Page 223 of Let Me In

And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I am too.

Full. Not just from the food, but from this.

From him.

From the way he keeps choosing closeness. Warmth. Me.

The next morning is soft.So soft that I barely remember Cal murmuring that today will be slow, peaceful, before gathering me up in his arms, blankets and all, and transferring me from the bedroom to the living room couch.

At some point, the dogs join me there, too. I doze there, the most peaceful I’ve felt in… maybe ever.

I don’t open my eyes right away. I stay still, tucked deep in the nest of flannel and blankets, their warmth heavy and grounding, the scent of cedar and something darker—something Cal—woven into every thread.

And then I smell it. That gentle curl of steam and bergamot.

Tea.

A soft sound of ceramic on wood.

I blink.

He’s crouched beside the couch, one hand steadying a mug, the other resting lightly on the cushion beside my hip.

His eyes find mine the moment I wake.

“Morning, little one.”

His voice is velvet. The kind that runs down my spine and settles somewhere low, somewhere quiet. My fingers tighten around the blanket, the warmth of it suddenly too much, like it’s trying to hold in everything I don’t know how to say. I blink at him, the words bubbling up before I can stop them.

“Morning, Daddy.”

It’s soft. Tentative. The second time I’ve ever said it.

And the way his gaze softens—quiet and sure—undoes something in me. A slow exhale leaves him like he’s been waiting to hear it. He doesn’t speak at first, just brushes his knuckles against my cheek with a touch so reverent I almost close my eyes.

He offers the mug into my hands like it’s something sacred.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “Still a little hot.”

I take it—gratefully, carefully. The rim is warm against my lips, the tea steeped just how I like it.

He doesn’t ask if I slept well. He already knows I did. And something in me twists—tight, aching—at being known so completely. A pang of disbelief flickers beneath the comfort, like part of me still doesn’t believe I deserve this kind of tenderness.

He doesn’t ask how I feel, either. That’s in the way he touches my knee before rising, in the way he smooths the blanket over my thighs. He leans down to press a kiss into my hair, slow and certain.

“I’m just heading out to grab the laundry off the line,” he says. “Ten minutes.”

I nod, my small, shy smile impossible to hide, cup still warm in my hands, and watch as he steps outside. The door clicks softly behind him. Cleo lifts her head from the armrest, ears flicking once before settling. Luca rolls to his side with a huff.

And I think—I could stay like this forever.

That only lasts for a moment.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table.

One vibration. Then another.

I freeze.