Page 110 of Let Me In

And then—

“Come here, baby,” he says quietly. “You’ve had enough of the world for one night.”

Something soft unfurls inside me. The way he says it—gentle, commanding, like there’s no question I belong with him—wraps around me tighter than any blanket. It doesn’t just sound like comfort. It sounds like shelter.

My throat tightens.

I nod.

And he moves before I can second-guess it.

Rises slowly from where he’d been kneeling and sits on the couch beside me. Then opens his arms—solid, steady—and waits.

I don’t hesitate.

I crawl into his lap like I’ve done it a hundred times. Like I was always meant to.

The blanket pools around us as he shifts me gently, cradling me against his chest, one arm beneath my knees, the other around my back. Like I’m something precious. Like the world can’t touch me here. His warmth wraps around me, steady and solid, his scent grounding—cedar, safety, home. The rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek is slow and sure, like he’s breathing for both of us now.

My face tucks beneath his jaw.

I feel his breath at my hairline.

His lips brush there, soft as a vow.

For a long moment, he just holds me.

Like that’s all he wants.

All he needs.

Then he murmurs, “Have you eaten anything?”

I shake my head against his chest.

He nods, like it doesn’t surprise him.

But his hold tightens a little.

“I’ll get you something,” he says. “Something warm. But I just need to hold you first. Can I do that, baby?”

My voice is barely a whisper.

“Please don’t stop holding me.”

The words slip out before I can think, raw and trembling. Saying them feels like peeling back skin—like exposing a need I’ve tried too hard to bury. But the moment they’re out, something eases. Like naming it makes it real. Like I’ve given him the truth—and he’s not letting go.

I feel his breath stutter.

Just once.

Then—

“I won’t.”

And he doesn’t.

He doesn’t move until he feels me breathe easier.

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