Page 213 of Let Me In

An offering.

He wraps around me like he’s not sure where he ends and I begin. Like he doesn’t want to know. His hands spread wide across my back. His chin tucks over my head. His whole body stills.

And I whisper, into the soft space beneath his jaw—

“Okay.”

He holds me for longer than he needs to.

But I don’t pull away.

Not even when the dogs double back, curious. Not even when Luca noses at the hem of my leggings or Cleo flops down nearby with a huff.

Cal just rests his chin on my head and lets the world go on without us.

Then, softer than I expect:

“So now that I’ve got you sayin’ Daddy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing a slow arc at the base of my spine, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth—more warmth than tease, like he’s proud and a little undone, he murmurs, “does that mean I can finally make you eat the carrots without the dramatic sighing?”

I laugh. Not because it’s that funny.

Because it’s safe.

Because it’s exactly what I needed.

I glance up at him, cheeks warm. “You like the sighing.”

He raises a brow. “I tolerate the sighing. Barely.”

I poke his chest. “Liar.”

He smiles, slow and devastating.

“Maybe. But I’m your Daddy now.” He says it low, warm, entirely without edge. “And that means I get the final say.”

I pretend to huff. “That sounds suspiciously like a dictatorship.”

He tilts his head. “Sounds like care to me.”

And there it is again.

That hum beneath the teasing. That steady, grounding truth.

I press my face into his chest for one more breath.

Then nod.

And we start walking again.

This time—his hand never leaves my back.

The trail climbs in slow curves.

Roots twist underfoot, softened by moss. Every few steps, I glance over my shoulder—half from habit, half just to see him. Cal walks close behind me, one hand resting lightly at my lower back, the other holding both leashes with quiet ease.

The dogs move like they know this place. Like they trust it.

Like I’m allowed to trust it too.

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