Page 219 of Let Me In

I don’t even look to see what I turn on the TV—just something slow and quiet. Something with low voices and a lull of background music.

When I glance back, she’s watching me. Like she wants to argue. Like she might.

I crook a finger.

“C’mere.”

She sighs. Pretends she’s not smiling. But when she crosses the room and lets me wrap the blanket around her shoulders, she leans in.

Lets me guide her to the couch.

Tuck a pillow beneath her head.

I brush a strand of hair from her face.

“Try for me, baby,” I say, thumbing just beneath her cheekbone. “You deserve it.”

She closes her eyes.

Just for a second.

And then nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And I press a kiss to her forehead.

I don’t go far. Don’t want to.

But she needs sleep. Even if she won’t admit it. And after everything—after that soft, trembling yes, Daddy fell from her lips like it was meant for me all along—I need the space. Just a little. To breathe. To get my bearings.

To remind myself this is real.

So I step into the kitchen. Move quiet. Deliberate.

I pull out the cutting board, open the fridge. Grab the carrots I know she actually likes—the kind that get sweet when they’re cooked down in butter and thyme. She told me once. Shrugged like it didn’t matter. But it did. I heard it.

I get lost in it. In the rhythm of the knife, the whisper of the blade through vegetable. The way the light hits the countertop. I think about what else I can make. Something gentle. Something warm. Something that tells her without a word—

You’re safe now. I’ve got the rest.

Then I feel it.

A shift in the room. That quiet pull.

Her.

I glance over my shoulder.

And there she is—barely upright, a sleepy little head peeking over the back of the couch. Hair mussed. Cheeks warm with the flush of rest.

She blinks at me like she's surprised I’m still there. Like she still can’t believe any of this is real, either.

“Want me to help?” she murmurs. Voice all thick and soft.

God.

I nearly laugh. Not at her. At the ache that tugs in my chest, the instinct that wants to wrap her in my arms and never let her lift a finger again.

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