Page 52 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Sylvia didn’t want to see Monroe as anything other than a protégé who could bring her the legitimacy she so desperately sought in the art world, and for Monroe, it had been infatuating to have all of Sylvia’s focused attention on her, except in the ways that she truly craved.

It had felt like she mattered deeply to someone, but Sylvia’s focus was more on what Monroe produced than on the core of who she was.

Which was . . . well, Monroe wasn’t exactly sure these days.

An artist, certainly. And suddenly a parental figure to a little girl who’d already gone through too much loss. A woman thrust back into small-town life and, actually, wasn’t hating it as much as she’d been expecting.

Except for the heat, which could fuck right off.

Denny and Blake rushed through the doorway into the waiting room, breaking Monroe’s focus on her thoughts as they each vied to get to the counter first.

“What happened to ‘ladies first,’ Denny?” Blake asked as she ducked below his outstretched arm.

He took a long stride and boxed her away from the counter. “All bets are off when food is involved, Ms. Bettencourt.”

Monroe was shocked—and delighted—when Blake stretched up and flicked Denny’s ear, causing him to howl. She took her chance and pushed in front of him, giving him a look when she said, “I have to smell your disgusting microwaved food every day. I deserve this.”

Denny, admitting defeat, crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. His voice was surprisingly soft, and Monroe thought that maybe she was the only one who caught it, as he said, “I was just trying to get a bear claw for Gumby. You know that he loves them.”

“Suck-up,” Blake sing-songed, oblivious to what Monroe had caught—she’d have to follow up with Denny about that later, before she flashed Monroe a grin. “Did you already get whatever you wanted?”

Blake, steadfast, remained in her position, blocking Denny away from the box. It stirred an affection in Monroe that she hadn’t been expecting, and her voice was a little higher because of it. “I ate a muffin on the way. Everything’s fair game.”

She watched as Blake opened the cardboard box and wrapped a bear claw in a napkin before handing it to Denny. “Here. Wouldn’t want you to be in bad with the boss.”

Denny looked at Blake like she hung the moon, then grabbed his iced coffee and took an indulgent sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he’d drained at least a third of the cup, he looked over to Monroe gratefully. “Monroe, what have I done without you for the last decade?”

“Drink shitty coffee from the break room?” she answered honestly.

“I’ll have you know, that’s my office,” Blake retorted playfully, selecting a muffin for herself.

The last few days, it had felt so good for Monroe to just lean into the day instead of feeling like every second was a battle. She wasn’t going to pretend at all that she had a firm grasp on parenting, but these little moments—and ones with Maisie, too—were starting to make her feel like she was on much more solid ground than she had been for a long time before she’d returned to Cypress Falls.

Denny grabbed Gumby’s bright green drink, too—a perfect fit for his name, now that she was thinking about it—and scurried away with one last thanks over his shoulder.

Then it was just her and Blake, standing on either side of the counter. Well, unless she counted the two guys waiting for their cars to be done, which Monroe did not. Especially given the way that Blake looked, taking a bite of the chocolate chip muffin, the same kind that Monroe had eaten on her drive over.

Blake let out an indulgent sigh, and Monroe just knew that she was encountering the toe-curling enjoyment that was the muffin practically melting in her mouth, the texture from the still-soft chocolate chips enhancing the whole experience.

Slider’s sure as hell knew what they were doing.

And really, they should consider hiring Blake to do a TV commercial for them or something. Monroe didn’t know what could sell the breakfast food better than the slightly lost look on Blake’s face as she finished chewing her bite.

Blake’s cheeks were flushed, and against all rational thought, Monroe couldn’t manage to will away the heat that curled low in her belly at the idea that she’d just watched Blake experiencing ecstasy.

This week had been a crash course in seeing Blake every day, which Monroe had hoped would make her a little more immune to the other woman’s considerable charms. Which she was pretty sure Blake didn’t even realize she was employing.

It made the whole situation more aggravating, as Blake continued to be thoughtful and caring and sweet regardless of the situation.

And now . . . Monroe was noticing other things, too.

Things that she definitely shouldn’t be focusing on, like the way that Blake’s lips pouted whenever she was annoyed with something, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

At least she wasn’t doing that right now, even if what Monroe was suffering through thanks to one allegedly innocent chocolate chip muffin wasn’t much better.

Monroe cleared her throat, but it didn’t help. All she managed to do was turn Blake’s half-lidded eyes in her direction, catching the full force of the languid smile on her face.

“Wow,” Blake said, lips parted, breathing deeply.