Page 255 of Let Me In

It’s slow. Mouth to mouth, breath to breath. Like a promise fulfilled. Like he’s tasting the truth on my lips now that it’s finally out loud.

I melt into it. Every part of me soft. Open.

And somewhere in the middle of it—between one breath and the next—I whisper it again.

Right against his mouth.

“I love you.”

He groans softly, the sound low and raw, and pulls me closer.

His hand slips into my hair. His other arm wraps around my back, steady and sure.

And when we finally break apart, just enough to breathe, he presses his forehead to mine.

Eyes closed. Voice wrecked.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

Outside, the wind shifts. The trees rustle. Cleo stirs at my feet.

And inside, everything is quiet.

Not empty.

Just full.

Cal doesn’t move. He just keeps holding me, like he’s never going to stop.

And I let him.

Because I love him.

Because he loves me.

Because this—this is the shift toward permanence. The weight of his arms around me. The echo of his words still blooming against my skin. The warmth of his body pressed to mine like something long awaited finally arriving. This is what staying feels like.

33

EMMY

I wake to stillness.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that settles over the cabin like a quilt. This is the other kind—the kind that presses against the ribs, tight and hollow. The kind that tells you, before your eyes even open, that something’s shifted.

The sheets are empty beside me, the fabric faintly rumpled where his body used to rest, but now gone cold.

I listen for the usual sounds: the trees close to the window creaking with the light wind, fire crackling, maybe the soft tread of his boots on the hardwood.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

I sit up slowly, Cal’s flannel slipping from my shoulders where I wore it to sleep, the fabric soft and heavy with his warmth. I press my face into it for a second. Try to breathe the unease out of my lungs.

It doesn’t work.

The floor is cold under my feet. I pad through the cabin, dogs still curled in their beds, the fire down to embers. Cal stands in the kitchen, not moving.