Page 80 of Loving Lauren
One morning, Sierra leaned against the kitchen doorway, the coffee scent drifting through the apartment, and watched Lauren measure beans with scientific precision. Salem sat on the windowsill like their judgmental supervisor. Sierra’s heart swelled with a quiet kind of wonder.
“I love how we just... fit,” Sierra said.
Lauren didn’t look up from their careful scooping. “Even when I rearrange your art supplies?”
“Especially then. I never lose anything anymore.” Sierra slipped her arms around Lauren’s waist, pressing her cheek to their back. “Besides, watching you organize things is weirdly soothing.”
Lauren chuckled softly, leaning into her. “Weirdo.”
“Your weirdo.”
Sierra kissed their shoulder, and in that small, ordinary moment—the coffee brewing, Salem flicking his tail, the sound of Lauren humming under their breath—she realized something with absolute clarity: she wanted forever. Not just the cohabiting, not just the rhythms they’d fallen into. She wanted a vow, a ring, a name for what they’d already built.
The thought made her knees buckle, so she sat down hard at the table.
“Babe? You okay?” Lauren glanced over, concern flashing in their eyes.
“Yeah. Just... thinking about how happy I am.” Sierra smiled faintly. “The best thoughts.”
But inside, her chest was thrumming with a secret: she was going to propose.
Valentine’s Day arrived with fairy lights and nerves. Sierra had been scheming with Thalia for weeks, who whisked Laurenaway for a coffee run while Sierra transformed their living room. She strung the lights across the bookshelves, scattered candles across the floor, and filled mason jars with flowers from the farmers’ market. Salem prowled the edges like a foreman inspecting the setup, occasionally pawing at a flower as if testing its durability.
When the key turned in the lock, Sierra’s stomach did somersaults. She sat cross-legged on the rug, velvet box in hand, heart hammering.
Lauren stepped inside and froze. “Sierra... what is this?”
“This is me,” Sierra said, her voice trembling but sure, “asking you to marry me. This is me promising forever—officially, legally, in front of everyone we love.”
Lauren set the coffee cups down with shaking hands and dropped to the floor across from her. Sierra opened the box, revealing a simple white-gold ring with a small diamond that caught the glow of the fairy lights.
“I don’t want to spend another day not being engaged to you. I love our life—the ridiculous cat, our friends, your color-coded closets, the way you make coffee, the way you see the best in me even when I can’t. Lauren Reeves, will you marry me?”
Tears spilled down Lauren’s cheeks before she’d finished speaking. “Yes. Yes, of course yes.”
“I love you, too, my fiancée.” Sierra lingered on the word, savoring it, then hesitated. “Do you actually like that? Or would you rather I say fiancé, or wife when the time comes, or something else? I don’t want to assume.”
Lauren’s eyes softened, emotion flickering across their face. “Thank you for asking. I like fiancée and wife. Those both feel right to me.”
Relief and warmth spread through Sierra’s chest. She kissed them again, whispering, “Good. Then I’m going to keep saying it until Salem gets jealous.”
Salem punctuated the moment with a long, dramatic meow.
“Too late.” Lauren laughed.
“He can wait.” Sierra pulled them closer. “I’m kissing my fiancée.”
Their celebration started with kisses that tasted like salt and joy, but quickly deepened. They stumbled toward the bedroom, hands never parting, fairy lights glowing in the background.
On the bed, Sierra cupped Lauren’s face. “My fiancée,” she breathed, testing the word again, savoring it.
Lauren shivered at the sound. “Say it again.”
“My fiancée,” Sierra repeated, punctuating the word with kisses along their jaw. “Mine. Forever.”
Lauren’s hands slid under Sierra’s shirt, reverent in their touch, mapping the curves they already knew but rediscovering as if for the first time. Sierra’s body arched into every caress, her lips finding the hollow of Lauren’s throat, the place that always made them gasp.
The intimacy wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. It was layered with wonder, with awe, with the knowledge that they had built something worth keeping. Every kiss was a promise, every sigh a vow.
