Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
VALERIA
Valeria wakes up to a mess of limbs draped over her and a soft snore tickling her ear. It’s become her new normal these past few days, waking up tangled in Brooke’s arms, warm and content.
Valeria hasn’t gone home in days. After she went to Camila’s house, she briefly stopped at home, grabbed a few of her work uniforms, and FaceTimed the girls to apologize.
They all reacted the way she expected. Alejandra was pretty disappointed.
Lily and Isabella told her they understood, even though their facial expressions said the complete opposite, and Clara nodded as she massaged Alejandra’s tense shoulders.
Valeria knows she keeps disappointing them; she knows they’re sick of being on this roller coaster with her and that they only endure it because they love her.
And she’s somehow gotten Camila to hop on board, which Valeria kind of hates because now their friendship revolves around Brooke and how close she is to fucking everything up.
Since she and Brooke got back together, Camila’s updates on Miso have become less and less frequent.
She seems to be more focused on Valeria’s emotional well-being than anything else—which she gets and appreciates—but she wishes they could go back to talking about Miso and recommending shows or sending TikTok’s back and forth—anything but her impending heartbreak.
Brooke turns in bed until her sleepy eyes land on Valeria. “Morning,” she says before leaning in to give her a quick peck.
“Morning.” Valeria nuzzles into Brooke, not ready to leave the warm cocoon they’ve made. It’s always the hardest part, and Valeria likes to put it off for as long as possible. They lie there for a few minutes, holding on to each other until one of their alarms goes off and they’re forced to get up.
“Coffee?” Brooke asks, letting out a breath.
“Yeah.” Valeria trails her into the kitchen.
The rest of their morning is the same as always—Brooke showers while Valeria packs their lunch.
Brooke steals half of Valeria’s toast after insisting she wasn’t hungry, and they go about getting ready for work.
Moving around each other without thinking, the whole thing is easy and as comfortable as breathing.
By the time they’re both ready, Brooke is fussing with her hair in the hallway mirror while Valeria double-checks that the stove is off, even though neither of them used it that morning.
They slip into their jackets. Brooke grabs her bag, Valeria grabs hers, and they meet at the door at the same second, like it’s choreographed.
“Ready?” Valeria asks.
“Yeah,” Brooke says, locking up behind them as they step into the hallway.
They kiss goodbye and head in opposite directions to their cars.
Valeria loves easy mornings like this. It’s what she misses most when they’re apart.
When she gets to the vet clinic, she pulls into her usual spot and heads inside, tossing a “morning” to the opening crew before slipping into the back room to stash her things.
The first half of Valeria’s day rushes by in a blur of exams, vaccinations, and reviewing stool sample results.
Not the most luxurious of jobs, but she loves it.
She’s wanted to be a vet for as long as she can remember.
When she was a kid, her parents always made sure there were plenty of animal books in the house.
Valeria used to spend hours flipping through them, memorizing every breed of cat and dog, making notes on their personality traits, assigning each of her family members a pet that best fit their personality and lifestyle.
But no matter how many notes she had or how emotionally prepared she was for the job, nothing could have prepared her for how absolutely physically exhausting it is to be a vet.
By lunchtime, Valeria is wiped out almost every day, and today is no different.
She’s been on her feet nonstop, and all she wants is to go home, flop onto the couch, and wait for Brooke to show up so they can curl up together and watch a movie. For now, lunch will do.
She heads into the back room and grabs her lunch bag.
She is very anti-microwaves—something her mom instilled in her that she can’t break—so she usually brings a sandwich or a protein shake to get her through the day.
Today it’s a shake. She grabs the container, dumps the powder into the almond milk she packed, and starts shaking it while she scrolls through her messages.
There are a few from the girls, mostly TikToks. She’s got a few more from Brooke, who’s complaining about a meeting she has in a couple of hours. Valeria replies the way she always does, reassuring her and reminding her what a badass she is.
Right as she’s about to set her phone down, it pings with a message from Camila.
Camila 12:26 p.m.:
Any lunch plans?
Valeria holds out her protein shake and sends her a picture.
Camila 12:26 p.m.:
Tragic. Want to grab lunch? I’m meeting Ella about a project in a bit, so I’m around.
Valeria looks at her shake, and her belly grumbles. An actual meal does sound nice. Plus, she still has fifty minutes to kill before her next appointment.
