Everything was perfect.
Itwas.
She just needed to see Lola. This feeling in her stomach was simple nerves, and if she saw Lola, held her, kissed her, maybe even confessed some of her anxieties and let Lola’s calm surety soothe her, she’d be fine.
She’d be ready.
She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a blue Grand Haven High sweatshirt, found her coat hanging over a chair in the kitchen. Her boots were harder to locate, but she finally found them just outside the back door, so they were freezing when she slipped her feet inside.
The winter wind whipped her hair into her face, and a hat certainly would’ve been helpful, but it was a short walk to Lola’s, and she nearly ran, kicking up the snow that had fallen three days ago as she went.
Lola’s back door was locked, but Brighton had a key and letherself in quietly. As she sloughed off her boots and tiptoed through the all-beige-and-white living room toward the stairs, she hoped to god that Anna was still tucked away in her room with her sound machine on full blast.
A single Tiffany lamp lit her way, the only splash of color in the whole Donovan house.
Upstairs, she paused by Lola’s door. It was early, barely seven o’clock, but Lola had always been an early riser. Brighton pressed her ear to the white wood, listening.
It was quiet, and when she eased the door open, she found Lola still in bed, curled underneath her white duvet, her long salt-and-pepper hair in a ponytail on top of her head, the ends fanning over the mint-green sheets. Brighton stood there for a second, just watching her fiancée, letting her heart settle around Lola.
This was right.
This wasthem, Lola and Bright.
And yet…
Even as Brighton took in Lola—her beauty and secret softness, Brighton’s heart swelling at the sight—her stomach wouldn’t relax. Her chest. Everything from her navel up felt tight, coiled, her heart working too hard to get everything else inside her in line.
She slipped fully into the room, closed the door behind her. She shucked off her sweatshirt and pants, then pulled back Lola’s covers and slid into bed beside her, wrapping her arms around Lola’s waist, pulling Lola’s back against her chest. Lola murmured a little, and Brighton pressed her nose to the back of Lola’s neck, breathing in her clean linen scent. She could stay like this forever.
Whycouldn’tthey just stay like this forever?
Brighton drew Lola even tighter against her, as though she were afraid Lola might slip away if she loosened her grip.
Or that Brighton herself might slip away.
“What…?” Lola said, her voice muzzy with sleep. She stirred, lifted her head, then arched her neck to see Brighton behind her. “Baby, what are you doing?”
“Hi to you too,” Brighton said softly, resting her chin on Lola’s shoulder.
“Hi,” Lola said, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. She always did that—rubbed her eyes with full fists like a little kid. It was adorable. “And also, what are you doing? It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.”
Brighton made a face. “I think we’re a little bit past traditional conventions, don’t you?”
“It’s December,” Lola said. “I’m not taking any chances.”
Still, she turned in Brighton’s arms and placed her hands on Brighton’s face.
“Hi,” Lola said more softly.
“Hi,” Brighton said. “Will you kiss me good morning?” She just neededcloser, the space between them getting smaller and smaller.
Their mouths touched, that familiar press so perfect. Brighton took Lola’s bottom lip between hers and tugged a little, the way she knew Lola liked.
Lola whimpered, opened for her. Their tongues touched, softly at first, but then things grew heated fast. Brighton slipped a hand under Lola’s thin tank top, her breast perfect and warm. She rolled Lola’s nipple between her fingers, and Lola let out a moan.
“We can’t,” Lola panted, but she spread her legs as soon as Brighton slid a hand down her thigh. “It’s our wedding day.”
“All the more reason,” Brighton said, finding that invitingwarmth between Lola’s legs. She needed this. Needed Lola, her body, the sounds she made, the way she kissed like Brighton was a cup of cold water, the way Lola always came so fast for her, like she’d already been dreaming about Brighton’s fingers inside her before they even touched.
