Page 37 of Let Me In

“I should probably head back soon.”

He nods, slow. “I’ll take you.”

We gather the mugs, the thermos, the crumpled bag that once held muffins. His hands are quiet and practiced. Like every small task he does is just another way of saying he’s here.

The ride back is silent, but not empty. His hand rests palm-up on the seat between us. I don’t even think before I place mine in it.

He squeezes, once.

At my front step, I linger.

So does he.

The quiet stretches between us—not awkward, not expectant. Just full of something I don’t quite know how to name.

And I don’t think about it before I do it.

I don’t think, I just step into him. Arms around his middle like it’s the only place I trust right now. It’s hesitant at first. Tentative. Like I might get it wrong. Like I might be asking for too much.

He goes still.

Just for a second.

Then I feel it—his breath slow in his chest, and his arms come around me. Not rushed. Not hesitant.

He pulls me in. Gathers me up like I weigh nothing at all. Like I’m small enough to be tucked against him, and wanted enough to be kept there. Like I belong there.

One hand between my shoulder blades, the other low on my back, anchoring me to him.

It’s not the kind of hug meant to soothe. It’s the kind meant to hold. To remind. To promise.

And it’s the best hug I’ve ever had.

Because it says more than either of us can right now.

It says:I’ve got you.

He doesn’t squeeze tight. Doesn’t hold me too long.

But he holds me right.

Like it’s something he’s been waiting to do.

And when I pull back—only enough to see his face—his eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

That’s when he speaks, low and certain:

“Come back tonight.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. There’s something protective in it. Like he wants me in his space, where he can make sure I’m okay. Where I’m his to look after.

My belly flips.

“Just dinner. Maybe a movie.”

He leans a little closer. Not enough to crowd. Just enough to let the words land where they’re meant to.

“If you want.”

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