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it. Would it float away into the night like my mother's? No, his golden skin remained solid beneath my touch. It was smooth and warm, free from imperfections. Aside from a slight five o’clock shadow along the bottom of his chin, his skin was flawless, almost too perfect.
    “Are you real?” I whispered, running my finger down his cheek.
    He grinned and chuckled at my expense. His sandy brown hair hung in shaggy waves over the tops of his ears, dripping slightly. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through the lightly sun-kissed strands. It was hard for me to believe he was really here.
    “This is just my imagination, isn't it?” I said.
    I frowned as another option came to mind. “Or…am I… dead ? Is this heaven?” My voice cracked at the thought, but it was the only place I could imagine feeling this way. There was no trace of my earlier depression. Instead I was filled with wonder.
    “No, no,” he laughed. “I promise I'm real. And you're definitely not dead. You hit your head, but you're going to be fine.” He was amused by my misconceptions.
    I wanted to believe him with every ounce of my being, but it seemed too good to be true. I felt oddly safe with this stranger, more than I ever had with anyone else. His calming presence was almost enough to suppress the sting in my throat. My face tightened as I swallowed.
    “Here, drink this,” he said. He held a plastic bottle of water to my mouth, propping my torso up in his lap. “It will soothe the burn.”
    His touch sent a shiver up my back. I'd never felt the slightest bit nervous around any boys I'd known, but with him my stomach wouldn’t stop jumping. Yet, somehow I was completely at ease and comfortable at the same time. I was confused by my own contrasting emotions.
    I sipped at the water, body shaking in the cool air.
    His torso lunged at a sweatshirt lying next to him on the ground. His movements were agile, barely rocking me in his lap. I lost sight of his glistening eyes and realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. Whoa. He was strong. I stared at his suntanned chest. I was usually better controlled around muscles but in this case, I just kept staring.
    He glanced at me from the corner of his eye and turned back to my direction. I'd swear he was holding back a smile. Was he purposely teasing me? My eyes darted away, embarrassed.
    He must’ve pulled off the sweater in a hurry because the zipper was still intact. He unzipped it in less than a second with a single fluid maneuver and draped the black hoodie over my body.
    I was too distracted to notice the wind against my wet clothes until I felt the warmth of his sweater. I curled up, secure, easing my shaking limbs.
    The sweater looked faded and worn, but the inner lining was soft. A musky scent filled the air around my face where the hood rested on my chest. I took a deep breath, inhaling it discreetly. There was something about a boy’s sweater that was hard to resist.
    He wasn't quite a boy though. Despite his smooth, youthful perfection, he seemed more like a man. Something about him was mature and masculine. He had to be at least a couple years older than me, nineteen or twenty maybe? There was a confidence about him that made me feel secure. As if, no matter what happened, no matter what harm came my way, he could protect me.
    I lay there for a moment allowing my energy to return. The throbbing dulled to a shallow pain around the bump on my head and my throat became smooth again as I sipped at the water.
    Even though my strength returned quickly, I was in no hurry to move from the comfort of my rescuer's arms. I didn’t remember meeting him before, but somehow I knew him. Rather than meeting for the first time, it felt almost like a reunion.
    Could he really be the boy from my dreams?
    If I had seen him before, in real life, there was no way I would've forgotten him. What was it about him that felt so familiar and right?
    It seemed silly to think this way about someone I'd just met. It