Our Secret Summer

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

“Are you in love with her too?” Murray asked once Raffo finished explaining the afternoon’s events.

“I don’t know. I haven’t let myself explore those feelings—and what’s the point? We can’t date. We can’t... We can’t do anything.” Raffo was still in that damned robe and she felt a lot more naked than earlier when Dylan had pushed it off her shoulders. “I will tell Connor about this. I promise you, no more lies. I can’t deal with any more lies.”

“Listen,” Murray said. “Connor’s your chosen family—I get that. But he has me, he’s in a great relationship, even if I do say so myself. You deserve that too. You deserve to be happy.”

“Sure, but not with his mom.”

“But what if she’s the one who makes you happy? And vice versa? I saw the look on Dylan’s face just now, Raff. I’ve never seen her like that.”

“I can’t. I won’t come between them.” Raffo shook her head. “They have such a warm, respectful relationship. I refuse to be the one who fucks that up.”

“What if I tell you that Connor is a big boy who can step into his big-boy pants and accept that his mother is in love with his best friend?”

Raffo scoffed. “He shouldn’t have to do that.” Not that Raffo believed for one second that Connor ever would.

“Con’s happiness doesn’t outweigh yours or his mother’s. That’s my view. I’ve told him this, by the way.” Murray’s laid-back nature hadn’t rubbed off on his partner, even after three years together.

“What did he say to that?” Raffo asked.

“You know Con—drama queen, highly strung, gay alpha. Perfect for running an art gallery, not so great at empathizing with loved ones.”

“Next you’ll tell me he’s a top,” Raffo joked.

“I won’t go that far.” Murray shot her a smile. “Once a power bottom, always a power bottom.”

Raffo chuckled and oh did she need a laugh. “Now that I’m single, Connor is the most important person in my life. I’ve been living in his house for months. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. The least I can do is not fall in love with his mother.”

“Yes, Connor is a sweetheart, but your friendship is not a one-way street, Raff. You are also his most important client. By a very long stretch. He’s so lucky to have you at his gallery and to represent you. Besides, I know you, and there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for him either. Case in point, you are clearly smitten with Dylan, yet you tell me you hadn’t seen her in five weeks until today. How’s that for sacrifice for the sake of friendship?”

“You have a very different take on this, Murray. Although refreshing, it’s not very realistic.”

“Says who? Maybe I see it more clearly because I’m not tangled up in it. Yes, Connor’s my boyfriend—I don’t want him hurt. But this won’t hurt him. Not the way you both think it will. You know what real pain is, Raff. I know it, too. And it’s not having to accept that two people that you love also love each other. That’s just an abundance of love, really. And sure, it’s awkward and maybe not ideal or how Connor prefers it, but it’s hardly the end of the world. Nobody’s dying here. Nobody has a life-threatening illness. Nobody’s going bankrupt. It’s just family.”

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.”

Murray, steady as always, returned his hand to Connor’s shoulder. “Don’t be a baby about this. It’s not helpful.”

“A baby?” Connor scoffed. “I’d like to see your reaction if your best friend told you she’d been sleeping with your mom.”

“Sandy’s straight,” Murray said matter-of-factly.

“Okay. Fine.” Connor took a breath. “What are you trying to say?” He glared at Raffo, his face stripped of its usual kindness—that gentle warmth he’d inherited from Dylan.

“At my house earlier, I felt it again—that deep joy of painting. For the first time since Big Bear. Because I was painting Dylan.”

“You can paint as many pictures of my mom as you like. As long as that’s all you do with her.”

“That’s not the point, Con,” Murray said. He looked at Raffo. “I’m so happy you’ve got your mojo back, Raff.”

“What do you want from me?” Connor’s voice rose. “My blessing to date my mom because she’s your muse now?” He huffed some air through his pursed lips. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Raff. And I’m super sympathetic. I’ll do anything to help, you know that. But you were a fantastic painter before your break-up, and you will be again. You don’t need my mom for that. You just need a little bit more time.”

“You’re right,” Raffo said, because it was true. Nevertheless, her stomach tightened.

“No he’s not,” Murray interjected. “For crying out loud, babe. They’re in love. That’s what Raffo’s trying to say.”

“They’re not in love.” Connor made a face as though someone had just told him his gallery had burned down. “I’m thirty-three years old and you know how many times I’ve known my mother to be in love with another woman in all that time?” He made a 0 with this thumb and index finger. “Zero times. And now, all of a sudden, she’s in love with my best friend?” He took a breath and rubbed his fingertips against his forehead. “I’m actually really worried about my mom. She’s not herself. First, she loses all that money, which is so unlike her and now…” He waved his hands about. “This.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about your mom,” Murray said.

“There could be something wrong with her. Something serious.” Connor sounded genuinely concerned.

“Whether you like it or not,” Raffo said. “I spent a lot of time with your mom and I second Murray. There’s nothing medically wrong with her. She made a mistake with the money and, in my opinion, she also made a mistake when she decided not to tell you and hide out in Big Bear. People make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with them.”

“But, Raff… what about you? I mean, come on. I’m no shrink, but you were so heartbroken when you left for Big Bear. That’s why I sent you. And my mom, she’s my mom. I know what she’s like. She’s all like, sit down, darling, I’ll make you some dinner, talk to me, here’s some wine, we can fix this together. I get it, okay? You’re right, I don’t like it, but what happened in Big Bear, from your perspective, I get it. You were hurt and my mom was there, even though she was supposed to be in fucking Europe. But has it not been enough, now? Seriously?”

“Con,” Murray said softly. “It’s just love. Think about it. Do you really want to be the one standing in the way of that?”

“Fuck, yeah. When it’s my mom and my best friend, I will damn well stand in the way of it.”

Raffo didn’t know how to fight for this—she didn’t even know if she wanted to. She was being torn right in half.

Raffo cleared her throat. “As I said earlier—” She sought Connor’s eyes, but he looked away. “It won’t happen again. I just wanted you to know.” She pushed back from the table and stood. Walking back to her house, she knew it was time to move out of Connor’s place for good.