Page 16 of Let Me In

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.

And for a long moment, neither of us speaks.

The fire pops softly. The dogs breathe in quiet harmony. And his thumb draws slow, absent-minded lines along the curve of my side.

Then he shifts the remote in his hand and murmurs, “Alright, little one. What do you want to watch?”

I pause. Nuzzle my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt. “Do you want the pretentious answer? The one where I try to impress you?”

His chest rumbles faintly with amusement. “Not even a little.”

I smile into him. “Or the real answer?”

His fingers still, and when he speaks again, his voice is so soft it curls around the edges of me.

“The real one,” he says. “Always.”

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes—barely a few inches between us. And then, on a breath: “The Princess Bride.”

A beat of silence.

And then that smile.

The slow, spreading one. The kind that starts in his chest and reaches all the way to his eyes.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping for the real one.”

He presses a kiss to my temple.

“That’s perfect.”

He presses play.

The screen shifts from the streaming menu to black, then to that familiar swell of music—the lilting, unmistakable beginning of The Princess Bride. And something inside me melts.

I don’t even try to hide the way I sigh against him. It’s that sound you make when you’re full, warm, and safe. The kind you don’t know is coming until it’s already left you.

Cal hears it. I know he does.

His arm tightens around me, just a little.

Not to restrain. To tuck. To remind. His palm spreads wide at my back, grounding.

Possessive in the gentlest way. Like he’s drawing a circle around me with his body, tucking me into a space that only exists when I’m with him.

Like he’s saying this is where you belong.

Like I’ve been claimed without a word, and for once, it doesn’t scare me. It calms me.

The first lines of the film begin to play. Light, playful. Familiar.

But I barely hear them.

Because Cal shifts again, slowly, and pulls me the last few inches into his lap.

No big gesture. No warning.

Just a quiet adjustment, like he’s been thinking about it all night.

And I go easily.

Curled now with my upper body resting fully against his chest, knees tucked beside him on the couch, his arms wrapped around me like he never plans to let go.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. Like a promise. Like a truth.

I close my eyes for a moment. Let myself believe it.

The blanket covers us both, warm and heavy. Luca is asleep at my feet. Cleo hasn’t moved from her spot near the fire.

And on the screen, Buttercup tells Wesley, “Farm boy… fetch me that pitcher.”

I smile without thinking. Feel the rumble of Cal’s quiet laugh against my cheek.

“‘As you wish,’” he says lowly, right as the line plays.

I laugh too. Soft. Sleepy.

And I don’t even realize it until later—but that’s the moment I stopped bracing.

That’s the moment I let go.

The movie plays.

Soft dialogue, gentle nostalgia. It’s the kind of film you don’t really need to watch to feel it working. It’s in the rhythm, the cadence, the comfort of something beloved. And I try—I really try—to keep my eyes on the screen.

But I can’t stop glancing at him.

Not in an obvious way. Not like I’m staring. Just these quiet, sideways flicks of my gaze. Like my heart needs constant proof that he’s real.

That this is real.

That he’s here, beneath me, beside me, around me. Like a barrier against the world. Like nothing bad could reach me here—not with him holding the line.

His arm is still curled across my back, and every so often, his thumb makes a slow pass along my side. Not even like he means to. Just… like he can’t not touch me.

And every time I glance up at him—every time my eyes trace the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the quiet peace he wears—I think I’ll get used to it.

But I never do.

And I don’t think I ever will.

I turn my eyes forward again. Then back. Just a flick. Just long enough to take him in again like a secret.

But this time… he catches me. Not in an embarrassing way. He doesn’t smirk or tease or say anything at all.

Just shifts slightly.

His hand lifts from my waist, and his thumb—warm and certain—finds the edge of my chin. Tilts it.

Not urgently. Not roughly.

Just enough to guide me where he wants me.

To where he knows I want to be.

My breath catches, and a flicker starts low in my belly, like my whole body just paused to listen.

And then—without a word—he kisses me.

Soft. Slow. Certain.

Like he’s claiming my mouth in the quietest way possible. Like he’s letting me know exactly whose lap I’m curled into. Not to rush me. Not to consume me. Just to show me I’m his.

And that I’m safe.

His lips are warm and sure and careful, but there’s something beneath the gentleness too—something restrained. Like he’s holding back just enough to keep from unraveling. A low sound hums in his chest, rough and full of heat, and it curls into me like a second touch.

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I release it into him.

And with it, something inside me unknots—like I’ve just been told, without a single word, that I don’t have to do this alone anymore.

His hand spreads a little wider at my back, anchoring me.

Like he feels the shift too. Like he’s holding me through the letting go.

I kiss him back.

Because how could I not?

Because maybe the real miracle isn’t that he’s here, or that he wants me—but that he keeps finding new ways to show it.

He pulls back first, barely a breath’s distance, like he’s checking in. Like he’s making sure I’m still okay. That I still want this.

And when I lean in again, just the smallest tilt of my head toward him—he lets out a breath like relief and kisses me one more time.

This one even softer.

Even slower.

Like the quiet hush of a promise, sealed in warmth and breath.

We pull apart after that, but only just. My head finds its way back under his chin, and I feel the strength of his arms around me like a promise.

He doesn’t speak.

He just holds me tighter. Like I belong there. Like I always did.

And on the screen, Wesley whispers, “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

I close my eyes. Press my cheek to his chest.

And try to believe that maybe—just maybe—that could be true.

It doesn’t feel real.

His arms around me. The blanket. The movie still playing like a lullaby in the background.

The kiss.

I keep my eyes closed, head tucked under his chin, and just… listen. To the rise and fall of his breath. To the steady beat of his heart. To the warmth of him, wrapped around me like something I didn’t know I was allowed to want.

I don’t know when my breathing slows. When my thoughts quiet. When the heaviness behind my eyes finally wins.

But I fall asleep there.

In his arms.

And for the first time in forever, I don’t feel the need to plan an exit.