Page 69 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Aunt Monroe, I’m fine! Promise.” Maisie threw her arms out and waved them around. “See?”

Monroe laughed at the effort, even though it proved nothing except that Maisie had spent most of the day napping on and off on the sofa.

In that time, Monroe had remade Maisie’s bed, tried unsuccessfully to get some painting done, and then worked (a little more successfully) on one of her commercial projects that was due in a few weeks.

Blake bit her lip, and Monroe was immediately drawn to the action. “I was thinking we could watch a movie here. Since we can’t go to the drive-in tonight.”

Monroe’s stomach bottomed out, and she looked away, back toward Maisie. “Would you like that, Mais? Think you’re up for it?”

“Yep,” Maisie hollered louder than necessary, her throat a little scratchy from the coughing. She rubbed her arm across her nose and sniffed deeply.

Blake wasn’t playing fair. It was easier for Monroe to remain closed off when Blake wasn’t physically in her space. And it was doubly hard when she had two sets of big eyes trained on her, like she was about to be a total buzzkill.

When she looked more closely at Blake again, though, the edges of her lips were tipped upward in a sly smile. “Consider this repayment for you defending my honor last weekend,” she said softly, daring Monroe to argue.

Quid pro quo. She understood that all too well, and it soothed something inside her enough that this didn’t seem like as much of a terrible idea as it had when she’d opened the door a minute ago.

Monroe had been dozing on the sofa when Blake had knocked. She could tell that it was still light out, but with the shades drawn, it felt closer to dusk than midafternoon.

It had to be that her sleep-soaked brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

She took one of the containers from Blake and headed toward the kitchen.

Blake followed her, and soon, they were alone, with Maisie focused on whatever movie was playing on the television already.

“So . . . soup,” Monroe stated lamely. She was busying her hands, putting the Tupperware down on the counter and then moving it slightly, like it mattered where it rested.

She wasn’t expecting Blake to run her hand down her arm. The warmth soaked into her skin, even as goose bumps prickled in its wake.

Blake looked at her intently. “You doing okay? I missed you this week.”

Monroe didn’t understand how she could be so earnest and open, her deep brown eyes studying Monroe while she waited for an answer.

Dangerous, Monroe thought, her fight-or-flight sense heightened now that they were in the same space. Breathing the same air.

Denny’s words floated back into her mind. She found Blake exceedingly attractive. At first, after coming home, it had been just physical.

But now?

It was the full Blake Bettencourt package.

She wished that Blake would move her hand, if only so that she could put her thoughts in order.

Finally, Monroe managed, “We’re hanging in there. As far as illnesses go, I’m sure it’s not the worst that we’ll face. Sort of a training wheels run.”

“How are you feeling? Did you get sick, too?” This would all be a lot easier if Blake would stop looking at her like that.

“Not so far.” Monroe inhaled deeply, just to prove that she could. “See? No illness to be found.”

They texted a little bit throughout the week, but Monroe worked during the days and Blake spent most nights teaching dance. They’d seen one another on Thursday, when Maisie had gone to class, but there hadn’t been time to talk.

And maybe, in some part of Monroe’s mind, pulling back a little after having seen each other every day the week before had felt like the right decision.

Especially after the fireworks. With Maisie cuddled between them. Monroe had been struck with the most intense feeling of, well, honestly, she hadn’t even known what to call it because she’d never experienced it before.

All she knew was that in feeling so safe and happy and content, her first instinct had been to flee from it.

But Blake was making it impossible to run, and Monroe herself, at best, seemed able to gain a stretch of distance only to realize that she was moving in a circle, ending up right back where she’d started.