The mid-February air has an unrelenting bite to it as the tail end of a winter storm passes over Pullman. I've managed to stay wrapped up inside for the past couple of days to ride it out, but even with the distraction of writing the scholarship article, I haven't been able to get my mind off the fact that Tristan has been across the country for the past four days.

When he called me Saturday to tell me the head coach of the Houston Rockets had invited him to meet the team and tour the facilities, I squealed so loudly I probably injured his hearing a little. But now that he's been gone for four days, I can't deny that I miss seeing him every day in class.

I feel his absence every day in the smallest ways. The most obvious hits me every morning when I look over at the empty stool next to me in chemistry. But it also comes in waves, like when I'm able to focus for too long on the lecture and realize that I should have been poked, whispered silly jokes, or passed a note with a cheesy drawing of an atom a few times by now.

I can tell that James misses him, too, because last night, when I walked out to the living room to see him lounging on the couch scrolling through his phone, his eyes lit up when he saw me. Although, I have a feeling it was because he could hear Tristan's voice coming from my phone as we FaceTimed.

The look nearly broke my heart, so I handed off my phone to James while I got a drink. I watched the guys delve into detail about Tristan's trip as I poured my glass of water, and it struck me that Tristan was filling him in on details he'd told me days ago.

The thought that I was becoming Tristan's go-to for all of his exciting news sent a thrill through me, and we ended up staying on the phone until I fell asleep again, like we have every night since he's been away. Our nightly FaceTimes turned into good morning texts, which turned into all-day conversations, only pausing for my classes, shifts at the diner, or meetings he was scheduled to take with the coaching staff in Houston.

I feel like a teenager again, constantly hooked to my phone, anxiously waiting for the next text or call. So when I check my phone after I park in the Over Easy parking lot, I sigh inwardly as the blank screen flashes back at me. The last text was twenty minutes ago when he said he was about to get an arena tour from the head trainer. I type out another message, letting him know that my shift is starting and that I'll FaceTime him after work, and then I push open my car door and step out into the frosty air.

I pull my coat tighter around my chest and keep my head down, but the wind whips my hair around my face, and the instant sting against my cheeks and nose sends a trail of goosebumps down my spine. The sun is setting against a cotton candy sky, and the fleeting sunlight washes the diner in a warm hue as I hurry through the doors, sending the sound of the bell hanging from the entrance ringing through the restaurant.

I immediately spot my two favorite co-workers huddled by the register, and by the smirk on Lacie's face, I can tell she's been waiting all day for me to get here just so that she can grill me about my date with Dean. She's been sick the past few days, so we haven't worked together since she saw me on my date. Based on the mirroring smile on Josie's face, I have a feeling Lace already filled her in on the details.

I brace for the onslaught of questions as I round the bar top, but the inquisition doesn't hit immediately. Instead, Josie extends a small bag to me with an excited smile. "Happy Valentine's Day, Abby. Or, as I like to call it—Galentine's Day."

My jaw drops a little as I take the small gift bag from her, and after I drop my purse, coat, and scarf under the bar top next to theirs, I turn back to the girl smiling expectantly at myself and Lacie.

"You got me a Valentine's Day gift, Jo?"

"I made them in the art class I taught last night at the community center. They're supposed to be for a significant other, but since I don't have a boyfriend, I made them for you and Lace." She smiles at Lacie before looking back at me, waiting for us to open the bags.

I tug softly on the tissue paper and pull out the picture-sized canvas. My eyes widen as I take in the painting in front of me. The canvas is filled with the most intricate watercolor flowers, melding together in strokes of pastel pinks, greens, and purples. The soft brush strokes blend together to create a lifelike bouquet in the most beautiful painting I've ever seen in person. The bit of yellow at the very bottom catches my attention, and I smile when I realize that it's Josie's initials painted in her artistic signature—JG.

Josie's a freshman art student here at USW, and while she's a few years younger than me, she's easily the most talented person I've ever met. I'm still in awe of her talent every time I'm able to sneak a peek at her sketchbook or when she shows me a snapshot of whatever painting she's working on in the art studio on campus.

I instantly picture how amazing this will look framed on my fireplace mantel, and when I look back at Josie, she has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, waiting for our reactions.

"This is beautiful, Jo. Thank you so much." I hold the picture carefully out of harm's way as I pull her into a hug, and when I release her, I can't help but stare at the painting again. I admire the effortless design as I gently put it back into the bag and place it near my purse.

"Well, now I feel like a bitch for not bringing Galentine's Day presents for you guys." Lacie laughs, pulling Josie into a hug.

"Honestly, I should have at least written you a poem or something." I grin.

The familiar ding of the bell from the kitchen sounds, and Lacie turns on her heel and heads toward the food pick-up station in the kitchen. When she rounds the corner again, she has a triple dipper dessert in her hands with three spoons poking out of the ice cream.

"This can be my present." She grins, placing the dessert onto the bar top between us. "Dig in, ladies."

