I woke up this morning to the feel of Tristan's stubble grazing across my skin as he brushed slow, soft kisses up my spine. His lips trailed across my shoulder and up my neck, and when I rolled onto my back to pull him closer, his lips lingered on the tender bruise on my neck until they finally connected with mine. I could tell by his damp curls and the fresh smell of his body wash that he had just gotten back from his early morning workout.

I could have spent the entire morning like that, lazily exploring his mouth while his hands trailed down my naked body. They stopped only to hook under my knees and pull my legs around him as he hovered above me, grinding his hips into me in a torturously slow, teasing motion. I was practically panting by the time his fingers grazed across my hip bone, and I was fully expecting it to lead to him shedding his clothes and us cutting class to stay in bed like we did Monday and Wednesday morning, but when I tried to tug his sweatpants down, he chuckled and pressed a final kiss to my shoulder before retreating.

The past three days have been a blissful blur, and I'm honestly still waiting to wake up and realize that all of this was some incredibly vivid dream.

On Monday night, after he got out of practice, Tristan showed up at my apartment with a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates, and a corsage for our dinner date. It was simultaneously the most adorable and hilarious thing to watch him slip the flower onto my wrist with such concentration. When he finally had it secured, he stepped back to get a better look as I modeled it for him by posing with my hand on my hip.

Since I skipped prom, both junior and senior year, I haven't ever worn a corsage, so I can't deny that it felt kind of amazing to have it on my wrist, even if it was a bit over the top for dinner at Vinny's. His dimple indented every time his eyes found the flower as we ate, so I happily obliged when he requested that I keep it on after we got back to my apartment and he helped me out of my dress, leaving me in nothing but the flower bracelet as his lips explored my already tingling body.

On Tuesday, I was fresh out of the shower from my shift at the diner when he called. I had just pulled on the hoodie he left for me and a pair of polka-dotted pajama pants when his face flashed on my phone. I was fully prepared just to hang out like we usually do on our FaceTimes, but he explained that we were going to be pressing play on the same movie at the same time so we could watch it together while on FaceTime. As if that wasn't already the cutest thing in the world, his dimple was the deepest I've ever seen when he told me to go check the pantry where he had secretly stocked the same popcorn, Hershey Kisses, and sour straws that he had brought to Arizona with him, because, "if we eat the same snacks it's like we're really together."

It was the cheesiest and most adorable thing he's ever done. I could hear Micah and Luke giving him shit the entire time he was explaining it, and when he mentioned the snacks, their howls of laughter echoed through my phone until Tristan finally kicked them out of the hotel room and told them to go find a park bench to sleep on.

As if eating sour straws on FaceTime while watching a movie with my boyfriend wasn't enough to make me the literal happiest girl on USW's campus, I'm also still riding the high from the number of orgasms I've experienced in the past four days.

I feel like I've been enlightened, like Tristan opened my eyes to what sex actually is. And now, I wouldn't just say that my sex life with Tyler was vanilla, as Nia described it, but instead, low-fat, vegan, sugar-free, you-probably-can't-even-categorize-this-as-ice-cream ice cream.

In just the four days that we've been together, somehow, my entire world seems to have shifted to fit him perfectly into my life. I crave hearing his voice the way my body needs his touch, and whenever we're alone for too long, the tender, sweet kisses that he always presses to my neck, and cheeks, and lips always seem to lead to me trying to undress him, because there's just something so irresistible about the way his hands feel on the most innocent parts of me that makes me wish they were somewhere else entirely.

Now, the feel of his thumb rubbing small circles onto the small of my back has lulled me into a sleepy daze, and when his lips brush against the top of my head, I blink up at him to see him looking down at me with a lazy smile. He tightens his hold on me, and I reach up and poke his dimple, which only makes it indent further as his grin deepens.

I was a little shocked when he pulled into this field, but once he helped me climb into the bed of his truck—which I'm pretty sure he filled with every pillow and blanket in his house—I realized pretty quickly that the reason he drove us twenty minutes south of Pullman was to get far enough away from the lights to see the stars.

The drive alone was enough to put a smile on my face because any time we're in his truck for longer than five minutes, I always end up scooting close to him and resting my head against his arm, writing out hidden messages with my finger on his thigh for him to guess. He used never to guess right, but I'm starting to suspect that he was guessing wrong on purpose to make me laugh because now he's suspiciously good at it.

