Page 26 of Our Secret Summer

“Come.” Raffo stood behind Dylan and put her hands on her shoulders. She maneuvered Dylan around until she stood facing the canvas. “Ta-da.”

“Oh my god,” Dylan exclaimed. “Raffo. Fuck.” Did her voice just break a little? Raffo couldn’t see her face—and she also found it hard to remove her hands from Dylan’s shoulders. “It’s so beautiful. I’m—” Raffo did see how Dylan brought her hand to her mouth. “Speechless, but also… incredibly honored.” She paused. “That you would see me like this and translate that into this gorgeous work of art.”

She didn’t sound so speechless to Raffo, but every single word was music to her ears.

Dylan’s hand found Raffo’s on her shoulder, warm and trembling slightly. “I want to turn around and thank you, but I can’t look away from it.”

“It’s yours. You can look at it for the rest of your life.” Raffo squeezed Dylan’s shoulder. “And I should be the one thanking you. You made this possible for me. You have no idea what that means to me.” Everything, Raffo thought. Absolutely everything.

“I’m also a little afraid to turn around.” Dylan leaned backward a fraction, her behind pushing against Raffo’s thighs.

“We’re going to have to look at each other at some point.” Raffo’s voice had turned into a whisper.

Slowly, Dylan turned around. Their joined hands dropped, but remained clasped together.

“I’m going to say something that I shouldn’t. I know this, but I’m going to say it anyway.” Dylan’s eyes were a little dewy. “I think that last night, for me—” She put a hand on her clavicle. “I think it was more than sex.”

Raffo was not expecting that. What did that even mean? Where was the line? When was it just sex and when was it more?

“I know I shouldn’t have said that.” Dylan broke the short silence that followed. “But it’s how I feel.” Dylan pointed her thumb behind her. “And that? That’s pure genius, Raffo. You’re so fucking brilliant and I’m so lucky that you came here.”

Dylan was probably a little overwhelmed by seeing that painting of her. Raffo could understand that. It was a brand-new sensation for her.

“I would also very much like to kiss you right now,” Dylan said next.

What about the deal they’d shook on this morning? Not even a day had passed and Dylan wanted to kiss her again? And she had… feelings for Raffo?

“Dylan, um—” Raffo was the one who was actually speechless. It was all too much. Last night, followed by the rush of finishing the painting, and now this?

“I won’t, of course. I’m sorry.” Dylan took a step back. Their hands lost touch. “But I’m so impressed by you,” she whispered.

None of this was rational. That painting behind a stuttering Dylan least of all. Raffo glanced at it and all she could feel was pure joy—especially because the one and only critic this particular work of art would ever have, had responded by wanting to kiss her. It wasn’t as though Raffo didn’t want to kiss Dylan again—she wanted to do so much more than that—but this was not the deal they’d made.

“Look.” Raffo stepped closer again. She didn’t want to leave Dylan hanging like that. “Let’s take a breath. Let’s talk this through. I know it’s a lot.” Paintings were emotions that couldn’t be put into words. Maybe Dylan’s brain, and a few other body parts, had interpreted it as much more than it was. To Raffo, it was a return to what she loved the most. But it was impossible for Raffo to know which sensations it elicited in Dylan, its subject—except that she wanted to kiss her.

“I’m sorry.” Dylan swallowed hard. “I feel a bit silly but, Raffo, I also kind of don’t. I am totally floored by this work. By you. This means something to me. It’s hard to put into words what exactly, apart from what I just said, but… sure, let’s talk.”

“Please, don’t feel silly. There’s no need for that.” Raffo’s affection for Dylan was so big, she had to resist pulling her into her arms.

Then it hit her. Of course, last night had been more than sex. They weren’t strangers who’d had a one-night stand. They were two people going through a very intense time together. Two people who hit it off and were attracted to each other and had profound conversations as well as breezy, flirty ones.

Then Raffo stopped resisting because if this moment called for one thing, it was a hug between the subject of that finished painting—its muse—and its painter.

“Hey.” Raffo bridged the distance between them and opened her arms. “Come here.”

Without hesitation, Dylan walked into her embrace. She folded her arms tightly around Raffo’s waist and put her head on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Raffo whispered. “For everything. I’m so impressed with you as well.”

“I want you,” Dylan whispered back. “It’s impossible not to want you after seeing that painting. I want you so much, Raffo.” Dylan’s breath was hot against the sensitive skin of Raffo’s neck. So much for talking things through. But what would they say, anyway? Dylan didn’t do anything, however. She just stood there, in Raffo’s arms—waiting. She was leaving the next step up to Raffo. Dylan’s skin was glued to hers. Her lips were a mere fraction removed from Raffo’s. Moreover, much like last night, Raffo’s body seemed to be taking over. Her arms had no inclination of letting go of Dylan and her feet did not want to walk away from this.

So she closed the tiny distance between their lips—easily and joyously. Of course she fucking did.

Dylan sighed into Raffo’s mouth, then clawed at her T-shirt. The time for waiting was, clearly, over.

CHAPTER 20

There was no such thing as logic left for Dylan. Once she’d laid eyes on that miraculous, wondrous, beautiful painting, her brain had gone into tunnel vision and she could only think of one thing. Her fingers inside Raffo.

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