Page 25 of Our Secret Summer

“It was.” Dylan stretched out her hand toward Raffo.

Raffo looked at it for a split second, then wrapped her fingers around Dylan’s wrist. “If I stay here, I’m going to want to sleep with you again, and I really don’t think we should do that.”

What Raffo said made perfect sense, yet Dylan couldn’t imagine her leaving.

“I would like you to stay.” It was selfish and reckless, but it was all Dylan wanted—for her and Raffo to remain in this joyous bubble they’d created in Big Bear. “Just a few more days.”

“And then what?” Raffo didn’t let go of Dylan’s wrist—Dylan’s clit was surely taking notice.

“I don’t know. Then we’ll reassess.”

“It’s a really dumb idea.” Raffo’s thumb stroked the inside of Dylan’s wrist.

“Yet smart people do dumb things all the time.”

“They sure do.” Raffo abruptly dropped Dylan’s arm. “But we’re not teenagers unable to control our hormonal urges. I’ll stay for a few more days, but only if we agree to not sleep together. That’s my condition.”

Speak for yourself, Dylan thought, regarding the hormonal urges, but her attraction to Raffo wasn’t simply due to that—that would diminish it too much.

“Deal,” Dylan said, while her clit raged between her legs—more frustrated than excited now.

She offered her hand and Raffo shook it chastely, then swiftly let go, as though holding onto to it for a split second too long may already have jeopardized the deal they’d just made.

“I’m going for a swim,” Raffo said bluntly, before rushing to the stairs.

CHAPTER 19

Raffo might have to remain in the lake for the rest of her stay, that was the only way she could possibly keep her end of the deal. Leaving Big Bear was the only honorable way out—then it could still easily be explained as a one-night madness kind of thing—but Raffo didn’t want to go back to LA just yet.

She could go somewhere else, but she couldn’t tell Connor as long as Dylan hadn’t told her son that she was also here—it would involve too many lies and half-truths. What a mess. And the simple fact was, also, that Raffo didn’t want to leave Dylan. At a minimum, before she left, she wanted to finish her portrait. She’d planned to paint something for Dylan—one that didn’t portray her and that Dylan could sell, if she wanted to. But that might have to wait.

Raffo swam farther from the house, then treaded water for a few minutes, looking at it all from a safe distance. How hard could it possibly be to not sleep with Connor’s mother? The question was both ridiculous and excruciating. Most of all, Raffo didn’t need this added aggravation to how lost she already felt after Mia. But that was just the thing. Dylan made her feel all sorts of things and sad and lost were not among them.

Earlier, trying to have a rational conversation with Dylan had been nearly impossible. Her tousled golden hair, those dreamy blue eyes, and the persistent memories of last night had clouded every thought. Here, by herself in the water, Raffo could think clearer. She asked herself what it was she really wanted? What was the one thing that mattered the most?

The answer surfaced effortlessly, because it never changed: Raffo wanted to paint. Her break-up with Mia had taken that from her, but two days with Dylan had reignited it with stunning force.

Connor would want her to prioritize her art—not at the expense of sleeping with his mother, but he didn’t need to know about that part. What terrified Raffo the most was the possibility that leaving Big Bear—leaving Dylan—might silence her creative voice again. In her personal hierarchy, art ranked above the risk of falling into bed with Dylan again. A crude rationalization perhaps, but it felt true enough for now. She could own that decision, at least.

Raffo swam back to the house, dried off, and did what she wanted to most of all—even more than sleep with Dylan again. She went to work.

There were days when Raffo’s artistic stars aligned and she managed to do in a few hours what, in lesser circumstances, could take days or even weeks. When she disappeared into a place inside herself that allowed her a hyperfocus that always produced swift and superior work. She wished all days were like that, but they decidedly were not. But today was one of those rare, special days.

She tried not to be flippant about it and attribute it to the orgasms that had freed up some blocked energy in her soul—or something woo-woo like that—but the thought persisted. Being with Dylan had been magnificent—unexpected yet inevitable—tender and, somehow, strangely loving. Dylan was a loving person and that effortlessly translated into the bedroom. With Mia, the last few years, it had always been whips and handcuffs, whereas with Dylan it had been straightforwardly sweet—Mia would most certainly sneer at it as too vanilla, but Mia had nothing to do with this—and surprisingly arousing.

Either way, whether it was because of the wonderful sex with its subject or not, Raffo finished the painting of Dylan at five forty-five that day. She didn’t just complete the work, she was over the moon with it. Because it was her first completed work post-break-up and also because it was fucking good—even if she did say so herself. The colors were spot on and if you didn’t know, you might not recognize her, but Raffo saw everything of Dylan in it. The honey of her hair—rendered in a golden hue Raffo had mixed, as if by magic, only about an hour ago. The kindness in her eyes—their depth expressed in the bluest of blues she could make. The warmth in her smile. The delicious swell of her breasts.

The first thing she did, in her euphoria, was call for Dylan. She didn’t go to the kitchen door and kindly ask if Dylan could spare a minute. Raffo yelled for her from her spot on the porch, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

“Where’s the fire?” Dylan asked as she half-jogged over.

Raffo’s lips drew into an unstoppable smile. “Right here. It’s done. I finished it.”

Dylan’s eyebrows arched up. “No way? Already?”

“Hell, yes. Do you want to see?” Raffo had to stop herself from jumping up and down.

“Is my name Dylan French?” Dylan rubbed her palms together.

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