“You’re right. I did forget that, for a . . . while. I’m just not used to prioritizing Olivia over Olivia’s work product.”

Ellie pulled her out of the chair and into another hug.

“I know. But you’ve got to do it. Because I want to be working with you for a long damn time, and that’s not going to happen if you turn your own damn self into a robot.”

Olivia held on tight to her friend.

“I’ll try,” she said in a small voice. “Ellie, I love him so much.”

Ellie squeezed her hard.

“I know you do. Damn that man.” She pulled back and dabbed at Olivia’s face with one tissue, and her own with another.

Olivia took the tissue from her.

“I’m sorry about all of the crying.”

She hadn’t cried at work—at least where anyone could see her—since her third year as an associate, when a terrible partner had yelled at her. Other terrible partners had yelled at her after that, of course, but she’d never let them see her cry again.

“Like I say to Sophia, it’s okay to feel your feelings,” Ellie said.

Olivia made herself laugh.

“I felt enough feelings this weekend to do me for the rest of the year, thanks. Actually, no, for the rest of the decade. I’d like to stop feeling any feelings for a while.”

Ellie gave her one more hug.

“Oh, honey. I’ve been there.” She stood up. “Now, this is what I’m going to do—I’m going to go to that bakery on the corner and get two of the most delicious-looking pastries they have, and make you choose which one you want, even though I know you’re going to hem and haw and in the end I’m going to cut them in half so we can each have both. And I’m going to get you another coffee, because I bet that one sitting in front of you is cold by now. And then I’m going to book us a spa day this Saturday, and neither work nor my husband nor my child will keep us away from it. And then I’m going to check on you every few hours and see if you need me until you yell at me and tell me to stop. Does that sound good?”

Ellie opened Olivia’s door and disappeared without waiting for an answer. Olivia hoped Ellie didn’t come back with the pastries in one of those bakery boxes like all of those cakes had come in.

She took a deep breath and pulled out her phone.

Max. Please stop sending the cakes.

There. That was done.

She put her head down on her desk and sobbed.

The last week of recess, home in L.A. by himself, without Olivia, was one of the most difficult weeks of Max’s life. He’d pretended to his staff that he was fine, great, thrilled with the town halls, in love with the great state of California, so happy he’d gotten to meet so many of his constituents, having fun at all of the fundraisers! But he felt like he was carrying a heavy, ice-cold weight on his shoulders the whole week.

Every room in his house made him think of her. The kitchen, where they’d eaten pie straight out of the dish and laughed the whole time. The living room, where they’d spent hours working at opposite ends of the couch with comic book movies (his choice) or Bravo (her choice) on the TV in the background. The backyard, where she’d dragged him outside to look at the full moon on clear nights. And good God, the bedroom. He couldn’t sleep there anymore; after that first awful night, he crashed in the guest bedroom—the only room in the house that didn’t have memories of her. Especially over the past month, when they’d spent so much time at his house together because he hadn’t wanted to lead the press to her place—something he’d stupidly forgotten that night he went over to her house. That night she’d broken his heart.

All of a sudden he had so much sympathy for every one of his friends who had ever gone through this kind of heartbreak, and felt like an asshole for whatever he’d said to them at the time. Like “cheer up” or “get back out there” or “she didn’t deserve you!” He definitely remembered saying at least that last one. If anyone said that to him right now, he’d want to punch them in the jaw. Olivia deserved far more than him. He didn’t deserve her. God, he loved her so much. Why wasn’t that enough?

He wasn’t supposed to be back in DC until Sunday night, but he changed his ticket to go back on Saturday instead. He couldn’t take one more night in that house, in that city, with Olivia right there and not there with him, especially after that text she’d sent him. He’d thought the cakes would be a sweet callback to how she’d first agreed to go out with him, and would make her realize all the good times they shared, and that she couldn’t throw it all away. Apparently not.

He let himself into the DC apartment and sighed in relief. He was so happy to be in this generic, boring apartment, a place Olivia had never been.

He dropped his suitcase on the floor of his bedroom and went back out into the kitchen to see if either he or Wes had left beer in the fridge before they left for recess. At least luck was with him today—there was an entire six-pack. It was alone in the fridge with a bottle of sparkling water, a jar of pickles, and three different kinds of mustard.

Just as he opened the bottle, the apartment door opened and Wes walked in.

“Max! What are you doing here?”

Shit. He’d been really looking forward to this night alone, before he had to pull himself together and talk to people in this damn city again.

“I could ask you the same question,” Max said. “I assumed you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night.”

Wes shook his head and came into the kitchen.

“Give me one of those, will you?” Max pulled the cap off a second beer bottle and handed it to his friend. “No, I got back late last night—they booked me on one of the Sunday morning shows, so I came back early to prep. And so I wouldn’t be so fucking exhausted first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Congratulations,” Max said. Getting booked on a Sunday morning news show was a big coup, especially for a freshman House member. But God, did he wish he had the apartment to himself tonight.

“What are you doing back so early? I thought you’d spend every moment you could in California with your girl. Or did she come back with you?” Wes looked in the direction of Max’s bedroom with a smirk on his face. Max probably would have thought that was funny before.

“She broke up with me.”

God, did it suck to say it out loud.

“What?” Wes dropped his beer on the counter, and it tipped on its side and spilled everywhere. “Shit, wait.” He grabbed a dish towel out of the drawer and mopped up the mess as he stared up at Max. “Are you serious? Are you okay?” Wes looked at Max and answered his own question. “No, you’re definitely not okay.”

Max took a swig of his beer and sat down on the couch.

“No. I’m definitely not okay.” He held up his hand. “I haven’t . . . I haven’t told anyone else, so if you could keep this between us for the time being?”

Wes took what was left of his beer into the living room to join Max.

“You mean, I shouldn’t let it slip while I’m on CNN tomorrow?” He glanced over at Max with a grin on his face, and Max just glared at him. Wes held up a hand.

“Right, sorry, I’m being an asshole, aren’t I? You’re not at the ‘let’s joke about this’ stage yet. Tell me what happened.”