The Paper Mill – Part 2: Deckle Edge

"Yes," said Silvia. "Yes, please."

The kiss tasted of river water and the sweet green of the hills. Rosa's hand, damp and cool from the vat, rose to her cheek. Silvia laughed into the kiss, pulled her closer and pressed a pulp-streaked cheek against hers. Beyond the windows the stream rushed past. Swallows swooped.

"You've got paper in your hair," said Rosa.

"So have you."

"We should have a bath."

"Is that an invitation?"

"It is an honest suggestion."

The house beside the mill was low and honey-coloured, with a vine-covered terrace and a bathroom with a deep copper tub. They shared the hot water and a bottle of cold white wine, laughing, and Rosa washed the pulp from Silvia's hair with the same care she gave to a fresh sheet. The evening light came gold through the shutters.

"I'm not very good at this," Rosa murmured.

"You're wonderful at it."

"I would like to be sure you're happy."

"I'm happier than I've been in years."

They dried each other with rough linen towels, then fell onto a wide old bed under the eaves, with the window open to the evening and the sound of the stream. Their love-making was soft and unhurried, curious and warm, with quiet laughter and murmured Italian. The swallows nested in the rafters outside. The light faded from gold to rose to deep blue.

In the morning, Silvia found a sheet of fresh paper on the table by the bed. It was thick and creamy, with a tiny watermark in one corner: two leaves, side by side, curling towards each other.

"For your poems," said Rosa, in the doorway with two cups of coffee. "I made it last night. Thick as bread."

Silvia held it to the light and smiled. "It's perfect," she said. "I'll need a lot more."

"I have a great deal of pulp," said Rosa. "And a spare room, if the commission takes a long time."

"It's going to take a very long time."

More lesbian romance stories: Tea at the Conservatory · Bookshop at Midnight · Ballroom Rivals