Page 145 of Let Me In

Because I don’t know how I could ever want anything else.

The room fills with steam.

It curls along the edges of the mirror, the corners of the window. The scent of Cal’s soap lingers faintly in the air—something clean and warm and quiet.

He crouches in front of me.

Resting on his haunches, eyes level with mine.

His hands don’t reach for me yet.

They rest on his thighs, open and waiting.

He watches me like I’m the only thing in the world he sees. His gaze is steady, awestruck—like he’s memorizing me, not with hunger, but with awe. There’s something in his stillness that feels like devotion, something in the quiet between us that hums with focus and restraint.

And then, soft as breath—

“Can I help you undress?”

My chest tightens.

Not with fear.

Not with dread.

But with something heavier.

Older.

It’s been years since I let someone see me. Really see me. Since I let someone this close. Since I let someone take care of me, down to the skin.

And yet—here I am.

With Cal.

And I want to.

God, I want to.

But my hands still tremble where they’re fisted in the quilt.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t coax.

He just waits.

I meet his gaze, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I can do this perfectly.”

Something in his expression softens like dusk over still water.

“You don’t have to be perfect, little one,” he says. “You just have to let me love you through it.”

The words sink into me like balm. My eyes sting, throat tightening around a breath that won’t quite come.

Because no one’s ever said that before.

No one’s ever meant it like this.

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