Page 208 of Let Me In

And then we’re in the kitchen.

He nudges the stove on with his hip, still carrying me like I weigh nothing. One-handed, he pours water into the kettle, flips the switch.

Reaches for the eggs. The bread. The pan.

“Let me help,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure I want to move.

“You are helping,” he says, opening the fridge with a flex of his foot. “You’re sitting right where I want you.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

So I just hold on.

Let the sounds of the cabin wrap around us—low heat ticking beneath the pan, dogs settling on the floor, the kettle starting its quiet hiss.

His shirt still brushes the tops of my legs.

His heartbeat still thuds under my palm.

He cooks like he does everything else—with purpose. No wasted motion. Every step made softer by the fact that I’m here. In his arms. Being kept.

And I think—

Maybe I could stay like this forever.

By the time the eggs are finished and the toast is golden, the kettle lets out a soft whistle.

Cal pours the water into two mugs—mine already steeping with the exact tea I like. Not because I asked. Because he just… knows.

Then he carries the plate to the table.

And me, too.

Still hasn’t put me down.

He sits first, and I settle into his lap like I’ve done it a hundred times. Like I was meant to.

He shifts the plate closer. Cuts one of the slices of toast in half.

“Eat,” he says gently.

I glance down at the fork in his hand.

He raises his eyebrows, already loading it with a bite of scrambled egg.

My lips part automatically.

He hums low as I chew, then presses a kiss to my temple.

“Good girl.”

I blush. It’s not new. But it still makes my chest feel too small for my heart.

He feeds me another bite.

Then a third.

Between each one, he murmurs soft things. Nothing extravagant. Just… steady.

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