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 smilefades, 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 whodid 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VALERIA
Valeria knows there are still so many things she has to unlearn. The way she feels the need to give herself over to prove she’s sorry. The need to overexplain and make sure everything is okay because deep down, she’s terrified that if she doesn’t, Camila will decide she’s too much and disappear.
There are other things, too. Feeling she isn’t worthy of someone like Camila—someone so gentle, so patient, so safe, that it almost feels unreal. Someone who shows up without being asked and stays without needing to be convinced.
But in the middle of all that unlearning, she’s learning, too. Learning that it’s okay to still feel broken by everything Brooke put her through over those six long years—that healing doesn’t have to be neat to be valid. Learning that reassurance doesn’t have to be earned through sex, that a simple hug can be grounding.
That being in Camila’s arms the way she is now is enough.
And maybe the hardest, most beautiful lesson of all: that to Camila, Valeria is plenty. Despite the worries thattwist in her heart and the voice that tries to convince her she isn’t.
Valeria has spent so long believing she needs to be perfect, fixed, fully healed before she could deserve a love like this. Slowly, with every soft look and every steady presence, Camila is teaching her a different truth.
Hours slip by quietly as they trade off cleaning the canvas of its old varnish, once Valeria’s tears have dried. Day turns into night, and one night turns into thirty of them, leaning into the spark between them.
On day seven, Valeria shows up at Camila’s door with a shy smile and a bouquet of tiny daisies she picked on her morning walk around Stanwood. They’re imperfect, stems uneven, some petals falling off, but she couldn’t keep herself from driving over to Camila’s and handing them to her. It’s a weak excuse to see her, but Valeria also knows they are Camila’s favorites, and she wanted her to know she’d been thinking of her.
“I saw them and thought of you,” Valeria admits softly. Camila’s mouth splits into a smile, and Valeria’s chest aches in the best way.
By day fourteen, they’ve settled into a weekend routine. They walk to a coffee shop near Valeria’s apartment, sharing a pair of earbuds as they listen to Camila’s favorite podcast. On their way back, rain pours over them, catching them off guard. They end up soaked on the sidewalk, hair plastered to their faces. Camila laughs brightly, and Valeria thinks she’s never seen anything more beautiful. She pulls Camila in for a kiss, not able to keep herself from deepening it because her heart feels like it could explode.
By day twenty-one, the rhythm between them is effortless, like they’ve been moving in sync for far longer than they have. They cook together in Valeria’s small kitchen,music low in the background, shoulders brushing as they steal kisses while Camila’s famous chicken curry simmers on the stove.
Each day for those thirty days, Valeria and Camila keep showing up at each other’s doors, trading off without ever needing to talk about it. Sometimes it’s for a few hours—dinner and catching up on their day. Other times, their evenings stretch into mornings, and little by little, they each make space for the other’s things in the closet, on the bathroom counters, in the pantry, both unconsciously grabbing each other’s favorite snacks from the grocery store.
