Page 11 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Maisie, ma’am,” her niece said, pulling Monroe’s attention back to the face painting booth. Her little hand was resting against the back of the folding chair, though she still hadn’t sat down.

“Well, Miss Manners,” the woman said, gesturing for Maisie to sit down, “I’m Holland.”

The name pinged somewhere in Monroe’s brain. Holland . . . Hayes was the last name that her mind supplied, even though she wasn’t sure if it was right. But if this was the woman Monroe was remembering, a senior when Monroe had been a freshman and therefore the same age as her brother, she didn’t have to worry about being remembered.

Holland Hayes was The Girl That Was Going Places, so it was strange to see her sitting at a face painting station, making conversation with Maisie, who was slowly coming out of her shell.

But Monroe was also back here, not expecting that to be her path, so she figured it was the same for someone like Holland. Monroe’d had zero pressure except what she put on herself, so it was hard to fathom what it would have been like to be told since birth that she was special or had some kind of “wow” factor that was going to take her places.

While Monroe was thinking, Maisie and Holland seemed to settle on a design—a tiger, she assumed from their previous conversation—and Holland got to work with a small palette that held a variety of colors.

She worked efficiently, drawing lines quickly across Maisie’s face to make the design before she started filling them in with color. “And are you Maisie Senior?” Holland asked, her eyes remaining focused on Maisie’s face.

That earned a giggle from Maisie as Monroe said, “I’m Monroe, her aunt.”

Monroe earned a winged eyebrow in response as Holland shifted her gaze, adding an appraising stare before focusing on Maisie again. “Maisie, is your aunt going to get her face painted today, too?”

Oh no. She could see the way Maisie was practically vibrating with excitement at the possibility. Honestly, it was the happiest that she’d seen her niece since she’d touched down in Cypress Falls.

She was not Holland’s biggest fan right now, but it was clear that the attractive, blonde woman with a magnetic smile usually got her way, if Maisie’s adoring stare was any indication.

The wink Holland threw in her niece’s direction was only adding to the flicker of annoyance as Monroe tried to figure out how to say no diplomatically.

“I can’t imagine that trying to cajole adults into getting their faces painted makes you especially popular here,” Monroe said offhandedly, hoping to buy herself some time.

Maisie’s tiger stripes were almost done, along with orange accent lines that created depth without overtaking her face—or making it too difficult to clean off later, a fact for which Monroe was supremely thankful.

Holland gave her a Cheshire cat smile she wasn’t quite sure if she trusted. “I own the dance studio in town. The best dance studio from here to Austin, if we’re being technical, so I’m given grace in that department. I’m sure that a lot of the moms would love to M-U-R-D-E-R me, but that’s their problem,” she finished, smiling again, more genuinely this time.

Well, at least her ability to do great makeup made more sense.

Monroe tried to hide her laughter, unsurprised that this town didn’t take kindly to a woman who didn’t take shit from anyone. Maybe she’d actually make a friend here after all.

Maisie perked up, looking between them both. “I like to dance.”

“Well, then why haven’t I seen you at the studio, little missy?” Holland asked easily, focusing on putting the finishing touches on Maisie’s face.

There was a constant undercurrent of anxiety and doubt that simmered just below the surface as Monroe tried to settle into taking care of Maisie, and with this question, it started to bubble up all the stronger. She paid the mortgage on her mom’s—or, technically, her—house, and she’d sent money to help with whatever her mom and Maisie needed, but it was clear that it hadn’t stretched as far as it had needed to go.

Why hadn’t her mom told her? And, while they were at it, why hadn’t she told Monroe that she’d been struggling with her health? A heart attack at forty-eight didn’t just come out of the blue, right?

A flush wrapped around Monroe’s neck as the gravity of what had happened, and all that was still happening, hit her all over again.

She was solely responsible for Maisie’s well-being now. At least until the state decided whether she was fit to be a permanent guardian.

And then what? She was going to become a single parent to a five-year-old in Cypress Falls? Or would she and Maisie move back to New York? Or somewhere else completely?

It was so fucking hot out. She could barely breathe, and her shirt was sticking to her. The air felt like it’d somehow become a solid state, pushing in on her.

“It’s your lucky day, Monroe. I have my next customer, so you’re saved from your turn.”

Holland’s words grabbed her through the fog and pulled her back into the moment, where Maisie was looking up at her expectantly with her tiger-striped face, clearly confused and picking up that something with Monroe wasn’t quite right.

She grabbed Maisie’s hand, hoping the little girl didn’t notice the sweat coating her palm. Big, expressive eyes that had seen way too much heartbreak were looking intently at her when Monroe said with the most buoyant voice she could muster, “Why don’t we go find a shady spot to put the blanket out, Maisie? That way, we can grab some food and drinks. Make a game plan of what we want to do for the rest of the day.”

Slowly, Maisie nodded, thinking what Monroe had said through fully before she answered, “Sure. What kinda food?”

Monroe exhaled and then took another couple of deep breaths to center herself. It wouldn’t always be this easy. A painted face and a snack weren’t always going to be able to distract Maisie from the tough questions and the even tougher times that she knew were coming their way.