Valeria 12:26 p.m.:
That sounds great, actually. There’s a Venezuelan food truck parked down the street from the clinic. Does that sound good?
Camila 12:28 p.m.:
Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you there. Send me the name.
Valeria 12:29 p.m.:
MaJo’s Arepas
Valeria grabs her bag and walks the five minutes to the food truck. Halfway there, she considers texting Brooke—a quick Hey, I’m grabbing food with Camila. Her fingers brush her phone in her pocket, but she stops herself.
She’s allowed to see friends. She wouldn’t text Brooke if she were meeting one of the girls. The logic doesn’t sit entirely right, but she lets it settle anyway and keeps walking, grounding herself in the fact that she’s doing nothing wrong.
MaJo’s Arepas is one of Valeria’s favorite places. When work isn’t chaotic, she comes here during her lunch hour. A little retreat to refuel, sometimes journal.
“Hi, Vale,” Maria Jose—the food truck owner—says the moment she spots her, her face lighting up. “I was wondering where my favorite regular had disappeared to.”
Valeria laughs. “You say that to everyone! But I’ll accept it,” she says with an assertive nod. “The clinic has been a bit hectic lately.”
MaJo’s eyes soften. “No rest for the wicked. You want your favorite?”
“Yeah,” Valeria says, glancing toward the back of the truck, hoping to spot Camila. “But I’m meeting a friend, so I’ll wait to order until she’s here.”
“Alright, mi nina,” MaJo says gently. “Take your time.”
Valeria heads toward the food court area. A few months ago, a bunch of food truck owners decided to build a tiny open-air dining room right in the center of town for the summer. The setup is a little unique—a semicircle of food trucks gathered around a shared seating space in the middle.
When Valeria reaches her favorite table, she drops into one of the chairs and thumbs through social media while she waits for Camila. She scrolls for a few minutes, nothing catching her attention until a video of Camila restoring an old painting pops up on her feed.
Camila moves with such patience—tiny brushstrokes filling even smaller cracks with paint—and her voice comes through Valeria’s phone so softly and soothingly that it almost pulls her under.
It’s funny seeing her like this, calm and meticulous, knowing the full-on panic spirals she easily goes into when it comes to Miso.
The comments underneath her videos are a whole mix: people calling her talented, others begging for more restoration videos, and then the sapphics who’ve somehow turned the whole thing into a thirst trap.
Half of them swoon over her voice, and the other half over her hands and what “magic” they could probably do off the canvas.
The internet is a wild place, honestly. Camila does have nice hands, though.
Valeria pulls her phone in close, examining them.
They are veiny and toned, but somehow still delicate, even with all the tattoos.
Valeria can see why women obsess over them.
“Hey,” says a voice Valeria immediately recognizes as Camila’s. Even with the recognition, Valeria still jumps in her chair, slightly embarrassed.
“Sorry,” Camila says through a shaky laugh, rubbing at the back of her neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You looked . . . really absorbed. Everything okay?” she asks as she sets a cup of coffee in front of Valeria.
Valeria flips her phone. “Just watching one of your videos.”
“Oh God,” Camila groans, rubbing her forehead. “Please tell me it wasn’t the one where I spent five minutes ranting about varnish.”
“Exactly that one,” Valeria lies, letting the corner of her mouth curl into a teasing smile.
Camila’s cheeks warm instantly, a rosy blush spreading across them, and Valeria can’t help but let out a soft giggle.
“I didn’t take you for the shy type.”
“I’m not. Usually,” she says as she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I always feel a little cringe about my videos. I don’t know why.”
“Well, I think they’re wonderful. I’ve learned so much already.”
Camila gives her a warm, earnest smile.
“What’s this?” Valeria asks, lifting the cup of coffee Camila placed in front of her earlier, not wanting to keep embarrassing her.
“Oh, I stopped by your favorite coffee place and grabbed your usual order!” she says with a smile.
Valeria smiles. “Thank you.”
Camila winks. It’s quick, but it lands with a small, unexpected surge of warmth. Valeria barely has time to register it before Maria Jose strolls over, wiping her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”
“The usual for me is great,” Valeria says, and Maria nods.
“And for you?” she asks, shifting her attention to Camila.
“Oh, I’ll do the same,” she says confidently.
Valeria laughs. “You don’t know what it is.”