"My parents used to take us out here when I was a kid." His voice is throaty, and I can feel his chest vibrate against my cheek before I glance up to see him looking up at the stars. He rests his head against the truck, and his cheek twitches into an absent smile. "I used to think the stars were all different planets and that the light was coming from their houses and car headlights, shining across the galaxy." His eyes flick down to mine, and I smile up at him as he intertwines our fingers in his lap. "Olivia and I used to sit here and come up with a story for each one. What life would be like up there."

My gaze coasts away from his face toward the night sky, and I can practically see a little Tristan out here in this field with his family, coming up with different stories for each star.

"What's the story for that one?" I grin, pointing at the brightest dot in the sky.

His eyes follow where my finger is pointing, and he grins. I know he can't possibly remember the stories, at least not for each specific star, but he plays along anyway, making up a story for each one that I point out. After the fourth one, I can tell he's running out of ideas, and when I notice the faint sparkling light of a plane flying way up beyond the barely-there layer of clouds, the comment leaves my mouth before I realize what I'm saying.

"Look—a shooting star; make a wish," I whisper, squeezing his hand as I point to it. The memory of my dad resurfaces instantly, and my chest clenches in the painful way it always does whenever I think about him for too long. My lungs freeze as the old memory, dusty and forgotten, resurfaces from some distant part of my mind I didn't realize I could still access.

The small beach town I grew up in was too close to the city to allow for any real stars, so instead, my dad would always point out airplanes at night. Whenever we would catch one flying overhead, we would wish on it, like a shooting star in the sky.

I never questioned it because it just seemed so normal, so ordinary, like looking both ways before crossing the street or washing your hands before dinner—we wished on planes in the night sky.

It wasn't until I got a little older that I realized how lucky I was to have a dad who made such magical moments seem so normal, so much a part of everyday life that I didn't even notice them as they were happening. I haven't wished on a passing plane in years, I haven't even thought of it since I was a kid, but somehow, the distant sound of the plane engine flying overhead pulls me back to being a little girl, standing on the beach behind our house with my hand held securely in his. Even behind closed lids, my eyes burn as they start to water, and my lungs freeze in my chest when his words echo through my mind—make a wish, Sweet Pea.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to try to keep from crying because breaking down in the middle of this perfect date is not okay, but when the first choked sob escapes my lips, I know I'm too far gone to stop it.

Tristan jolts up next to me like he's been electrocuted, and his hands find my shoulders instantly, rubbing calming circles up and down my arm.

"What happened? Abby, what's wrong?" His voice is panicked, and the anxiety radiating from him is palpable as his hands reach up and cup my face, wiping away the tears that are now streaming down my cheeks with his thumbs.

When I finally open my eyes, my vision is blurred by the constant stream of tears, but I can see enough of him to know that his eyes are wide. He's searching me, my face, my body, as if he's looking for some kind of physical wound.

"Abby," he pleads. "Please, Abs. Talk to me."

His wide eyes are desperate as he searches my face, and my chest only tightens when I realize that he looks like he might actually have a panic attack if I don't tell him what's wrong with me. I try to pull myself together to explain why I'm having a level-ten breakdown right in front of him. Quick, desperate breaths rake through my lips as soon as I try to speak as if I wasn't breathing this entire time, and when the fresh air makes me feel a little less light-headed, I realize that maybe I wasn't.

"My dad." It's all I can get out before the pressure in my chest feels like it's about to explode, and I can't hold back the sobs anymore.

The worry in his eyes eases when he realizes I'm not having a heart attack, and he just nods as he pulls me into a hug, letting me bury my face into his chest as the sobs rock through my body. I haven't cried like this in months, and I haven't cried like this in front of someone else in years. Probably not since I finished grief counseling my senior year of high school.

"I'm so sorry," he says softly against my hair while his hands rub my back. "I didn't realize—I didn't know this would be hard for you. I would have never—" But he doesn't finish because I can tell that he still has no idea what set me off.

I was fine two seconds ago. I was teasing him about his different star planets and joking about an airplane being a shooting star, and now I'm crumbling into myself as the sobs rock through me.

His hands rub soothing circles on my back as I tighten my hold on the front of his hoodie, and the slow rotations seem to help ease the waves of sobs rocking through me.