I glance around the nearly empty diner to ensure we're not neglecting any customers. While Over Easy is the place to be on Sundays for our brunch special, or even Fridays when O'Malley's is overcrowded, it's not exactly the number one pick for a romantic Valentine's dinner. Aside from two older couples and a blonde girl who's absently sipping on her iced tea as she reads from the anatomy textbook in front of her, the diner is pretty much dead.

"Great idea, Lace." Josie grins, picking up her spoon. "What better way to forget that I'm single on Valentine's Day than to fall into a sugar coma?"

I follow their lead, scooping a bite of ice cream, brownie, and hot fudge onto my spoon.

"Hey, I'd rather be single than still be with RJ," Lacie mumbles with a full mouth.

"Come on, Lace, RJ wasn't that bad," I defend, thinking back to the nerdy computer science major who was hopelessly in love with her for nearly a year before she even gave him the time of day.

"He was fine." She shrugs. "And if it wasn't for the foot fetish, we might still be together."

Josie nearly chokes, and I rub her back as she coughs. When she finally catches her breath again, she starts laughing. "You're not serious. Please tell me you're not serious." She gapes.

"I'm very serious." Lacie laughs humorlessly as she stabs the brownie. "He couldn't even get hard without rubbing my feet," she whispers, and when Josie and I look at each other wide-eyed, we both lose it.

"Just stay a virgin, Jo. It's not worth possibly falling in love with a foot lover." Lacie sighs, turning around suddenly and disappearing around the corner to the kitchen.

I glance over at Josie to watch her cheeks turn a dark shade of red, and she coughs a few more times as her eyes dart around the diner, probably to make sure no one heard Lacie's virgin comment. I don't think Josie meant to tell us that she was a virgin. It kind of slipped out one night when I had them over to the apartment for a girl's night a few months ago. Nia and Jenny were out at one of their sorority charity events, and I hosted the first-ever Over Easy girls' night.

Josie ended up getting wasted on Amaretto sours, and after Lacie prodded enough times, she spilled the beans.

When her eyes meet mine, she shakes her head, more amused now that she's confirmed no one's heard Lacie's comment. "Does she have no concept of an inside voice?"

I grin because no, she doesn't.

Lacie rounds the corner again, and when I catch sight of the fudge bottle in her hand, I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me. She pours the chocolate gold until there's a pool of it coating the ice cream.

"So, Abs." She points her spoon at me and narrows her eyes. "Spill it."

"Spill what?" I play dumb and dunk my spoon into the fudge.

"The details about your date."

"Date? With who?" I smile innocently.

"Who do you think? Dean." She rolls her eyes, leaning onto the counter as she digs her spoon into the fudge again.

The diner door opens, and my eyes widen when the familiar wisp of blond hair and bright ocean eyes connect with mine. His lips instantly tilt into an easy smile, and it takes me a second to realize he's holding a picnic basket in his arms.

Dean and I have been texting back and forth casually every day since our date, and when he asked if I was available tonight, I felt terrible telling him I had to work.

"Oh, my God." Lacie gapes.

"What?" Josie whispers as her eyes dart between Lacie and me.

I put my spoon down and round the bar top as Lacie whispers, "That's Dean."

His easy smile widens when I reach him. "I know you said you have to work tonight, but I figured the diner might be a little slow since it's not the most romantic place near campus." His eyes scan the dead diner with a satisfied smile. "So I figured if you can't leave the diner for a date, I'd bring the date to the diner." He holds up the picnic basket.

I'm speechless as I take in the boy in front of me.

His eyes widen a little as he searches my face. "I hope this is okay. If it's too much, I can go—"

"No." I shake my head quickly. "This is—" I look down and spot the bouquet of roses peeking out of the basket. "This is amazing, Dean," I say breathlessly.

My heart stumbles over itself when he reaches down and hands me the flowers. They smell amazing, and I look up at him with a stupid grin on my face when I realize this is the first time I've ever been given flowers from a guy—aside from my dad, of course.

"Do you think you could take a little break from work, maybe like thirty minutes? I know I shouldn't keep you from your shift for long, but I have some goodies in here." He nods to the basket.

I only have a fifteen-minute break, but I don't even have time to think because Lacie is already leaning over the bar top with the biggest grin I've ever seen.

"That's fine; take all the time you need, lovebirds."

Dean grins and waves at her, and I can't tell if he recognizes her from the other night or if he just assumes my coworkers are always this nice.

I follow him as he leads us to a booth near the back, and when he unloads the food, wine, and dessert from the basket, I have to bite down on my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. No one has ever done anything like this for me. The most Tyler ever did was send me a card for Valentine's Day, but to be fair, he was also an entire country away.

When I settle down into the booth, I scan the table. Chocolate-covered strawberries, take out from Vinny's—the Italian restaurant down the street, a bottle of white wine, and my absolute weakness—a whole basket of garlic bread.

"I ordered you baked ziti—no meat." He grins, pushing the container toward me.

