Page 45 of Let Me In

Cal shakes his head once. “No.”

And then, quieter: “Didn’t want to miss what you might want.”

My heart does something I can’t name. Something tender and terrifying and whole.

Before I can think better of it, I move.

Not just a lean—not just a glance of touch.

I turn toward him, crawl a little closer, and press my face into his chest. Wrap my arms around his middle and just… hold on.

Tight.

Like I need him to know what this means. Like I can’t say it out loud, but maybe he’ll hear it this way. Maybe he’ll feel it.

His arms wrap around me in an instant, folding me in tight. One hand on the back of my head, the other across my back.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper against his shirt. “If this is too much…”

“No.”

The word is quiet but absolute.

“Not too much,” he says. “Not even close.”

And then—God, then—

He presses his lips to my hair.

A soft sound escapes me, involuntarily. My body leans into his without thinking, drawn like a tide. Like that single kiss just told every nervous part of me to hush.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for this.”

I nod into his chest, heart racing, trembling.

He holds me until the shaking stops.

Until I can breathe again.

Until the world shrinks down to this: the scent of his skin, the soft rhythm of his breath, the feeling of being held—not for what I offer, not for what I perform, but just for being here.

Just for being me.

He doesn’t let go right away.

Even when my breath evens out, even when I shift slightly to pull back, Cal just tightens his arms a little. Like maybe I don’t have to let go yet. Like maybe I shouldn’t.

And God, I don’t want to.

So I settle instead.

Ease my weight into him, upper body resting across his chest, one leg tucked beneath me. His arm stays wrapped around my back, the other hand lazily resting on the blanket over my thigh. Not possessive. Not demanding.

Just there.

Just his.

And my body knows it before my mind does—a long breath slips out of me, slow and unguarded. Like every inch of me just agreed to be held.

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