We were in Dallas staying at his parent’s house during the Thanksgiving 2017 holiday. We shared fajitas for two and shopped for cowboy boots and vintage t shirts. He introduced me to his parents as his friend. I gifted them a candle for their hospitality. We museum hopped. We saw Ladybird. We had more fajitas. More queso. We were two friends simply falling in love. On our last day during this trip, he drove me to the airport in his hometown so I could fly to Kansas City to be with my family for Thanksgiving the following day. Little did I know that he would be my family two years later. Per usual, I was early for my flight. In order to spend an extra 10 minutes or so together, he parked his dad’s pickup truck at the short-term parking lot, and came inside with me to buy a pocket banana for my flight and browse through and laugh at the latest issue of Cosmo magazine at the newsstand. We said our goodbyes, and I jetted off toward Kansas. Earlier that day he told me he loved me after I poked him continuously, stating “you love me, you love me.” Once he said “I do love you,” I simply said back, “I know.” Later that day, back in Kansas City, I texted him saying that I wish I would have said I love you back while I was in Texas because, “It’s so lame to say I love you for the first time via text message.” But I knew he knew that I loved him — on that day, and even beforehand. We've always had love for each other. First, as friends. Then as longtime loves. And we always will.