Page 195 of Let Me In

His touch firms, thumb brushing slow circles into my hip.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. That’s different.”

Something tightens in my chest.

Not in a bad way.

Just the kind of tight that comes from being seen too clearly.

He leans in and kisses my temple. “Go sit down. Blanket’s on the couch. I’ll be right back.”

I nod, small.

Let him guide me out to the living room.

Let him ease me down, gently, into the corner of the couch and pull the thickest, softest blanket over my legs. It smells likehim, which only makes me burrow into it deeper. It’s instinct, at this point.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back. “Then I’m coming back to you.”

I watch him slide on his boots by the door, grab his jacket from the hook. He doesn’t zip it, just shrugs it on loose. The air outside is cool, not cold. That crisp, earthy kind of May morning where the trees haven’t fully leafed out yet, and the grass is still damp with spring.

The dogs dart out ahead of him when he opens the door. I catch a glimpse of the sky beyond—muted blue, touched with mist. The kind of morning that smells like thaw and soil and woodsmoke.

Then the door swings gently shut behind them.

And I’m wrapped in quiet again. But not for long, just like he promised.

The moment he steps back inside, the whole cabin shifts.

It’s not the creak of the door or the dogs padding in behind him—it’s him. His presence. The weight and warmth of it. Like something magnetic pulling me steady from the inside out.

He toes off his boots, peels off his jacket, and moves toward me without hesitation.

No words, just quiet purpose.

And then—his hands.

One finds my knee beneath the quilt. The other slips behind my shoulders, urging me forward just enough to ease into the space he’s made. His lap. His arms. Him.

I go without resistance.

Curl into him like I’ve done it a thousand times. Like it’s always been this way.

His hands adjust the blanket around me again, then slide up my back. Slow, grounding pressure. One settles at the nape of my neck, fingers stroking lightly through my hair.

“Better,” he murmurs.

I don’t know if he means me being warm again, or back in his lap, or simply here. But it doesn’t matter.

Because whatever he means…

I feel it.

He exhales once, deep and quiet, like he’s been holding something in since the moment he left, even just for those few minutes.

Then his chin finds the top of my head, and he holds me like I’m everything.

Like keeping me here is the only thing that makes sense.

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