"Hey." I knew the deep, cheerful voice at once. I pictured him in my head before I saw him, his red-brown russet skin glowing in the rare sunny day, his black eyes happy and sweet, his full lips pulling up in a smile. Here, outside the cottage my grandmother had fixed up when I was born, Jacob was waiting for me. He shouldn't have to wait – he'd waited long enough. Six years, to be exact. I turned to him and smiled.

"Hi." I intertwined my fingers in his and swung them from side to side. I was six years old, but physically, I was fully mature. And Jacob was sixteen, still sixteen, the same age he was when I was born. He'd waited for me. Of course, he hadn't had to wait as long as Quil, who'd imprinted on a two-year old (now she was eight.) But he'd still waited, and that made me practically glow each time I saw him.

Suddenly, he was chuckling. "Hey, look," he murmured. "You're glowing." He gently pulled his large hand out of mine and rubbed my forearm. He was right – my skin was faintly sparkling, only a fraction of what my other family members had in the sunlight.

I laughed too, but not because of my luminescent skin. I laughed because Jacob had no idea how much he made me happy, how much he made me glow. It was him, not the rare sunlight escaping through the screen of trees. I wasn't sure he'd ever know how happy he made me.

I looked down and felt my long lashes brush my cheeks. I'd been meaning to ask him something, but now, it seemed silly. I was mature for my age of six, very mature. I was an adult. But I was feeling more and more like a giddy teenager these days due to Jacob.

I saw his brow furrow, and then saw him bite his lip. He looked into my eyes, searching. Of course. He'd heard me. Sometimes, when I was deep in thought, I forgot that physical contact allowed whoever was touching me to hear my thoughts. To see my thoughts, to see whatever images I was envisioning.

I pulled my arm away quickly, more quickly than necessary. He'd already heard me.