Valentine’s Day in Florida felt different this year — warmer, not just from the sun, but from the fact that Gaby Rourke was home. Gaby, 18, had committed to the University of Kentucky months ago, earning a spot as goalkeeper for the women’s soccer team, and balancing that with volleyball, football, and flag football on the side. Her schedule was insane, her athleticism unmatched, and her name was starting to get passed around in college sports circles. But with all of that came distance — literally. Since she moved away, time with her boyfriend had become rare.

So when she told him she was flying back just for Valentine’s Day, it meant everything.

The moment she stepped off the plane, suitcase and a messy bun barely containing her curls, he ran to meet her. Gaby dropped her bag and practically tackled him into a hug at the airport pick-up zone.

“I missed you, stupid,” she laughed, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“You better have,” he grinned. “Do you know how many Valentine’s cards I almost gave to someone else?”

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go. I want snacks. And hugs. But mostly snacks.”

The rest of the day was filled with exactly what they’d missed — time. They walked the beach barefoot, grabbed ice cream from their favorite spot, and even kicked around a soccer ball at the park just like old times. She wore his hoodie all day, and he couldn’t stop smiling like a little kid every time she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Later that night, as they sat watching the sky turn orange and pink, Gaby nudged him. “You know I’d pick this over Kentucky any day, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “but I’m proud of you anyway.”

She smiled, reaching for his hand again. “Happy Valentine’s Day, loser.”