Page 13 of Loving Lauren
Tuesday morning arrived with coffee and a false sense of confidence.
Sierra sat cross-legged at her desk, scrolling through Lauren’s Instagram. A reel caught her attention: Lauren applying a holographic highlighter that shifted colors with a tilt of her wrist, like bottled moonlight. The caption read:You glow differently when it’s personal.
Sierra tapped a comment...That glow is unreal. Actual witchcraft.
She added a single red heart and stared at it, debating. Enough to be flirtatious? Too much? Not enough? She hit send and shut off her phone before her thoughts could start circling the drain.
By mid-afternoon, she’d wandered toward Bean and Bloom without really deciding to. The lunch hour had cleared out, and it was too early for the dinner crowd. The bell over the door gave a quick jingle, and the smell hit her right away—espresso, cinnamon, and warm air that seemed to reach for her like an embrace.
The table near the window, her favorite, was free. Tucked far enough from the main flow to feel private but still catching that late golden light. The espresso machine gave its slow, steady hiss. Behind the counter, shoes squeaked faintly on tile.
Outside, the city moved in rhythm: a bus sighed at the curb, leaves skittered across the sidewalk, a couple strolled past, coffees in hand.
She slid into the booth and let herself picture tomorrow. Lauren sat across from her, that soft half-smile curling her stomach into knots. Sierra smoothed her sleeve, pulled out the folder of prints, trying not to imagine knocking over her latte from sheer nerves. She closed her eyes and tried to picture it all going well. That helped. Not much, but a little.
She took a few discreet pictures of the space with her phone, catching the glow on the wood, the curve of the window frame, the streak of sunlight across the table. Just in case she needed proof later that she’d been brave enough to sit here and imagine.
That night, the familiar chaos of movie night filled her apartment. Raven arrived first, wearing crushed velvet leggings and a hoodie that readHex the Patriarchyin jagged silver font. Calliope came next, arms loaded with fancy popcorn and zero chill. Jett showed up fashionably late, eyeliner glittering like he’d kissed a disco ball and dared it to kiss back. His hair was slightly mussed, shirt buttoned one hole off, and he had that satisfied glow of someone who’d had a very good afternoon.
Jett flung himself onto the couch dramatically. “Alright, babes, tonight is sapphic central. Find me the cheesiest rom-com on here, extra gooey. I want subtitles just for the longing stares.”
Calliope held up a wine bottle like a trophy. “With live commentary, darling. I will narrate every smoldering glance like it’s Shakespeare in Verona.”
By the time the heroine locked eyes with her rival-turned-lover, Sierra was clutching a throw pillow and pretending not to feel anything at all.
Calliope lobbed a popcorn kernel at her. “Observe, Miss Soft Eyes. Lesson one: the stare. Lesson two: the strut. Lesson three: thirst so subtle it belongs in a museum.”
Sierra’s cheeks flushed. “Someone’s projecting.”
Raven didn’t miss a beat. “Calliope, please. Your idea of flirting is a bottle of tequila and a tragic backstory. Not a love language.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m not doing that on purpose.” Calliope smirked, stealing the popcorn back.
Jett leaned over and offered Sierra a fist bump. “Look at you, Camera Girl, not even fake-chill anymore. That’s growth, babe. I’m proud.”
Jett’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, smirked, and typed back quickly. “Sorry, scheduling tomorrow’s entertainment.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Some of us don’t pine for weeks over coffee dates.”
Sierra took the bump and laughed. Her defenses had collapsed somewhere between the slow-burn plotline and the third bowl of popcorn. Being this exposed felt good. Good to be seen and teased and still safe.
She slumped back into the cushions. “Okay, fine. I might have a tiny crush.”
Raven snorted. “Tiny? Try epic saga, sweetheart. You skipped crush and went straight to trilogy.”
“You know.” Jett stretched like a cat across the back of the couch. “If Makeup Goddess hurts you, say the word and her bumper gets a love note. Courtesy of my keys.”
Raven raised a hand. “And I’ll hex her—with consent, mostly.”
Calliope lifted her wineglass. “And I’ll drink wine. Supportively.”
Sierra shook her head, heart full. “Good to know I’ve got options.”
“You’ve got a damn army.” Calliope passed her the popcorn. “Go win your girl.”
By Wednesday morning, her nerves had reached peak levels. The vibrating panic where even her playlist felt too loud.
She laid her outfit out on the bed as if it were part of a ritual. A cute top that hugged her curves in all the right places. Check. Jeans that made her feel confident but not like she was trying too hard? Also check. Boots that added a whisper of height without threatening to send her flying over a sidewalk crack? Absolutely yes.
She added a delicate gold necklace with a tiny camera charm and paused, fingers grazing the pendant. It felt small but steady. Like her. Like the version of herself she wanted to bring into this.
