Page 17 of Our Secret Summer

“Let me get you some water.” Dylan gave Raffo’s shoulder a quick squeeze before fetching some water.

If only, Raffo thought, as she gazed up at the stars, she could find a way to stop loving Mia. Mia hurting her hadn’t made the love stop—it was the other way around. It hurt so much because Raffo still loved Mia with all of her silly heart.

“Thanks.” Raffo took a few greedy gulps of water, as though needing to rehydrate—she probably did. “I always kind of felt I was punching above my weight with Mia, that she was out of my league. Not only because she’s drop dead gorgeous, which she is, but because of how she is. Everybody likes Mia. And she always had such faith in me. She believed in my painting long before I did. She was a really great girlfriend—until she wasn’t.”

Suddenly, all the talking and the crying took their toll, and Raffo could barely keep her eyes open. What a day it had been. From the elation of painting again to uncontrollable crying on Dylan’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Dylan said as though, on top of everything else, she could also read Raffo’s mind.

Raffo woke with her temples throbbing, not because she’d drunk too much champagne, but because of crying over Mia. Yesterday’s joyful energy had evaporated, leaving her muscles leaden and uncooperative. All she wanted to do was curl up under a blanket in the couch and watch something on TV that didn’t require any brain power to process.

For the first time since arriving, she regretted not having the house to herself—as Connor had promised her—so she could sulk in private. But then she remembered it was Dylan she was sharing the house with and a tiny flicker of energy coursed through her. Dylan was so easy to talk to, Raffo had told her everything. Dylan was also the subject of the painting she’d so enthusiastically embarked upon yesterday, but painting was out of the question today. She’d undo everything she’d accomplished the day before with the mood she was in today. With the freight train of grief crashing into her again and again, crushing her spirit—and her mojo.

Arriving here to meet Dylan had just been a temporary respite of dealing with her grief. Raffo knew a thing or two about dealing with grief, namely that the pain never fully went away, and that it could hit you all over again, with all its brutal force, when you least expected it. But Mia wasn’t dead. She was probably in bed with Ophelia right now. Nausea arrowed through Raffo at the thought.

To escape thinking about Mia doing to Ophelia what she used to do to Raffo in the morning—peppering featherlight kisses onto her neck until she was fully awake and smiling so widely her cheeks hurt—Raffo fled the bed.

She didn’t shower and just went downstairs unwashed, uncombed, and in the tank top and shorts she’d slept in.

Dylan was standing on the deck in her bikini, overlooking the lake. It was the perfect sight to replace the image in her brain of Mia and Ophelia. Raffo waited to see if Dylan would jump into the lake, but she didn’t. As if she felt Raffo’s eyes on her, she turned around and, through the window, shot Raffo one of her smiles.

Suddenly, Raffo didn’t mind sharing the house any longer. She inwardly chuckled at how fickle she was, but then Dylan walked into the kitchen in that barely there bikini and Raffo found herself fighting to keep her eyes on Dylan’s face—a battle she’d lost the day before.

“Morning.” Dylan walked all the way up to Raffo and put a hand against Raffo’s upper arm. “Did you get some sleep?”

Raffo could only nod. “Yeah. I was totally exhausted.”

“I can imagine. Coffee?”

“Were you about to go for a swim?” Raffo asked.

Dylan poured her a cup of coffee regardless of Raffo not answering her question.

“I was contemplating it, but then I heard noise upstairs and I figured you were awake. I wanted to see how you were feeling.”

“I feel exactly like someone who’s been dumped by her girlfriend of ten years would.” Raffo straightened her shoulders. “But I’m not that big a fan of self-pity, so I shall try to pull myself together.”

“You don’t have to do that on my account.”

You make me want to pull myself together though, Raffo thought.

“You’ve been through a lot.” Dylan handed Raffo a steaming mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” Raffo said, both for the sentiment and the coffee. “I won’t be painting today. There’s no point.”

“What would you like to do—if you want to do anything at all,” Dylan asked.

“For starters, I don’t want to keep you from your swim.”

“My swim can wait, Raffo. I just, um, wanted to?—”

Raffo’s phone buzzed, startling them both. She’d told most people she was going off-grid for a while. Her stomach tightened as she checked the screen.

“Oh, fuck. It’s Connor.” She glared at her phone as though it was a ticking time bomb. “Should I ignore it?”

“Damn. Um, I don’t know.” Dylan looked all flustered.

Raffo’s phone stopped ringing and then promptly started up again.

---