"Nice save."
"I thought so."
He stares at me for a long moment.
The big, tough VP.
The man who's faced down enemies without flinching.
The man who terrifies prospects with a single glance.
Looking at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world.
"I'm proud of you," he says quietly. "For everything you've survived. Everything you've overcome. The woman you've become."
"Dad—"
"I know I don't say it enough. I know I'm not good with words. But I need you to know—" He squeezes my hands. "I need you to know how proud I am to be your father."
Now I'm crying.
So much for waterproof mascara.
"Dad, you're going to ruin my makeup."
"Blame your mother. She started it."
I laugh through the tears.
Pull him into a hug.
His arms wrap around me—strong, steady, safe.
The same arms that held me when I was a child.
The same arms that will walk me down the aisle in a few minutes.
The same arms that will always be there to catch me when I fall.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, baby girl." He pulls back, clears his throat again. "Now. Are you ready to marry that boy?"
"He's not a boy anymore."
"He'll always be a boy to me. A boy who's lucky as hell that you chose him."
"I think I'm the lucky one."
"You're both lucky." He offers his arm. "Come on. Let's not keep him waiting any longer. He might pass out."
The backyard of the clubhouse has been transformed.
I don't know how they did it in two weeks, but somehow they've turned the space into something magical.
Fairy lights string overhead, crisscrossing between poles wrapped in white fabric and greenery.
Flowers everywhere—roses and peonies and wildflowers in soft pinks and creams and touches of red for Valentine's Day.
