Page 151 of Let Me In

And the ache in my chest blooms like something beautiful.

He sets the cloth down gently, then reaches for a towel. Not just any towel. One of the thick ones, the kind that smells faintly like cedar and him.

He leans in.

“Ready to come out, baby?”

I nod.

He doesn’t hold out his hand.

He reaches.

Slips one arm beneath my knees, the other around my back, and lifts me again, water falling from my skin in lazy rivulets.

I curl into him without thinking.

My arms loop around his neck.

My cheek finds the hollow of his shoulder.

He holds me tighter.

Carries me from the steam-filled room like something fragile and treasured.

In the hallway, the lights are lower. The bedroom glows faintly from the fire still crackling in the wood stove beyond.

He doesn’t speak.

Just walks with me.

His footfalls are soft. Steady.

When we reach the bed, he kneels.

Lets the towel slide from his shoulder to the mattress before lowering me into it.

He dries me slowly.

Not like a task.

Like a gift.

Starting at my hair. Patting it gently.

Then down my back, my arms, my legs.

Not once does he stare.

Not once does he rush.

Just presence. Just touch.

Just him.

When I’m dry, he sets the towel aside and reaches for something on the nightstand.

A small glass jar.

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