Page 102 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“What are we thinking for dinner?” Denny cut in, rubbing circles on his toned stomach.

“We?” Monroe retorted, shooting him a look.

“Yes. We,” Denny reiterated, pointing among everyone. “Me. Holland. Maisie. Blake. You. The gang.”

“Why do I get the strangest feeling that this dinner that you speak of involves you being served copious amounts of food without lifting a finger?”

Denny looked affronted. “I provide child companionship. Do you know the going rate for that these days?”

“At least three square meals a day, I reckon,” Monroe answered, imitating Denny’s twang.

“Only seems fair,” Denny drawled back, catching the towel that Monroe threw at him to start drying off.

Clearly, Monroe was accepting the plan that Denny was putting in motion, and it sent a little thrill through Blake. She didn’t want the day to end either.

All she knew was that she wanted to stay close to Monroe in whatever way possible.

Monroe grabbed another towel from the bag to her side and wrapped it around Maisie’s shoulders. “I bet it’s also fair that we do it at our house?” she asked, running her hands up and down Maisie’s arms.

Denny slapped his hand on his forehead. “You do have that great backyard and grill. Wow, I didn’t even think about that.”

As far as Blake was concerned, he’d missed his calling as an actor. Maybe he and Holland could trade tips.

“What do you think, Maisie?” Monroe asked, looking down at her niece, who’d leaned sideways so they could make eye contact. “Think we should let all these goofballs come over for dinner?”

Maisie jumped up and spun her towel around like it was a cape. “Yeppers! Can I have a hot dog?”

Monroe tapped at her chin, like she was considering it. “You know, I have it on very good authority that Denny is going to head to the grocery store while we go home and take showers. I’m sure he’d be happy to get stuff for hot dogs and burgers. Isn’t that right, Denny?”

Denny stomped one foot and then the other before saluting. He dropped his tone into one of absolute precision, rattling off his words in rapid sequence. “Yes, ma’am. Burgers and dogs, coming right up. And fixins for potato salad. Do we have a preference on chips, ma’am?”

Blake watched the scene play out. She’d softened to Denny’s lovable immaturity, especially after seeing how good he was with Maisie. Knowing that there was no world in which Monroe was attracted to him helped a lot, too.

Because whenever Monroe looked at her, Blake forgot how to think clearly.

It was happening right now, as Monroe looked toward Holland before sliding her gaze over to Blake. “Do either of you have a preference?”

Blake shook her head, mesmerized by the way Monroe’s deep blue eyes were trained on her. She gulped quietly. “No. Whatever you usually get is perfect.”

She didn’t understand how this had become her life over the last few months, but she couldn’t imagine it possibly getting better.

This was better.

So, so much better.

Denny, true to his word, had gone to the grocery store and grabbed everything for dinner while Blake and Holland had returned to their respective houses to shower.

When Blake had arrived at Monroe’s house as fast as she’d been able to manage, Monroe’d just been stepping out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her curvy frame.

“Oh, I’m—” But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say sorry. Because she wasn’t.

Which had left her at a loss for words as she’d taken in the sight of Monroe’s sun-kissed skin, including the generous curve of her breasts.

The memory of their kiss against the rental shack earlier had come roaring back, and Blake had needed to physically hold her arms down at her sides to keep from reaching out.

“Maisie’s in her room,” Monroe had whispered, stepping in closer but not touching her.

Blake could still remember how she’d shivered from the warm breath on her cheek. At the knowledge that there was only a single layer separating her from all of Monroe, which nothing more than a quick tug would make it possible to experience.