Page 48 of Our Secret Summer

Raffo so yearned to believe Murray’s utopian words. But she couldn’t. It was simply impossible. “Let’s see how he reacts when I tell him about this afternoon.” Not a conversation Raffo was looking forward to.

“Would you like me to be there for that?” Murray sent her an encouraging smile.

“I would like that very much.” Raffo would take all the moral support she could get. “He’ll be home late, so it will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“And he’ll find me in his bed, so he will be otherwise engaged.”

Raffo made a mental note to put in earplugs tonight. “At least he’ll be ecstatic that you’re here.”

Even through her earplugs, Raffo had caught Connor’s arrival well past midnight—his delighted shriek at finding Murray in his bed piercing the house’s silence.

Too restless to stay beneath the covers, Raffo rose early. Connor and Murray, evidently free of this affliction, stayed in bed well past ten. She might as well be productive and move some more boxes to her new house.

Once there, she was instantly drawn to the canvas she’d set up by the living room window. She’d put it there in case inspiration struck. Her studio hadn’t brought her much in the way of that lately—especially not since Mia’s visit.

Raffo stood in front of the canvas, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to see the image she had forbidden herself to see. Just as she had allowed Dylan to kiss her—and to make her come—yesterday. It was infuriating that it was that simple and so excruciatingly difficult at the same time.

Raffo wanted to paint Dylan. Of course she did. What else was she going to paint? Her subconscious must be filled to the brim with all things Dylan—her easy kindness, that devastating beauty, those piercing blue eyes, the way she’d said she wanted to make Raffo come—but Raffo hadn’t allowed them to rise to the surface. Because she didn’t want to hurt Connor.

But yesterday had happened and she couldn’t turn back the clock on that—nor did she want to. Connor was already going to be upset, so fuck it. Raffo just wanted to paint. And just like in Big Bear, she wanted to paint the one and only image in her head. She wanted to paint to her muse. She craved the process of going through those ecstatic motions and the pure satisfaction of creating something new.

She might never allow herself another moment like yesterday with Dylan, but she could allow herself this. When it came to painting, to what was her deepest artistic expression, she could take Murray’s unrealistic words to heart.

So Raffo began and, just as in Big Bear, it was so easy, as though images of Dylan were all she was meant to paint from now on. It made Raffo replay what Dylan had said—that she was in love with her.

Raffo didn’t know if she was capable of that herself so shortly after Mia, after all that dreadful heartache, but then again, she’d barely let herself think about all those insanely hot summer nights in Big Bear with Dylan. She’d pretended they hadn’t really happened, that they were some foolish fever dream.

Her paintbrush told a different story. Because the image that slowly emerged was a full-body one of Dylan in all her gorgeous naked glory. No wonder Raffo had felt so blocked before. It no longer had anything to do with Mia ruining her mojo. Raffo had made the beginner’s mistake of trying to paint something that wasn’t in her heart. All she had to do was let herself.

When she stepped back and looked at her canvas, there was no denying what was in her heart.

Connor’s eyes lit up at the sight of Raffo, his hands clasping together.

“You’re all smudged up.” Hope radiated from his face. “Is that good news?”

“Yes,” Raffo said. “I’ve been painting and it was great, but…” She sought Murray’s gaze for courage. He gave a slight nod. “It’s not as straightforward as I would like it to be or, um, you would like it be.” Raffo pulled back a chair from the table where Connor and Murray were sitting. “Can we talk?”

“Of course. What’s up?” Connor rested his gaze on her.

“Something happened yesterday that allowed my painting juices to flow today.” Raffo thought it wise to start with that.

“That’s great, Raff. What happened?” Connor wasn’t one for strategic silences that let his conversation partners find their words.

“I was here when your mom came by to pick up your suit.”

“Oh. Okay. So?” He shuffled in his seat. Despite trying to sound casual, Connor was getting antsy already. Raffo knew him so well.

“I’m only telling you because I don’t want any more lies between us, okay?” Raffo hated going on the defensive like this. “Not because it will happen again or anything like that.” This was never going to be an eloquent monologue.

“What won’t happen again?” Connor drummed his fingers on the tabletop, indicating his rising annoyance.

“We kissed and…” Raffo stopped—details would only hurt him more. “We talked and, well?—”

“Wait!” Connor held up his hand. “You kissed my mom in my house?”

“Babe.” Murray put a hand on Connor’s shoulder but he shrugged it off. “Let Raffo finish, please.”

“Finish what? Telling me that she and my mom had sex in my couch? No fucking thank you.”

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