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"Alyssa, please stop standing at the window like you're about to jump," Mia said from the couch.

"I'm processing."

"You've been processing for six hours. Eat a canapé."

"Did you know that canapés were first referenced in French culinary texts in the eighteenth century? The word literally means 'sofa,' because the topping sits on the bread the way a person sits on a couch."

Mia grinned and pointed at the tray. “He’s got this. You need to eat something.”

Alyssa took a canapé.

The suite was organized chaos. Bob had turned the dining table into a command center — three laptops, two phones, and a whiteboard covered in numbers. She'd spent the last three months learning to read them, taking a deep dive on polls and precincts. The early voter data and the rural-urban breakdown and the sample size errors that could make a two-point lead meaningless.

She was fluent in this language now. She hadn't expected to be. Alyssa figured she’d be beside Jonathan to hold the schedule, hand him his coffee, and smooth out his life behind-the-scenes. He’d fought her every step but it was her choice, and she’d do what was needed to get him elected.

It had been touch and go for a while after they announced their relationship to the press, but Mia and her team had spun every story to emphasize a growing love between them that couldn’t be denied any longer. Television ate it up, and though they had some pushback from some women believing Jonathan had used his position to force a romance, the majority of the voters seemed to support. She’d taken some coaching classes from Mia on dealing with the press better and gained confidence as the months passed and she dove into the election run.

Somewhere along the way she’d come into her own.

As his partner, not assistant. They were a team, and she felt included in more than she’d imagined.

Fifty-five percent.

"Alyssa." Chloe appeared beside her and pressed a champagne flute into her hand. "Pre-victory toast. Mandatory."

"The polls haven't closed in three counties."

"I know. Pre-victory." Chloe clinked her glass. "Dad's going to win. You know it. I know it. Bob knows it, and Bob hasn't smiled in eight months, so the fact that he almost did an hour ago means we're good."

Alyssa looked over at Bob. He was arguing into a phone with his usual controlled intensity. When he caught her eye, he lifted his chin and an unfamiliar expression crossed his face.

Almost a smile.

Chloe was right. Excitement simmered with the nerves, so she sipped the champagne. "Where is he?"

"Back bedroom. Mia made him rest for twenty minutes, which lasted approximately four minutes before he emerged again." Chloe's voice softened. "He keeps looking for you."

Alyssa set the flute down and went to find Jonathan.

He stood at the bedroom window in his shirt sleeves, jacket on the bed beside the folded speech. His hands were in his pockets, jaw clenched.

She closed the door behind her. He turned at the sound. The moment his blue eyes found her, his face relaxed. "Hi," he said.

"Hi."

They met halfway and he pulled her against him, his arms wrapping tight, dropping his chin to the top of her head. She tucked her face against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Slowly, she matched her breathing to his as they simply held each other.

"Your speech is good," she said into his shirt.

"Because you edited it. I was damn proud of finally passing that bill, but the draft they gave me mentioned tax credits four times. You mentioned the actual people sleeping on Eighth Avenue that will be helped.”

Jonathan had fought hard for the shelter expansion bill that kept getting buried because they were afraid it wouldn’t poll well in the suburbs. But he never backed down. “They were doing their job, focused on politics.”

His voice gentled. “Your speech focused on the truth.” They fell quiet and his arms tightened. "You're nervous."

She exhaled. "I'm excited nervous. There's a difference. Did you know that the physiological response to excitement and anxiety are nearly identical? People experience elevated heart rate, cortisol spike, and heightened attention. The only real distinction is how the brain interprets the trigger."

“Hmm, the same type of trigger I get before I drag you to my bed?”