Valeria raises an eyebrow. “You bake?”
“Dangerously well,” Camila smiles and winks, the corners of her eyes crinkling.
“In that case, I might never go back to Alejandra and Clara’s. They are both terrible cooks,” Valeria teases.
Camila laughs under her breath and breaks the bread open, steam curling up. She takes her first bite, and Valeria watches her expression shift—surprise first, then approval.
“Okay, wow,” she says, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s as good as it gets.”
When Valeria takes a big bite, the thin crust delicately crisps, giving way to a soft, springy center before the cheese melts across her tongue—salty and rich. She chews slowly, savoring it, then nods. “Oh yeah,” she says softly. “This is amazing. I still want to try yours, though.”
“Trust me, they are not this good.” Camila laughs.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“You know what? Yeah, they are amazing. I’ll have to make them for us sometime.”
They eat a few more, and eventually wander into the living room. Valeria pulls out her notes and reads off her list of shows to watch, but to her disappointment, Camila has seen them all. So they end up playing a random documentary about magic mushrooms and lying on opposite sides of the couch.
Valeria can’t quite explain the calmness she’s felt all evening. Today should be one of her hardest days. That note from Brooke should be breaking her into a millionsharp, glittering pieces, but somehow, with Camila’s gentleness close by, the pain has dulled. It’s still there, persistent and irritating, but it’s more like a pebble in her shoe rather than a blade to the chest.
She feels it when her mind strays for even a second, but it no longer owns her. For now, Valeria allows herself this strange mercy: to sit, to breathe, to not be shattered all at once, and she doesn’t want it to end.
“Do you mind if I stay tonight?” Valeria asks timidly.
Camila looks up from where she’s lying, one arm tucked behind her head, her expression soft. “Not at all,” she says. “Stay as long as you want.”
A small smile plays on Valeria’s lips, and a warmth spreads through her chest, a pleasant counterpoint to the underlying tension that hums beneath her skin.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CAMILA
Without either of them putting much thought into it, this little hangout stretches on for days.
Valeria still goes to work, but somehow, after each shift, Camila finds her on her porch waiting, and each day, the warmth in Camila’s chest spreads, a gentle heat that loosens her shoulders and makes her breathe deeper. It’s almost magical to see Valeria with a bright, big smile waiting for her. The moment Camila spots her, her lips curve upwards, mirroring Valeria’s smile, and a lightness fills her limbs, making her feel as though she could float.
By Wednesday morning—three days into Valeria’s stay—she’s padding around Camila’s kitchen like she lives there, hair piled on top of her head, sleeves swallowed past her hands in one of Camila’s favorite long sleeves, not that Camila is complaining; she likes the company, and Valeria pulls off her clothes better than she ever could.
By the end of the first week, they’ve fallen into easy routines: sharing the couch each night, Valeria tucked into one corner and Camila in the other, legs brushing occasionally as they watch a show they’re both far too invested in,and making a lazy Sunday trip to the corner market for groceries. The following Wednesday, they spend the evening folding laundry together on the floor, knees bumping now and then, talking about nothing important, though it always somehow feels like it is. By the third weekend, it’s as simple as automatically brewing two cups of coffee in the morning, each of them reaching for the mug that’s somehow become theirs without either ever saying so.
But by the time Valeria’s been at Camila’s house for almost a month, Camila can’t ignore the fact that she’s got no plan to leave—again, not complaining—and that Valeria is clearly dodging real life without Brooke. As much as Camila wants to let her hide out in her home forever, she shouldn’t be enabling that. No matter how much she understands it.
But it’s been nice having Valeria here; it’s reminded Camila that she’s missed this, having someone to do all the mundane things with, which is why she’s decided to finally take Zoe up on her invitation to dinner. Camila had been putting it off with the excuse that Valeria needed her, only to realize she didn’t want to go because, well, she would rather spend time with Valeria—something she has decided not to unpack yet.
On top of that, Camila hasn’t been on a date in years. Zoe’s invitation would likely have been turned down if she hadn’t made it clear she didn’t want a relationship but wanted to take Camila to dinner—and who is she to deny herself a night out? Plus, it takes some nerves and stress off the table. Camila is taking it as a test run, a dip of the toe into the dating world.
“Do you have any more of that cinnamon stuff?” Valeria points vaguely at the counter, snappingCamila out of thought.
“I’m making it now,” she replies, pouring boiling water into a container with sticks of cinnamon and sugar.
“You’re going to have to share your recipe with me. I’m obsessed with it in my coffee now. I haven’t thought about going to the coffee shop once!”
Camila glances over her shoulder at her, letting a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll make some extra so you’ll have some to take home.” Camila regrets saying it the moment it’s out. The last thing she wants is for Valeria to feel unwelcome.
Valeria’s excitement falters, and she lets out a heavy sigh that cracks a piece of Camila’s soul.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve taken over your home. I know I should have left days ago, but everything feels safe here.”
