Page 139 of The Right Kind of Wrong

For more reasons than she could count.

One of which was, as far as cities went, Austin felt more like clusters of neighborhoods than a place that overwhelmed her.

Still, she hadn’t spent much time here. It had become, according to Noah, “filled with losers and hippies” because it was more progressive than some other places in Texas.

But, with Monroe and Maisie, Blake was finding that she liked it. A lot.

After arriving yesterday afternoon, they’d grabbed dinner at a taco truck and then retreated back to the hotel so Maisie could get adjusted to sleeping in a different place.

And it had been a little strange, if Blake was being honest, sharing a room with the two of them.

This was only because Blake found it difficult to remember that she couldn’t casually touch Monroe. They were never more than a few feet away from Maisie’s curious eyes.

It was a natural consequence of what they were doing. Blake didn’t feel like she was being kept a secret, though. She’d reiterated that to Monroe multiple times over the last week. Especially after Monroe had laid out her concerns at Slider’s the previous weekend.

Truly, Blake had never felt more cared for and adored and considered in her entire life.

They’d ended the night all cuddled onto one of the beds, the one that Monroe and Maisie would sleep in, watching a movie.

Blake’s heart had thumped erratically in her chest when she’d finally started the agonizing process of dislodging herself from Maisie’s koala bear hug around her thigh. Monroe had mouthed, “I’ll miss you,” before she went.

Then, Monroe had leaned over Maisie’s sleeping frame, ghosting her lips across Blake’s.

She’d had to move to a bed mere feet away, where she’d think about the sweet simplicity of that kiss for the rest of the night.

Pulled along by both her thoughts and Maisie, Blake skidded to a stop. Maisie had just done the same a second before, her attention now focused through a glass storefront.

Monroe caught up to them easily and stopped, too, her bare shoulder pressed against Blake’s while they looked at the neon sign.

“What’s it say?” Maisie asked, craning her neck. “It looks like what you made me for my room, Aunt Monroe.”

“It’s an art gallery,” Monroe answered, her eyes raking across the clean lines of the cursive design.

Maisie’s little face scrunched up in concentration, trying to make the letters make sense. “Can we go in?”

Monroe bit her lip, giving Blake a playful stare. “She doesn’t really know what she’s asking, does she?”

Monroe could stare at something for hours. It could be unnerving for some people, but Blake found it really goddamn attractive.

Blake laughed and squeezed Maisie’s hand. “I think that’s a yes from your aunt.”

And boy was it ever, as Monroe led them through the solid door, past a wall running parallel to the window that had separated the street from the art inside.

“Sun can degrade things quickly,” Monroe explained when they stepped into a square room with white walls that was about the size of Blake’s house.

On the walls, each spaced a respectable number of feet apart so that they didn’t crowd one another, were paintings—mostly, Blake thought. Honestly, sometimes it was hard to tell. The other day, Monroe had shown her a drawing by an artist that was so detailed, it’d looked like a photograph.

“Can I look?” Maisie asked, dropping Blake’s hand and staring up at her expectantly.

She had turned to Monroe, the same question in her eyes. Especially over the last couple of weeks, she’d been trying to take extra care not to overstep any boundaries where Maisie was concerned.

But Monroe nodded quickly, which meant that Blake could tell Maisie, “Yes. But no touching, okay? You look with your eyes, not your hands.”

Maisie nodded solemnly. “Aunt Monroe told me. On account of my grubby fingers.”

Blake bit back a smile even as Monroe groaned. “I did not tell her that,” she protested. “I told her that art, unless she’s told otherwise, is only for eyes. Plus, if I did say that, which I’m not admitting I did, it would probably be because someone had peanut butter all over their hands.”

Now, it was Maisie’s turn to smile mischievously. “I’ll be good. I promise.”