Page 260 of Let Me In

His hand tightens slightly.

“And I’ll be right here,” I add. “With the light on.”

The day passes like breath held in the chest.

Too slow and too fast all at once.

Cal doesn’t leave my side—not out of fear, but presence. Like he knows we’re both gathering something in ourselves, and this time, we do it together.

He doesn’t pace. His movements are slow, deliberate, measured like the ticking of a clock he refuses to race.

He moves through the cabin with quiet purpose, each action deliberate even in its stillness. Adjusting the wood in the stove. He fills the kettle and sets it aside—not out of forgetfulness, but intention. A silent gesture, meant for me.

His focus is sharp, his hands steady, every motion rooted in care. Preparing. Centered.

I curl into the corner of the couch, still wearing his flannel, knees pulled to my chest. Cleo’s draped across my legs. Luca lies by the front door, head on his paws, watching the wind move through the trees beyond the window.

Cal lights the lantern on the mantle. Then the one in the kitchen.

He moves like this is any other night.

But I know it’s not.

I feel it in the stretch of his shoulders. In the way his eyes keep drifting to the horizon. In the subtle tick of his jaw every time he comes near me and then steps away again.

The sun dips behind the trees. I feel it like a ticking clock, anxiety ramping higher as each moment passes. Comes closer to him leaving.

And still, Cal doesn’t stop moving—not in a frantic way, just steady. Controlled. Present.

I start to rise from the couch as he opens the fridge.

“Let me cook,” I offer. “Please. Just this once.”

His hand stills on the fridge handle, and he turns his head slightly, brows lifting—not in surprise, but in quiet consideration. That weighty, assessing pause that always makes my heart flutter.

And when his eyes meet mine, something softens.

He doesn’t smile. Not really.

But he shakes his head.

“No, baby. I need to do this.”

I blink.

He steps toward me, quiet and certain. One hand finds my cheek, thumb grazing just under my eye.

“Letting me take care of you tonight… that’s how I stay grounded. It’s how I remember what I’m coming back for.” His thumb presses just a little firmer beneath my eye, brushingslowly down to the curve of my cheek like he’s anchoring us both there.

That undoes me.

I nod, settling back into the cushions. Hands folded in my lap. Watching him move.

He makes something simple. Comforting. Grilled cheese and tomato soup, but the good kind—the thick bread, the pan-seared butter hissing low in the pan, the herbs from the jar above the sink releasing their warmth into the air. The smell wraps around the kitchen like a memory. He does it slow. Intentional. Like it matters.

And when he brings me my bowl, he kisses my hair before he sits beside me and eats his own.

We don’t speak much. We don’t need to.

---