Page 14 of Our Secret Summer

Raffo could do with a hug right about now. If only for all the motherly hugs she’d gone without since the tender age of thirteen. Because that’s what this hug would be—motherly.

“Okay.” She stood, closing the distance between them. Dylan’s arms enveloped her, and Raffo allowed herself to soften, her own arms finding Dylan’s waist. The embrace was kind and lovely and warm—just like Dylan—and exactly what the moment called for. Though part of her wanted to linger in that comfort, Raffo pulled back after a few seconds.

“I don’t want pity,” she said. “I just wanted you to understand why I hate cooking—where that deep dislike comes from.” She offered Dylan a soft smile. “Now let’s eat this gorgeous salad you made. It’s the least I can do.”

CHAPTER 12

And so the evening—and Dylan’s clandestine stay in Big Bear—had taken another turn. Dylan couldn’t help but feel compassion for thirteen-year-old Raffo. That’s why she’d wanted to give her a hug. It was already excruciating to lose your mother to cancer at that age, but then to also have to deal with a father like that. To not have a parent capable of comforting her—of parenting her. It was infuriating. But it was also a miracle that Raffo sat opposite her—that this was who that girl had become. This beautiful, successful woman who, though heartbroken, seemed so at peace. Like a testament to the astounding resilience of humans—well, some humans.

“Every time I sell a painting, ten percent goes to the Rainbow Shelter.” Raffo had started on her salad again, eating it with the same gusto as her eggs this morning. “But don’t worry, I won’t ask you to donate ten percent of what I think the painting of you will be worth.” She chuckled and it was such a joy to hear the sound of Raffo’s understated laughter again, after what she’d just confided in Dylan.

“I would if I could.” Dylan’s financial woes paled in comparison to Raffo’s childhood trauma. “Back when I was still gainfully employed, I donated to a few queer charities. And I made sure whichever agency I was with took on campaigns for queer organizations, often free of charge.”

“I’m sorry if I forgot,” Raffo said, “but I’m not sure I know what it is you do.”

“I’m in advertising.” Dylan drank from her water. Maybe she should have talked about her job earlier, instead of professing her bisexuality. “I quit my job a few months ago to go on a sabbatical. For my ‘Eat-Pray-Love journey’ to Europe that never happened. After that, for my last professional hurrah, and with the money I made from my crypto-investment, I wanted to start a brand-new agency. A small start-up like the one that gave me my first job as a fresh-out-of-college copywriter many years ago. Work with a bunch of young people on some exciting projects, like a sort of full circle moment for my career, before retiring.”

“That sounds like it would have been an amazing plan.”

“Yeah.” Dylan glanced at her house, then at the lake. “I could still do it, but only if I sell this house.”

“A place like this would go for how much?” Raffo pursed her lips. “A million?”

“Realistically, in today’s market, around eight hundred.” Dylan’d had the property valued already. “It’s gorgeous, but not very big.”

“So you have a choice to make.”

Dylan nodded. “I could also go back to a more corporate role like the ones I’ve had the past decade. I was the CEO at a big agency for six years before I quit.”

Raffo whistled through her teeth. “That sounds like it would bring in a bit of cash.”

If it had been anyone else, and perhaps under different circumstances, Dylan would have been flummoxed, perhaps even annoyed, by this kind of directness, but after three days in Raffo’s company, she already knew this was how she was.

Dylan nodded. “I lost a lot of money, but I’m not poor. I have my house in West Hollywood as well.” Dylan cast her eyes downward. “Hiding out here is more of an ego thing, although losing all that money hurts a lot, and not just because of my ego.”

“Would it be difficult to find a new job?” Raffo asked.

“No.” Dylan had an inbox full of inquiries from headhunters. She had forty years of experience in a cutthroat business and she was damn good at her job. “But being CEO for another five years, or however long I choose to work, doesn’t appeal to me anymore. The hours. The stress. The endless meetings.” And, as she had recently had the misfortune of finding out, her wayward handling of funds—not something Dylan had ever worried about before, but couldn’t help but be conscious of now. She had to be.

“I’d love to see some of the campaigns you worked on before you became the big boss.”

“That can be arranged.” Dylan relaxed in her chair. “How about tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Raffo stretched her arms above her head. “That hike this afternoon really took it out of me.” She rested her gaze on Dylan. “But I don’t feel like going to bed yet. Shall I build a fire?”

“Why not?” Dylan rose. “How about another glass of champagne as a night cap?”

“Why not, indeed?” Raffo’s wink caught the twilight as she made her way to the fire pit.

“I have a burning question,” Raffo said, poking at a glowing log.

“About the fire?” Dylan’s lips curved into a teasing smile.

“No,” Raffo said matter-of-factly.

“Shoot.” Dylan settled deeper into her chair.

“Who were the two women you’ve been with?”

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