Page 109 of Let Me In

“And your dogs?” he adds, eyes narrowing just slightly. “They’re part of the deal. I knew that the second I saw them next to you. So don’t you dare apologize for them.”

I blink fast.

“I didn’t mean to—”

His grip tightens gently.

“You don’t get to apologize for being loved by them. Or by me.”

I breathe, shaky and quiet.

“I just thought…”

He leans in closer.

His voice dips again.

“You thought wrong, little one.”

The world goes still.

He reaches up.

Tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

And says—

“You’re not trouble. You’re not baggage. You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

The words are low and warm, curling through my chest like a promise I didn’t know I was waiting for. My breath shudders out, slow and uneven, like something long-tensed finally lets go inside me. And the look on his face—steady, fierce, impossibly tender—tells me he means every word. There’s no doubt in his eyes. Just claim. Just care.

My lungs stutter.

My whole body does.

Because it’s not a threat.

It’s not a performance.

It’s a vow.

And I don’t know how to argue with that.

So I don’t.

I just nod.

And whisper—

“Okay.”

He sees it in my face before I say anything.

The way my breath hitches.

The way I stop trying to explain, to downplay, to protect him from me.

His expression shifts again—softening, but not loosening.

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