Page 261 of Let Me In

But once the dishes are cleared and the fire’s glowing warm, he takes my hand and pulls me into his lap again.

His arms fold around me like he’s drawing a line around everything that’s his.

His fingers flex slightly on my waist, and I feel the slow shift of his breath against my hair.

Then he leans close.

“While I’m gone,” he murmurs, “you stay inside. I don’t care how nice it gets out. You take the dogs out on their tethers. That’s it. No walks. No woods.”

I nod against his chest.

“I mean it,” he adds gently. “The Watcher’s nearby, but I don’t want to give anyone a chance to try you.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “What else?”

His hand rubs slow circles into my back.

“Check in. Three times a day. Text me. Morning, midday, and night.” His hand stills for a beat on my back, the slow circles pausing as he levels me with that look—the one that says this isn’t up for negotiation.

I breathe him in. “Can you do the same?”

He pulls back just enough to look into my face.

“Of course.”

He brushes his lips over my forehead. “I’ll text you more than that if I can. But you’ll hear from me. You’ll know I’m okay.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes.

I nod again.

And he presses his lips to the top of my head.

“Good girl.”

His lips brush the top of my head again, the words a warm rumble near my ear, low and certain—like a promise.

He doesn’t let go of me.

Not when the fire pops. Not when the shadows grow longer. Not even when the wind shifts outside, brushing low along the eaves.

He just holds me.

And then—gently—he eases me back against the couch cushions.

His body folds over mine like a shield. Not heavy. Just there. Solid. Quiet. Anchoring. The warm press of muscle and denim settles over me—immovable, reassuring.

His face buries into the side of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

And for a moment, I forget everything else.

There’s only this.

His weight. His warmth. The slow rise and fall of his chest against mine.

His lips graze the edge of my jaw.

Then my cheekbone.

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