Page 288 of Let Me In

But at least—

At least there will be breakfast.

And tea.

And me, waiting.

The kettle clicks off.

Steam curls around the edges of the stovetop.

I pour the tea with both hands, steadying the cup so it won’t rattle against the porcelain.

And then I hear it.

Low.

Rumbling.

The unmistakable sound of tires on gravel.

My heart lurches so fast it stumbles. I set the mug down with a shaky breath and take a single step toward the window.

Please.

I press my palm to the glass.

And there, through the trees: headlights.

The dark shape of his truck cresting the rise, the way it always does. Familiar. Earthbound. Him. I imagine his hands on the wheel, jaw set, eyes scanning the porch for me like they always do—steady, unwavering, mine.

A sound slips from my lips. Not quite a cry.

Relief.

Sharp. Beautiful. Immediate.

My legs nearly give out.

He’s here.

He’s home.

I don’t step outside.

Even though every part of me wants to.

Even though I could meet him at the truck, throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his neck before he’s even closed the door behind him.

I don’t.

Because I’m still holding yesterday.

Because I told him I would follow the rules.

And I didn’t.

Not when it counted.

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