Page 23 of Loving Lauren
Sierra didn’t move right away. She stayed curled beside Lauren, their fingers still laced together.
“I meant what I said. You didn’t owe me that part of yourself, but I’m glad you shared it.”
Lauren exhaled softly, the breath that only came after holding something in for too long. “It’s always been... complicated. Telling people. There’s this moment right after where I’m not sure if they’re going to stay or shut down or worse. Like I have to prepare for anything.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you ask me to.” Sierra kissed their hand.
Lauren looked at her. This was the safest moment they’d had in a long time, maybe ever.
They stayed there like that for a few moments more, wrapped in low light and warmth. For once, Lauren didn’t feel braced or guarded or halfway undone. Just whole.
Eventually, Sierra stirred and reached for her coat with reluctant hands. “I should head out. If I’m gone much longer, Salem will stage a mutiny.” Sierra’s voice was hushed, like anything louder might break the spell.
Lauren nodded, rising with her. They walked to the door side by side, fingers grazing again in a way that felt both familiar and electric.
Sierra paused in the doorway. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Lauren looked at her steady eyes, the softness of her mouth, the space she left for every part of them. They reached up and cupped Sierra’s face gently in both hands.
No hesitation or second-guessing. They kissed her. Soft, sure, and rooted. Not a question, not a maybe, but an answer.
When they pulled back, they smiled. “Good night, Sierra.”
Sierra’s voice was steady, but her eyes were shining. “Good night.”
She turned and walked down the hallway, fingers brushing her lips as she went.
Lauren closed the door gently behind them and leaned against it, breath caught, eyes wide, heart full.
They wondered if they’d finally found someone who saw the whole of them... and stayed.
Chapter 13
The days that followed Lauren’s revelation unfolded like soft pages in a favorite book: unhurried, familiar, and full of warmth. No dramatic shifts, no grand declarations. Just the steady rhythm of two people learning the shape of each other’s lives and finding, somehow, that they fit.
Mornings began with sacred caffeine rituals. Lauren always arrived with Sierra’s favorite lavender oat milk latte in hand, smirking like it was no big deal. “It’s easier than watching you try to froth milk like a medieval alchemist,” she teased. Sierra would glare playfully, steal her hoodie, and mutter something about betrayal. Lauren would let her.
Afternoons were slow strolls downtown, the kind that made the hours feel like honey. They wandered in and out of thrift shops and indie bookstores, fingers brushing until they laced together without a word. They bickered about the merits of Salem owning a cat-sized beanbag chair versus a faux-leather throne. Lauren insisted Salem was clearly a chaise lounge kindof man, while Sierra countered he deserved options. The stakes were low. The joy was genuine.
In the evenings, Sierra curled up with her sketchbook while Lauren painted their nails with a bold confidence. They scrolled through photo edits, shared silly voice notes, and read each other’s texts in bad accents that devolved into giggles and sidelong glances that said more than either of them could.
They didn’t label it. Didn’t ask what this was or where it was going. But there was something in the way Sierra leaned into Lauren during a horror movie, or how Lauren always grabbed Sierra’s hand, like they both knew. It was as if someone had already written it. Not in ink, but in breath, in glances, and in what was blooming between them.
Movie night came around again. Same crew, same brand of beautiful chaos. Calliope brought enough takeout to feed a small country. Jett arrived wearing silver alien antennae with a matching glitter lip. Raven took one look at the movie selection and threatened to unplug the TV if it turned out to be “another plotless gore-fest with zero budget and three brain cells between the cast.”
They landed on a campy alien horror flick that leaned so hard into absurdity it practically came with its own laugh track. Within the first five minutes, someone tripped while running from absolutely nothing, the alien hissed in auto-tune, and Sierra felt the couch shake from collective groans.
Sierra claimed her usual corner of the sectional, and Lauren slid in beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their legs aligned, knee to ankle, and neither of them budged. The contact was quiet, grounding, warm.
At the first jump scare, Lauren leaned into Sierra. “If she trips again, I’m siding with the alien. Let natural selection do its thing.”
Sierra snorted so hard everyone cackled. Calliope clapped. “Honestly, worth it for that reaction alone.”
By the time the credits rolled, Sierra’s head had drifted to rest on Lauren’s shoulder, and Salem had appointed himself their shared lap king. The glow from the TV cast soft shadows across the room, and for a moment, everything felt suspended in time.
Jett broke the silence. “So... I have a date this weekend. Hot white guy. Works in tech. Has a sleeve tattoo and knows how to make banh mi.”
Calliope gasped. “A man who’s hot and can cook Vietnamese fusion? Marry him immediately.”
