The non-fuzzy face was, as any dream hero’s should be, handsome. No, that’s an understatement. He was at once approachable, godlike, exquisite and endearingly human. Soft eyes bespoke a caring demeanor. A strong jaw told of a determined mind. The firm mouth with supple lips…well, that could only mean he was a good kisser. Nothing wrong there.

I could have sworn I heard birds singing, backed by an angel chorus, the London Philharmonic, and Celine Dion actually reining it in for once and sounding nice. The shimmering air enveloped and embraced us. The ground beneath us urged us on with reassuring, gentle pressure. A smell of intoxicating honeysuckle and lilac carried everything to its zenith of romantic perfection.

All in all, it was enough to drive me to distraction. What else in the world, the dreaming one or the real one, could matter in the face of such magnificence.

My hero played his part, warm grin and twinkling eyes right up until his hand took mine in an urgent grip and he shouted, “Run!”