laughter echoed behind him. He walked past a group of press, and . . . yep, that reporter from the taco truck was there. He grinned as he made his way into the reception area.

“Max Powell, as I live and breathe.” A woman with a very large hairdo and a lot of makeup pulled him into a hug, and he laughed and hugged her back.