Page 40 of Let Me In

When I round the final curve and Cal’s cabin comes into view, there’s a light on at the window. And the porch light, just like he said.

Heart racing and black sedan forgotten, I knock. Only once. Then I wait, hand tightening around Luca’s leash.

The door opens.

And Cal goes still.

For a beat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just looks at me—really looks—eyes dark and steady as they take in the shape of me on his porch. The bag slung over one shoulder. Luca pressed close to my thigh. Cleo sitting sentry by my feet. The cold still clings to my lungs from the walk, cheeks flushed, hair wind-tangled.

His jaw shifts. Something quiet and contained moves across his face, like a string drawn too tight inside him finally gives way.

“You walked?”

I nod, breathing shallow. “It’s not far. I didn’t want to bother you.”

His brow pulls. Not angry. Not even frustrated. Just… something like ache.

“Didn’t have a ride?”

I hesitate. Just long enough for him to see too much.

He steps forward, his voice dropping low. “Little one.”

God. That voice. Those two words.

It slips under my skin like a warm hand at the base of my spine. Makes my breath catch, makes my knees feel a little less certain.

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve been there in five minutes. Dogs and all.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t want to ruin it…”

And that breaks him. I can see it—something in his eyes softening and sharpening all at once. He reaches out, fingers grazing just under my chin, tilting it with the lightest touch.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says, voice rough. “You showed up. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

His thumb lingers, then withdraws only enough to press the door open wider. His next words come out quieter. Steadier.

“Don’t walk at night by yourself again. That’s a rule.”

The words settle over me like a weighted blanket. Firm. Unquestionable. But not suffocating. Grounding. Like someone building a gate—not to keep me out, but to let me rest behind it.

I step inside on a breath, the warmth of the cabin brushing my skin like a promise. The kind you don’t know how to believe in yet, but want to.

Cal closes the door behind me, the quiet sound of the latch sliding into place grounding me more than it should. I drop my bag gently to the side and kneel to unclip the dogs’ leashes.

My fingers slip, just once. Barely noticeable. But enough for someone really watching to catch it.

And Cal is always paying attention.

He doesn’t say a word. Just crouches nearby, letting Luca sniff his hand before giving him a slow, reassuring stroke down his back. Then to Cleo, who eyes him like she’s judging his worth before she allows his palm to settle on her delicate little frame.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, and I don’t know if he’s talking to them or me.

Probably both.

I stand again, brushing my palms on my thighs, trying to smooth the tremble still clinging to them.

“Are you sure you don’t mind the hair?” I ask, glancing away almost immediately. My fingers twist in the hem of my sweater, a habit I thought I’d broken. I can’t quite meet his eyes. I ask, already glancing around. “I can vacuum before I leave—or I brought a sheet if you’d rather I cover the couch first—”

---