I can feel Lacie and Josie's eyes on me as we eat, but every time I glance over, they both duck under the bar top, as if hiding is somehow less incriminating than just turning away.

"I know you've been super busy lately, so I'm glad I was able to see you today," Dean says between sips of the sweet wine he's poured for both of us.

"Me too." I smile.

"I know we haven't known each other for long, but I feel like we just kind of click, like we understand each other, you know? Maybe it's the shared trauma of growing up with lawyer parents." He grins at me, and I laugh. "Or maybe it's the fact that since we both can't dance, we end up swaying off-beat like rhythmically challenged idiots, or that I'm pretty sure my friends like you more than me already—but whatever it is, I think there's something real here." He considers me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. "And I really hope you feel the same because I'd like to keep exploring whatever this is between us."

My mouth is drying up because I know he expects me to respond, but I don't know what to say.

"And I don't want to come off too strong. I know this is still early on, but I haven't felt this way about a girl since—well, for a long time. And I'm not going to ask you to be my girlfriend or to be exclusive yet." His lips tilt up into a smile. "But I do see this going somewhere, and I just want you to know what my intentions are. Are you okay with that?"

I have the sudden urge to cry and squeal at the same time because Dean is telling me everything I've wanted to hear for the past two months, only it's not coming from the person I want to hear it from, and that realization is like a slap to the face.

I take a long sip of my wine, and when I meet his eyes, I will myself to push aside the voice inside my head screaming at me he's not who you want! He's not Tristan! Because while the past few weeks of late-night make-outs, steamy pool dates, and falling asleep in his arms have been the best two weeks of my life, I can't forget that it's been under the unspoken agreement that none of it really means anything.

I knew what he was thinking the night of his birthday when we danced in the kitchen, and he looked down at me like he wanted to kiss me. Nothing has changed. This can't be more than a hookup. I read the look loud and clear, and I've been okay with it because it came along with the moments that were too good to pass up. But now that Dean is sitting in front of me, telling me all the things I've wanted to hear, I can't deny that the second thoughts are starting to creep back in.

My time with Tristan is finite. I can practically see it slipping through my fingers, no matter how hard I try to stop it. But when I look up at Dean, somehow, deep down, I know he would stay. He would stay with me for as long as I allowed him to. And that could mean until graduation, or for the years to come, while we built a life together with a perfect white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and the kind of stability I've always craved.

He's everything my mother always wanted for me, and while that thought alone makes me want to push him away, I can't help but wonder if maybe she's right. His final words echo through my mind again as I take a sip of my wine—I just want you to know what my intentions are. Are you okay with that?

"Yes." It comes out as a sort of whisper, but his smile is blinding, and it warms me as he leans back in the booth with the unmistakable rush of relief spreading across his face.

The ring of the bell catches my attention, and I watch as a crowd of drunk guys stumble into the diner. There has to be at least twenty of them, and when I look back at Dean, he's already starting to pack up the leftover food.

"I should probably let you get back to work. I don't want to get you in trouble."

I nod, wiping my mouth with a napkin as I help him load up the basket. I catch sight of Josie seating the group at the high-top on the other side of the diner, and she pulls out her order pad to grab their drink orders. When one of them reaches out to grab her butt, she takes a step back out of his reach and looks up at me with that save me from these pervs look that we've all perfected for whenever the drunk jerks come in. We can usually handle it ourselves, but if they don't settle down, we have Mickey, one of our burly cooks in the back, throw them out.

Dean seems to sense the need for me to get back because he stands and pulls the basket back onto his arm. Josie is back behind the bar top now, starting to pour their drinks, so I don't feel too bad when I offer to walk him out. I send her a look over my shoulder before I walk out into the freezing air that's meant to say, I'll be right back, I swear, which she just grins at.

Dean's red Jaguar is parked next to my car, and the brake lights flash as he unlocks it. He drops the basket onto the passenger seat before turning back to me. The diner's strobing neon sign casts a blue light onto his face, making his eyes flash an impossibly vibrant sapphire as he takes a step toward me.

"Thank you for tonight," I say, wrapping my arms around my chest, trying to preserve the last bit of heat that I possibly can in this weather.

"Of course," he says, taking another step.

There's not much space between us now, and I tilt my head back slightly, watching the way his breath comes out in tiny puffs of warm air. He's not much taller than me, so the motion only brings our lips closer, which makes his eyes widen slightly. I watch as they slide down to my lips, and I know he's leaving this moment up to me—I could kiss him, or I could say goodnight. There's no pressure, no expectations, and that's why I take the final step forward and close the space between us.

Our lips connect in a clumsy kiss, and he reaches up, cupping my cheeks in his palms as he steadies us. It's slow and intentional as if he's thought about this moment for a while. Our lips move together with even pressure, not too soft, not too hard, but he doesn't slide his tongue across my lips, and I appreciate how slow he's taking this. His lips brush against mine one final time before he pulls away, and when my eyes flutter open, he's smiling down at me.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Abby."