"Honestly? Since the night he patched in. I knew the second I saw him."
"So, eight goddamn years?"
"Yeah."
"And you, Spur?"
"Same answer comes from me, Prez."
Pops closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them he looks at me. "Your mother used to tell me you'd marry a Saint."
I don't move.
"I told her she was batshit crazy." He’s quiet for a moment then laughs. "Turns out, she’s right."
Neither of us said anything about marriage, but I know in my bones I don’t want to be away from Spur.
I don’t want to lose this man when I just got him.
Pops stands up, walks around the table, and puts his hand on the top of my head the way he's done since I was three years old.
He kisses my hair. "If you make her cry, Spur, I'll bury you on this property and nobody will find you."
"Yes, Prez."
"We still have a stalker situation. So, this conversation isn't over. It's paused."
He looks at Spur. "Office. One hour. We're going to talk about how you're going to do your job for my daughter without doing it for the woman you're sleeping with."
"Yes, Prez."
Pops walks out of the kitchen.
Spur and I sit at the table in the silence Pops leaves behind him.
I'm shaking. Not the way I shook last night in the tack room.
A different kind of shaking—the kind a body does after it's been through a fire and walked out the other side.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Dakota."
"Don't."
"Look at me."
"Spur —"
"Look at me."
I look at him.
"I have love for you too, baby."
I close my eyes.
I have wanted to hear this man say something close to those four words for so long, and he just said them in the house I grew up in.
"Took you long enough."
