It’s her favorite thing to do when we’re lying here, following the shape of the mountains on my chest, brushing her fingers over the Northern Lights, pressing her lips to every star painted over my heart. There are exactly thirteen, one each for me, Lennon, the guys and girls, and the kids, with plenty of space to add more down the road. And right there at the top, is Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, watching over us.
