Page 59 of Let Me In

Notherein the living room.

Notherein the recliner.

Here—nearhim.

And I know he sees it. The rest of it, tucked in the corners of my eyes.

With you.

I feel it in the way his eyes soften, in the slow breath he lets out like he’s been holding it. Like something unspoken in him just loosened at the seams.

He lifts my hand again. Not to kiss it this time—just to hold it. Warm and sure between both of his.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “you’ll ask.”

His voice is low. Not demanding. Just… certain.

“No more sleeping on recliners. Not when there’s space to stretch out. Not when I’m right here.”

My cheeks flush. I try to look away, but he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t shame me, either.

Just sees me.

Then, without warning, he shifts.

Moves with that quiet efficiency I’m starting to recognize. And before I can ask what he’s doing, his arms are around me—blanket and all—scooping me up like it’s nothing. Like I weigh less than a thought.

I gasp, breath catching against his chest. “Cal—”

But he just hushes me with the gentlest murmur.

“Let me take care of you.”

His words are like a blanket over my nerves—warm, firm, impossible to argue with. My heart gives a tiny stutter, then settles. It’s not just the way he says it. It’s because I believe him. That a part of me has been waiting my whole life to hear it said just like that—and to finally feel safe enough to believe it.

And he does.

He carries me all of five feet and deposits me carefully onto the couch, adjusting the blanket as he goes, making sure I’m tucked in just right. His hands brush over my shoulders, my knees, smoothing everything down like he’s done this a thousand times.

Like he wants to.

Then he pulls back, just far enough to meet my gaze.

“Stay put,” he says softly. “Stretch out. I’ll make breakfast.”

I nod, too stunned and warm and full to speak.

And then he’s gone, moving toward the kitchen—quiet, steady, real.

And I sink deeper into the couch.

Not because I’m tired.

But because being taken care of like this?

It does something to me I don’t have words for yet.

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