“If you’re jumping, I’m jumping.” I shrug. “You are?” “Why not?” I smile. “Unless you want to do it alone.” Rosalie shakes her head rapidly. “I hate being alone.” Me, too. “Great. Then I’m not leaving you alone, Ro,” I whisper, my breath fanning her hair as I reach over and pull the last few clips from her hair, tucking them into my pocket, before gathering her curls up into my hands, piling them high on her head, and carefully tying the shoelace around them to keep them out of her eyes.
To be loved is to be seen
