If her smile was a burglar, her laugh was a fucking thief because I was pretty sure she just stole a piece of my heart from right out under me. Stop being dramatic. No one stole anything. It’s a laugh. Get over it. Except it wasn’t just her laugh. This was the first time she’d opened up to me. Sure, her childhood dance lessons weren’t exactly deep, dark secrets, but they were something. She was letting her guard down, and I’d be damned if I did anything to ruin that.
