Page 206 of Let Me In

“I know,” he says softly. “I could feel it.”

I don’t answer right away.

I think maybe I can’t.

His words fill too much of me.

The quiet promise of them. The way he says things like they’re already true, like they’ve always been true, and he’s just reminding me gently.

He strokes my back again, slow and sure.

“And I thought,” he murmurs, “if we get enough sun and fresh air in us, you might even nap this afternoon.”

I make a face against his chest. “I don’t nap.”

He huffs a soft laugh, all warm breath and affection. “You say that now.”

I feel the smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

“And after your nap,” he continues, as if I haven’t just disagreed, “I’ll reheat the stew from yesterday. And you’ll pretend you don’t like the carrots, even though you finished them all last time.”

I pinch his side lightly.

He doesn’t flinch.

Just shifts a little so he can look down at me, smirking.

“You did finish them, Emmy.”

I bury my face deeper in his chest. “I was being polite.”

He laughs again, low and warm and mine.

“I’m gonna make you eat ‘em again today,” he says.

“Of course you are.”

He leans down. Kisses the top of my head.

Warmth spills through me—low and quiet and full. The kind that softens every edge, that makes me want to curl in tighter and stay there forever. I feel claimed. Protected. Like the world could wait just a little longer.

“Good girl.”

I feel it everywhere.

Low in my belly. High in my throat. Deep in my chest.

And when I lift my eyes to him, he’s already watching me.

Soft. Steady. Like he has nowhere else to be.

Like I’m the whole damn day.

Eventually, I shift.

Not because I want to. Just because the sun is creeping in higher, and the smell of the cabin—wood, morning, him—is making me a little too sleepy again.

Cal lets me stretch. Watches me like I might vanish if he looks away.

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