Page 157 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“What?”

Denny didn’t bother answering because, very soon, it became clear.

About halfway back, near the side where they’d parked the first time, Blake’s truck was already there, along with Holland’s SUV. There was a lawn chair in the space on the other side, which Blake moved out of the way as Denny pulled into the spot.

But that wasn’t the real focus. Dozens of balloons were attached to a table, which was covered in boxes of pizza, drinks, and a big, round cake.

It was childhood Monroe’s idea of a perfect birthday party, which she’d told Blake months ago, when it had come up in conversation.

Once Denny parked, Monroe hopped out of the car quickly. “Denny, can you help Maisie?” she asked, already walking toward Blake.

Blake wore a look of contrition on her face, mingled with a hopefulness that stole Monroe’s breath. “Happy birthday. I took a chance. A surprise, but low-key,” she said, speaking quickly. “And if you hate it, we can leave. Or Denny and Holland can stay with Maisie. Or we can stay with Maisie, just the three of us. Realistically, though, I think that Maisie is staying.”

Blake looked toward Maisie, who was excitedly looking at the table, eyeing the balloons and decorations.

On the Maisie front, Blake had hit the nail on the head.

When it came to Monroe, too.

Somehow, Blake always seemed to be able to do that.

Monroe didn’t know that she’d ever felt so celebrated—or so understood—before.

She reached out and grabbed Blake, pulling her close. “You did this for me?”

Blake nodded, bright eyes boring into Monroe’s. “You mentioned that your birthday was exactly a month after Dean’s. And, well, it kept getting closer, and you didn’t say anything about it, but I couldn’t let it go without celebrating you, Monroe. I’m really sorry if it wasn’t the right tack to take, but you told me that you love it here, and well, I want you to have everything. I want to give you everything.”

Blake said it so simply, like it was just a fact of life instead of one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her.

Tears sprang into Monroe’s eyes. She hadn’t been expecting to cry today.

Honestly, she’d been doing so well!

But being surrounded by Maisie and Blake and Holland and Denny, all there to celebrate her at Blake’s behest, was more than her heart could contain.

Of course Blake would remember an offhanded comment that Monroe had made a month ago, before they’d even been anything. And of course she’d corral the people in Monroe’s life and plan the perfect evening for her to feel celebrated and loved.

The tears started falling faster when Monroe realized that, along with a deep pang of longing she felt, wishing that her mom could be here, too.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Blake comforted her, running her hands down Monroe’s arms. “Please don’t cry. Let me send everyone away.”

Blake tried to move away from Monroe to disperse their small group, but Monroe pulled her back, looping her arms around Blake’s hips.

She wasn’t letting Blake go anywhere. Now or for as long as she could help it.

Once she was sure that Blake wasn’t going to try and flee, she wiped an errant tear away. “I’m not sad, Blake. No one has ever done something like this for me,” she admitted. “Except for my mom. And I’ve been really missing her today, so I guess there is a little sadness, too.”

Usually, the admission would have made her feel vulnerable, uncomfortable, but looking at Blake’s soft eyes, she didn’t.

She felt loved and safe and adored.

And then she felt the words that she’d been having to keep inside, their potency growing by the day, on the tip of her tongue.

Because Monroe wanted to give Blake everything, too.

Wasn’t love the greatest gift of all?

Wasn’t it why songs were written and art was made and life continued to push forward, in spite of all the bad that swirled around the world, so strong that sometimes it felt like it was trying to choke out the light?