Page 71 of Stony Point Summer
But he shakes his head while pressing her down. When she stops resisting, he drags over another chair and sits close, right beside her. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, head dropped for a moment until he looks up at her. His voice is low. Maybe a little defeated. “This has nothing to do with cake.”
“What?” she whispers. The look in her eyes is frantic.
Kyle turns on his chair and faces her directly. The onions sizzle on the stovetop. As they do, he reaches forward and touches a lock of Lauren’s crimped hair. “Talk to me,” he tells her.
“Kyle. It’s just that … I don’t know,” she says with a long breath.
The room is hushed, then. There’s only the sizzling of sautéing onions, along with the sound of chirping crickets outside.
“Maybe you have cold feet,” Kyle finally suggests. “It happens. You know, as the wedding date gets closer.”
Lauren looks at him. Her voice is so quiet, he tips his head to hear her. “Or maybe we should wait,” she says.
“Wait? To pick our cake?”
She shakes her head. “To get married. Because it shouldn’t be this hard.”
Kyle sits back. Only for a moment, though, before he gets up, walks to the screen door and stands there. “Or is it something else?” he asks while looking outside.
When she doesn’t answer, he turns to her. Her grey eyes are damp; she noticeably pauses before slightly shaking her head.
“You sure?”
Again, quiet. A cloud of it between them, hovering. The room almost seems to grow darker, the longer the silence goes on. The room darker; their hearts, heavier.
And when Lauren still doesn’t answer hisYou sure?Kyle jumps in. Is it to stop what he just doesn’t want to hear? Is it to sway her thoughts?
“Letmehandle things then, if it’s too much for you. Yeah,” he says, returning to his chair beside Lauren. He strokes her jaw. He touches her shoulder exposed by that low neckline of her peasant shirt—his touch delicate, as though trying to keep her world intact. “Youlikedthat buttercream, Ell. In the bakery.” He hooks a finger gently beneath her chin and tips up her face. “I saw you close your eyes when you tasted it.”
“I don’t know.” She pulls back. “All these decisions. And choices. What to eat, buy, wear.”
Kyle drops his head. “Be with?” he barely whispers. After a moment, he looks up at her sitting there on her padded chair.
“I didn’t hear you.” She waits, then asks, “Did you say something?”
Now,hehesitates. Now,hewaits, then shakes his head. “Here. Sit tight,” he tells her instead of repeating his whispered question. He raises the small drop-leafs of his vintage Formica table, too, before lowering the stove flame. Then he crosses that checkerboard floor and gets two plates out of the cabinet. After setting the dishes on the table, he adds napkins and two forks. “We’ll try doing this alone,” he says, sitting again. “With no one around. No Jason, no bakers, no consultants.” He reaches for two cake samples from the tray they brought home. “Just us.”
“Oh, Kyle,” Lauren says, her smile sad. It’s a smile that asks what the point is.
What that gets him to do is lean really close, raise his hands and cradle her face. He kisses her then, lightly at first. But the kiss surprisingly deepens.Shedeepens it, raising a hand to his face as she does. After the kiss, his thumb strokes her cheek before he turns to a cake sample. Forking off a hunk of red velvet with cream-cheese icing, he raises the cake to her lips. “Come on,” Kyle says.
Lauren hesitates, then takes the forked sample in her mouth. She tastes the cake. Her tongue passes over her teeth to get every sweet morsel. Then she shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I don’t care for that one.”
“You mean … it’s off the list?”
She nods.
Kyle sets down the fork and touches her hair. “See what happens when you just let me in?” He lifts the tray of samples and brings it to the counter. “Let me help, Ell. Starting with some dinner.” He takes off his button-down and hangs it on the back of his chair, then untucks his dark tee.
“I don’t know. Maybe I should get going.”
“What?” Kyle turns to the stove, adjusts the flame and stirs the cooking onions. “No, no. Just stay the night. You have a drawer of clothes here, and I’ll drive you to the bookstore in the morning.”
“Are you sure? Because I—”
“I’m sure. And after you get your car from your parents tomorrow, well, you’ll have your wheels back.”
When she says nothing, Kyle looks over at her sitting alone at the table.
