Page 24 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Maisie was surprisingly coordinated, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth as she focused intently.

Of all the worst parts of what was happening in Blake’s life, the one she hated most was that she didn’t get to spend time with kids she’d known since they were born. At least when she did see them, they hadn’t yet cottoned on to the fact that she was on the outside these days.

But kids were curious little sponges. She was sure that, with enough time, they’d start to understand, even if they didn’t know exactly why, Aunt Blake wasn’t someone they should want to spend time around.

Her heart squeezed uncomfortably at the reality, and she bit back the anger that lodged itself in her throat.

Children modeled their sense of the world based on those around them, and the rest of the town, depending on their proximity to her, either wanted to pretend like she didn’t exist or wanted to make her feel badly for failing to fulfill her ultimate duty in this world—at least by Cypress Falls’ standards.

Who could blame Noah for seeking greener pastures? It was only natural, after all. At least, that’s what everyone who dared discuss the situation out loud had told her.

She continued to walk through the two rows of students, offering small suggestions and providing heaps of praise. But this part was easy, given how their eyes lit up whenever they managed a move without falling over.

Blake, as of late, had taken that process into her own life. It wasn’t about perfection any longer. It was about trying her best and not falling down.

Otherwise, she’d be an absolute wreck.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Monroe and Maisie were settling into a rhythm, however tenuous it happened to be.

Today was Monday, a daycare day, and she’d picked Maisie up fifteen minutes ago from Little Peaches Learning Center, where Maisie had been going since she was old enough to attend.

Monroe couldn’t remember what she’d done growing up. Her mom definitely hadn’t had money to send them to daycare, so it must have been a combination of neighbors and friends—and probably being left alone at a younger age than would be considered acceptable these days—while she’d worked two almost full-time jobs for most of Monroe’s life.

She still couldn’t think about her mom, especially not when she was with Maisie. The risk of Monroe feeling seized by guilt and sadness was sometimes overwhelming, so she tried her best to keep the thoughts tucked safely away.

Avoidance was a very, very powerful tool.

Seconds after Monroe pulled up to their house, Blake pulled into her own driveway and jumped down from her white pickup truck. Monroe still didn’t understand how Blake had come to drive the clunky old thing; she looked more like a ranch hand than a former homecoming queen.

They hadn’t talked after Maisie’s first dance class last week. Monroe had learned, via a parent whose child was staying for the next class, that the sessions were almost back to back until the sun went down. And even though they were neighbors and technically Monroe didn’t have anywhere that she needed to be, their paths hadn’t crossed again.

By the time Monroe opened the back door of the car, Maisie had already unbuckled her car seat, but she’d waited for Monroe to help her down. The stillness was short-lived, though, as Maisie, shockingly, bounded across the small patch of grass between their homes and ran directly up to Blake.

Maisie, it seemed, wasn’t holding on to her first unexpected meeting with Blake.

Monroe appreciated that there was someone helping bring Maisie out of her shell; it definitely wasn’t her own area of expertise. She hated mingling and schmoozing and whatever the hell else people called playing kiss-ass with one another.

She’d much rather be holed up in a room, making art, which she would be able to do again once her work arrived—a prospect that was still days away. Fine art was not schlepped through delivery systems quickly, but, she relented, that was probably a good thing.

Grabbing Maisie’s daycare things from the front seat, she shut the door and wandered tentatively across the patch of grass that separated their driveways.

“Howdy,” Blake said, tipping an invisible cowboy hat before turning her attention back to Maisie.

Monroe shouldn’t have found that charming in the slightest, but she did, and she smiled earnestly in return.

God, what was being back in this town doing to her?

“You’ve created a monster.” Monroe gestured toward her niece, who was showing Blake that she still remembered the positions they’d learned last week in class.

Instead of answering her, Blake easily mirrored Maisie’s poses. “You’re doing great, Maisie. Now just focus on the pizza.” Blake patted her own hips. “Can you feel it here when you stretch?”

Maisie nodded excitedly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Blake’s smile was infectious, and she fluttered her fingers outward against the seams of her jean pockets, moving slowly as her own hips opened up.

And Monroe was . . . well, she was trying her best not to look too closely. Which had been easier in class, when she was surrounded by parents who vacillated between sizing one another up with saccharine smiles that didn’t reach their eyes and watching their little ballerinas like this was a Juilliard audition.