Chapter 22 #2
Her back will probably hate her for it tomorrow, but at the sight of Valeria’s excited face, Camila folds easily. She laughs helplessly and reaches to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Valeria’s ear.
“Of course,” Camila says, before making quick work of setting up their work area in an empty room Miso won’t be able to access.
She grabs a few lamps, positions them just right, lays out the supplies neatly, and rests the painting over a protective cloth.
“Okay,” Camila says, already smiling. “First, we assess it.”
Valeria nods and steps close to Camila.
“Visually, it looks stable, no obvious flaking or lifting. At the studio, I’d put it under a microscope or examine it under ultraviolet light, before drafting a treatment proposal, but since we don’t have any of that here, we’ll move straight to spot testing.
” Camila reaches for a cotton swab, then points to the bottom right corner of the painting, where there are dark blues and muddy shadows.
“We’re going to do our test there. It’s the least visible area, so we can see how the surface reacts.
The goal is to find out what’s safe to use before we touch anything important. ”
Valeria hums, settling onto the stool beside her. She props an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand.
Camila dips a cotton swab into a small vial. “This solvent is mild, so it should be safe, but we’ll still start in the corner anyway in case something goes wrong.”
Valeria nods, eyes fixed on Camila as she gently presses the cotton swab to the painting, moving in slow, careful circles until some of the old varnish starts to lift.
“See that?” Camila asks, carefully rolling the swab along the canvas’s edge.
“All that yellowing on the swab? That’s old varnish.
It oxidizes as it ages, so we’re taking that off, along with all the dirt that’s built up.
You can tell from the color that this piece spent time around a smoker.
The paint underneath is actually a lot brighter. ”
As if on cue, a streak of blue emerges, clearer, cleaner.
Valeria leans closer, their shoulders touching now as they hover over the painting. “Oh. Wow.”
Camila lights up. “Right? It’s like revealing a secret.” Camila grabs another swab and dips it into the solution. “You have to go slow, because different pigments react differently.”
“Stressful,” Valeria says.
Camila laughs. She continues to narrate every step as she goes—why she changes swabs, how pressure matters, how you learn to feel when to stop. Her voice is calm, focused, and she can feel Valeria’s attention on her. Hanging on every one of her words.
“Want to try?” Camila turns and holds out a pair of gloves.
Valeria lets out a nervous giggle before biting her lip. “Okay.”
Valeria stands, and Camila steps in close to guide her. Close enough that she can feel the heat of Valeria’s arm through the thin layer of fabric. The butterflies come immediately—soft and welcome—a good feeling. One Camila doesn’t try to push away. She lets it settle, lets it light up her chest.
“Light pressure,” Camila murmurs. “Let the surface tell you what it can handle.”
Their hands hover near each other, almost touching, separated only by breaths of space.
Camila finds herself watching Valeria more than the painting now, the way she concentrates, head slightly tilted to the side.
The adorable crease between her brows when she’s concentrating hard. It makes Camila’s chest go soft.
“You’re doing great,” Camila says softly, kissing Valeria’s shoulder.
Valeria glances up at her, smiling. “You know,” she says, “I can see now why you’re so patient with . . . everything.”
Camila lets out a soft chuckle and arches an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” Valeria nods, a smile tugging at her lips. “I can see why you like me, too.”
Camila laughs a little harder this time. “Oh yeah? And why is that, according to you?”
Valeria shrugs lightly, thumb brushing over Camila’s knuckles. “You enjoy fixing things—giving damaged things their beauty back,” she says, her voice soft.
Camila’s breath hitches, and a burning sensation rises in the throat, like she is swallowing jagged glass. Her smile fades, and her brow furrows as she looks at Valeria more seriously now.
“You’re not a project to me, Val,” she says, almost offended.
Valeria looks down at their hands. “I didn’t mean . . .” she starts, then stops, exhaling slowly. “I know that. I do.”
Camila watches her carefully, heart pounding.
She hates that Valeria would ever see herself as damaged—but what really hurts is that she thinks Camila does too, because nothing could be further from the truth.
Camila desperately needs Valeria to know that.
That she’s not looking for things to fix in her the way Brooke always was.
That she likes her for exactly who she is.
Camila leans against the table and reaches for Valeria. “Come here,” she says, pulling Valeria until she’s between her legs. She wraps her arms around her waist, drawing her in close until there’s no space between them, their foreheads resting on each other’s.
“I like you,” Camila murmurs, “because you’re sweet and you’re kind, and you make everything feel lighter by simply existing near me. I think you’re wonderful, Val. And for the record, I’ve never thought you needed fixing or restoring or whatever you’re thinking. You’re perfect as you are.”
Valeria’s eyes look glossy as they meet Camila’s. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes dropping again.
Camila lifts her chin until their eyes meet. Her thumb brushes softly along Valeria’s jaw. “Don’t be. I know you’re still unlearning a lot of things from your last relationship, and it’ll take time, but I need you to hear me when I say that there’s not a single thing I’d change about you.”
They stand there watching each other breathe, until one of them leans in. Camila isn’t sure who did first; maybe they both did. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the moment their lips meet in a warm, slow kiss, Camila’s heart settles.
“Thank you,” Valeria whispers, before resting her head on Camila’s shoulder as she holds her tightly.
And in this embrace, Camila knows—without rushing it, without naming it yet—that this feeling in her chest for Valeria is something she wants to tend to carefully, the same way she would a precious painting.
Camila doesn’t think about it too long. She leans in and lets herself stay there, in it, savoring the closeness, the certainty blooming under her ribs.