““I love you, Quade,” she says, once the kiss is done and with his warmth still in her. “Always have.” “See, I knew—” She cracks him one on the arm before he can finish. It can’t always be kisses and dancing, after all. Sometimes you’ve got to keep things zesty. Sharp. Tough, like love is. She’s pretty sure her love for him is tough all right. It let her run to him, after all. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know . But I knew this much—I’ve loved you since the first day you punched me in the face. And I’ll love you ’til the last.””