I'm crying; I mean, God, I am really crying right now—the loud, snotty, mascara-down-my-cheeks, puffy-eyed, I-can't-breath kind of crying. But even now, as another wave of sobs shakes through my body, I know they aren't sad tears. I mean, yeah, they are, but they aren't at the same time. They're shocked tears. They're I miss you tears. They're I can't believe I let myself bury that memory for so long tears. They're I'm so glad I remembered that tears.

The pressure in my chest starts to ease as he continues to rub my back, and I can finally breathe without gasping. My heart is pounding, and I have to take a few deep breaths to release some of the pressure building in my head.

"I'm happy." I try to say, but it comes out as a strangled croak.

His lips quirk as he reaches up to wipe my cheeks, and when he pulls his thumbs away, they're coated in my black mascara.

"I'm no expert at emotions, baby, but this doesn't seem like a happy kind of moment."

Baby. The word makes me smile a little as I sit back and use the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe away the makeup under my eyes.

"I know I probably look crazy," I say, but it comes out in a sort of laugh, and once the first giggle slips through my lips, I can't stop because I know I look crazy, and yet somehow, even after witnessing that entire mess, he's still rubbing my back and looking at me with that amused smile that only hints at the dimple in his cheek.

He rubs my back until my breathing has gone back to normal, and when he hands me the water bottle that he has next to him, I take a few long sips. That's when the situation fully hits me. I just had a full-on meltdown in front of him, sobbing and heaving—the entire waterworks show. My cheeks burn as I hand the water bottle back to him, and now all I want is to evaporate into the chilly night breeze and pretend like this never happened. I can't believe I just broke down like that. I can't believe I just ugly cried in front of him. I can't believe I just ruined this entire date.

"Can you tell me about him?" he asks softly as if he's trying to make sure he doesn't overstep any boundaries.

I look up from my hands knotted in my lap, willing my white-hot blood not to sear the skin on my cheeks. He's watching me carefully, but his eyes are bright green, earnest and genuine, and I could actually start crying again because I know that he truly wants to hear about my dad.

"Really?" I ask, sitting up and wiping the sleeve of my hoodie under my eyes one final time as I breathe in to clear my stuffy nose.

"Only if you want to." He smiles, repositioning himself so I can scoot next to him again. He lifts his arm and motions for me to cuddle up with him. My skin is still burning from the residual embarrassment that keeps coursing through my veins, but even now, while I'm completely mortified and still wishing I could just evaporate into thin air, I can't pass up the opportunity to cuddle up to him.

"What do you want to know about him?" I ask as I nuzzle my face into his chest, ignoring that the entire front of his hoodie is damp from my tears. The tension in my shoulders relaxes as his arms wrap around me tightly.

"Anything." He smiles. "Tell me your favorite memories of him."

I pull back a little to look at him, and when his bright eyes meet mine, the rest of my anxiety eases away in the cool breeze as he reaches up and catches a strand of hair between his fingers, tucking it behind my ear. His soft smile warms me in the cool night air as much as his embrace does, and I take a deep breath as I try to think about all of my favorite memories.

"That could take a while." I laugh, leaning over to rub my nose against his cheek softly. It's warm, and the feel of his stubble makes me smile softly. I press a whisper of a kiss to his cheek before pulling back and nuzzling back into his chest.

"I have all night, Abs." He smiles into my hair, pulling me closer.

"Okay." I bite down on my lip, trying to think about where to start as his thumb traces soft circles on my thigh. "I guess I should start with the most important thing." I grin, catching the string of his hoodie between my fingers. "He was the best dad in the entire world."

He grins and nods, urging me to tell him more as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. I rest my cheek against his chest and tell him about the first memory that pops into my head.

I don't know how long we stayed out in the middle of that field, but I told him everything, every memory that I could still access.

I told him about the time he checked me out of school early so we could explore the new aquarium by the pier when I was in second grade. I told him how he made me chocolate chip waffles every Sunday. I told him about how we used to watch the same movies over and over until we could quote them to each other, even though it drove my mother crazy. I told him how he used to leave little notes in my lunchbox to find. I told him how I almost crashed into an ice cream truck when he taught me how to drive. I told him how he wore one of those joke handshake shocker things when my Homecoming date came over to get me freshman year.

And I told him about my favorite memory of all—the memory I can't believe I could have ever forgotten—how we used to walk hand in hand down the beach, our eyes glued to the dark expanse of black sky, always searching for our shooting stars.