Page 10 of Our Secret Summer

Dylan rested her hypnotic blue gaze on Raffo. “I know that you can, but I want to get it for you. I take care of the meals. You take care of the groceries and the masterful painting.”

Raffo didn’t know why she was arguing about this—because this was like a dream, really—yet she couldn’t stop herself. “Even if it makes me uncomfortable?”

“Why does it make you so uncomfortable to have someone take care of you?”

Raffo huffed out a funny kind of breath. “So many reasons. Too many to hash out when I’m starving.” Her stomach emitted another loud growl.

“Pretend you’re at a luxury artist retreat where everything is taken care of.” Dylan headed to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs.

“But I’m not.” This was the most fun kind of argument Raffo’d had in a long time—especially compared to the exhausting verbal fights she and Mia had gotten into without ever getting out of them again. “I’m at your house.”

“You make my house a million times brighter with your presence,” Dylan said with her back to Raffo. “Even more so now that you’re painting again.”

Raffo stopped arguing and, instead, poured herself some coffee from the pot Dylan had brewed, into the mug Dylan had set out for her.

Raffo wasn’t used to someone taking care of her—and that was an understatement and a half.

She watched Dylan’s easy, graceful movements as she scrambled eggs and put slices of bread in the toaster, and let her mind drift back to half an hour ago, when she’d applied the first touch of paint—of exquisite color—to Dylan’s face on her canvas. This moment couldn’t be more perfect if she’d tried to dream it up. She was painting again—she already looked forward to getting back to it—and one of the nicest women she’d ever met was preparing her breakfast. And, most importantly, Mia Rodriguez could not be further from her mind.

CHAPTER 10

Raffo’s presence across the kitchen island was magnetic. She exuded a kind of confident, look-at-me-now energy that was still somehow understated and not arrogant in the least. The more Dylan tried to dissect Raffo’s new vibe, the less she understood its paradoxical quality, but the more addictive it became to be around her. Raffo was in her element and Dylan, already, couldn’t get enough of it. The least she could do was scramble a few eggs for her—mainly because getting sucked into Raffo’s mojo was keeping her from getting lost in her own head. She would deal with her own problems later—tomorrow, or the day after or, perhaps, even the week after.

“There you go.” Dylan put a plate in front of Raffo and looked her in the eyes. The fleck of sparkly yellow paint on her cheek was cute and strangely maddening at the same time. “Enjoy and it was my utmost pleasure.”

Dylan couldn’t wait to sneak a peek at Raffo’s work later—after all, she was its subject.

“Thank you. I’m so hungry.” Raffo tucked into her eggs immediately. “Hm.” She hummed low in her throat. “I love this luxury artist retreat. I already want to book my next stay.”

While it was a thrill to see Raffo like this, what she said reminded Dylan of having to sell this place. But it was easy enough, once again, to push that thought to the side, because Raffo sat across from her, eating her breakfast with the same gusto as she had waltzed into the kitchen earlier.

Dylan vividly remembered Connor telling her, years ago, his voice thick with excitement and, perhaps, disbelief, that he had come across the most amazing artist. Her name was Raffo Shah and her use of color was out of this world. Her talent was vast and unmistakable and, “Be sure to remember her name, Mom, because you’ll be hearing it for a long time to come.”

Dylan knew that even if Raffo left tomorrow, making this just a fleeting three-day encounter, she’d never forget her name—not after last night’s conversation that still lingered like honey on her tongue, not after witnessing this morning’s transformation. There was something magnetic about watching someone step back into their power. Raffo’s energy was contagious, and Dylan could swear some of it rubbed off on her. Watching her transform from a broken-hearted painter who couldn’t paint to this reborn version of herself sparked something hopeful in Dylan too.

If Raffo could show up here like that and turn into this in less than three days, maybe there was hope for Dylan as well. She wasn’t a painter, but she’d always had a creative profession, and maybe she could learn from Raffo by example, or absorb some of her special mojo just by being around her.

Dylan had caught a quick glimpse of Raffo’s painting before she’d put it away for the day, but she hadn’t been able to see that much—probably because there wasn’t much to see just yet.

After lunch, Raffo had gone out in search of more painting supplies, followed by a hike. For the first time since Raffo’s arrival, Dylan found herself truly alone in the house.

She went through the motions of going upstairs for her daily post-lunch nap but hesitated when putting in her headphones. Dylan had only been briefly mortified when Ida Burton’s voice had come over the speakers, thanks to Raffo’s grace about it. But she couldn’t help but wonder what Raffo really made of her. Was she her best friend’s sad mother hiding out from the world at her lake house? Or her unexpected topless muse? Dylan saw herself more as the former but maybe Raffo saw her as both. To even be considered the latter was a humongous compliment.

Dylan threw the sheet off her upper body, baring her breasts—the unexpected inspiration for an artist rediscovering her craft—and pressed play on Ida’s steamy story.

In no time, her skin was on fire and her clit pulsed like a second heart. Dylan was alone in the house and she used this time wisely—and the only way she knew how when she felt like this. She brought her hand between her legs and came hard. As she caught her breath, she, too, had an image in her head she couldn’t shake—and it wasn’t Ida Burton.

It was Raffo Shah, with that small, brazen smile she’d worn in the kitchen that morning. Dylan’s hand shook slightly as she deleted the app from her phone. She couldn’t risk these thoughts about her son’s best friend taking root. That was simply unthinkable—no matter how much the memory of that smile lingered.

“I got us something special for tonight.” Raffo wasn’t exactly crowding Dylan in the kitchen—it was too spacious for that—but Dylan felt a little ill at ease—or was it agitated?—being so close to her. Raffo opened the fridge and took out the bottle of expensive champagne Dylan had spotted earlier. “To celebrate the extremely welcome return of my mojo.”

Though pleased for Raffo, Dylan sighed inwardly. She’d hoped to abstain from alcohol tonight—to keep complete control over everything she said and did.

She acquiesced quickly nonetheless, because she wanted to celebrate with Raffo. She wanted to end another gorgeous day, with Raffo, in style.

They went onto the deck with their full glasses of Ruinart and settled in the Adirondack chairs where they’d already spent quite some time. Dylan pushed hers sideways a little so she could see more of Raffo’s face—it was far more interesting than the lake.

“I’m so happy.” Raffo lifted her glass. “I don’t know what’s in that water but, fuck, you were right. It’s magical.”

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