Page 68 of Let Me In

So I don’t speak.

I just shift forward—slowly, so he knows I’m not asking for anything either—and lean into him. My shoulder brushes his, then rests there, light but certain.

His arm lifts instinctively, making room for me, and I settle against his side, head tucked just beneath his collarbone. My hand still wrapped in his. Our plates forgotten. The firelightflickers gently across his skin, casting everything in a hush of warmth. His arm is solid beneath my cheek, steady and sure—like a ledge meant for leaning. Like I could rest there as long as I need.

For a moment, neither of us moves.

I feel his breath change—deeper, slower. Like something heavy just eased loose inside him. It makes my chest soften, my body melt a little closer into his side. Like I’ve just watched the wind still—and I get to be the place he comes to rest. Like something in him’s been fighting to hold still for too long, and now it doesn’t have to.

I close my eyes.

Just for a second.

Not to sleep.

Just to feel this.

To memorize it.

His body beside mine. The rise and fall of his chest. The faint thrum of his pulse beneath my cheek—steady, quiet, grounding.

I don’t say I want to help again.

I don’t have to.

He knows now.

And he’s letting me stay.

I think that might be the most important thing anyone’s ever done for me.

18

CAL

She doesn’t saya word after that.

Doesn’t pull away either.

Just stays tucked into my side, head beneath my jaw, her hand still held between mine like something I didn’t know I was allowed to keep.

I don’t move.

Not until her breathing settles. Not until I feel her body start to wake against mine, muscles stretching, mind pulling toward the morning. Then I ease her up, slow and gentle, and kiss the crown of her head.

“I should get going,” she says, barely above a whisper.

I know what she’s thinking already. That she’s somehow worn out her welcome.

She should stay.

Everything in me is saying it. Quiet, insistent.

But I don’t, because it’s not about what I want.

“If that’s what you want, little one,” I murmur. “I’ll help. Go get ready.”

She nods against my chest. Doesn’t speak. Just rises from the couch with the quilt still tucked around her shoulders, as thoughshe’s trying to carry the warmth with her. Like she already knows it’s going to be colder where she’s headed.

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