Page 75 of The Beachgoers
twenty-eight
— Now —
WHEN SHE AND KYLE BOUGHT their bungalow on the bay, Lauren swore she’d put twinkle lights around the front porch windows at Christmastime. Then she amended her vow.No, all the time, she’d added, so full of hope.
And she did it, first thing. She framed those porch windows with little white lights and turned them on every night this summer.
Tonight? Her parents did it. Before taking the kids to their house for the weekend, they must’ve stopped here and turned on those lights for Lauren and Kyle. Now, standing in her bedroom after their vow renewal ceremony, Lauren can’t stop smiling.
Because there are lights everywhere. Tiny white lights line the mantel. Twinkling lights are wrapped around two birch logs in the fireplace. And then there are the lanterns—clear glass lanterns. One is on the kitchen table. Another on the living room coffee table. And two on Lauren’s dresser—where she’s standing. All the clear lanterns are filled with tangles of glimmering white fairy lights. The sight, in her very own home, is simply magical.
As she takes off her vine-and-flower headpiece, Kyle comes up behind her. He doesn’t say anything, standing there in the shadows cast by only lantern light. So they’re quiet together. Kyle steps closer and wraps his arms around her. When he does, Lauren leans right back into him. She closes her eyes. She smiles and rests her head on his shoulder. The room is still quiet. Kyle, still not saying anything. Instead, he bends low and presses his face to the side of her head.
Moments pass. Moments when nothing is said.
And Lauren, standing there in her two-piece lace dress, knows. She knows Kyle’s always been there for her to lean into.
His hands move now. From behind, he unzips her fitted midriff top and slips it off. Leaves a kiss on her shoulder, too. Her long lace skirt is next—unzipped before he loosens it on her waist and lets it fall to the floor around her ankles. When Lauren steps out of it, she turns to him then.
That’s when her smile stops. Oh, she’s happy. Couldn’t be more so. But she also knows. Kyle’s never left her side. Never pulled his arms away. Never let her falter, or fall, or fail. Maybe it took all this time, took ten years, for her to know just what that means.
To know what loving Kyle back means.
Slowly, Lauren unbuttons his white shirt, her fingers slipping carefully down to each button. By the time she gets that shirt off his big shoulders, she and Kyle are on the bed.
By the time she says his name, he kisses her.
By the time they’re fully undressed, the touches don’t stop.
By the time Kyle presses her back onto the bed, their kisses deepen.
By the time Lauren stops him—stops him and takes a quick breath—she only strokes his whiskered jaw. Leaves a trail of kisses there, too.
Kyle shifts onto his side next to her now. He props his head beneath an arm and loops his other arm across her hip. His fingers lightly stroke her skin as he waits for her.
Lauren sees it, how he’s waiting, and she gives a sad smile. Not sad enough that Kyle sees the sadness, but she feels it. Because he’salwayswaited for her. Until now.
“Kyle,” she whispers.
And by the time she tries to say more, he’s pressing a finger over her lips. And whisperingShhhas he leans closer. And strokes her hair. And leaves a brush of a kiss on her face.
By the time she kisses him back, once lightly, then tries to talk but just has to kiss him again, he’s feeling the length of her body, touching every curve, every bend.
By the time she whispers to him, “Wait. I just want to tell you—” he moves on top of her. And cradles her face. And presses back her hair. And tells her, “I know, Ell.” Then kisses her again. “I already know.”
The thing is, he says it in such a way that they’re both silent for a long moment. He lowers his mouth to hers then, and in the lantern-lit bedroom, no one tries to talk again.
* * *
Later, Kyle returns from the kitchen to the bedroom. He’s wearing only his boxers and carrying two plates. Topping each one are hunks of wedding cake Elsa had sent home with them. Lauren’s sitting up in bed. She’d put on Kyle’s white button-down shirt, loosely, before propping herself up against the pillows. Her long blonde hair is mussed; her look as relaxed as he’s seen in a long time.
“Here you go, doll,” Kyle says, giving her a plate. When he climbs into bed beside her while balancing his own cake dish, she scoots over closer to him. “Mmm, so good,” Kyle says around a mouthful of the white cake. “What is that frosting? Buttercream?”
Lauren, sitting up, shifts even closer and leans against Kyle’s shoulder. When she does, he scoops a piece of cake on his fork and feeds it to her. Her eyes drop closed with the flavor. “Oh. Heavenly,” she murmurs. “Yes, buttercream.” She reaches over and brushes a crumb from his lip before taking a bite of her own piece.
Their forks slice into cake then, over and over. Their talk is easy. Thoughts about the night, and the friends being together on the beach. And about poor Elsa’s inn woes. Sometimes Lauren looks up at Kyle pressed beside her and leaves a kiss on his chin, his shoulder. Once the cake is done, they set their crumb-covered dishes on the nightstand and sink down lower in bed. Kyle slips his arm around her and holds her close, kissing the top of her head as she turns on her side and reaches her arm across his belly then, too.
Leaning, leaning into each other, still.
