A few seconds later, they head inside hand in hand, laughter bubbling between stolen kisses. Camila shrugs out of her jacket and toes off her shoes, Valeria doing the same as if she’s been there a hundred times already.
Once they settle on the couch, Valeria asks, “What’s my surprise?”
Camila grins, a spark of excitement lighting up her face, only to realize, “Oh shoot. I left it in the car. I’ll be right back.”
Camila sprints to her car, grabs the painting and the supplies she bought online, and speeds back into the living room, where Valeria is patiently sitting on the couch.
“I can’t exactly take you to work with me, so I thought ...” Camila pauses, lifts the cover off thepainting, then turns it toward Valeria. “I thought we could restore something at home and do it together.”
Camila doesn’t miss the way her heart flutters when she refers to her house astheirhome. Camila knows she’s going lightning-fast right now, but she can’t help it. Since the first night Valeria spent on her couch, her house hasn’t felt like home when Valeria isn’t there.
Valeria’s entire face lights up the second her eyes land on the old painting. “That sounds amazing! And we can hang it right over there.” Valeria points to the empty wall in the dining room.
“Perfect.” Camila leans in to kiss the tip of Valeria’s nose.
“Can we start now?” Valeria asks, wide-eyed. She bites her bottom lip, struggling to contain her excitement, but Camila can feel it vibrating out of her.
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 tospot 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 goslow, 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 onevery 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.
