Page 96 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Which Blake found interesting in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She’d never actually seen Holland clam up before. Or be short with anyone.

“Got it. I’ll google it when I get my phone back.”

Holland sighed and stopped walking. She placed a hand on her hip and stretched her leg, like she was gearing up to start running. She didn’t, though, which was a relief to Blake, who’d already moved at least a few miles while she’d been dancing. “Wren went to college in New York, but she ended up in Seattle for veterinary school. We’d lost touch by that point. And I’ve been to Vancouver a couple of times for projects, but even a show set in Seattle doesn’t usually film there. It’s too expensive.”

“See? Was that so hard?” Blake said with a playful smile, nudging their shoulders together as they started walking again, even as she filed this new knowledge away. “I literally came out to you thirty minutes ago. It wouldn’t kill you to make our budding friendship a two-way street.”

She didn’t know what had gotten into her, except that she felt good. Really good. Like the best days of her life were in front of her instead of behind her.

That, thankfully, earned a smile from Holland. “That’s an incredibly fair point. Should I get you a cake or something?”

Blake skipped for a few feet, feeling so goddamn light that she could float away. “I’ll settle for the job you’ve already given me, the house that you hooked me up with, and the ongoing kindness that you’ve bestowed on me.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” she said wryly, breaking into laughter. They came to the edge where the ground evened from its slope, the water fifteen feet in front of them. Holland pointed to the left. “Paddleboarding?”

Blake would probably do more floating and staring up at the sky than anything, but it would be nice to be out on the water, away from the crowds.

She nodded and followed Holland over to the shack where the boards were lined up on a rack.

Yeah, a nice afternoon of watching the clouds float by and not agonizing over the next time that she’d get to feel Monroe’s perfect lips could be just what she needed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Is that a hickey on your neck?” Monroe whispered, watching as Denny peeled off his shirt.

He dropped his head down, trying to see it. “Um . . . possibly?”

“And you’re still not going to tell me who he is?” Monroe pressed for the dozenth time in the last couple of weeks.

But Denny was a steel trap when it came to the man in his life, and all she got was a shrug in response.

Monroe’s gaze flicked over to Maisie, who was staring longingly at the water. “Sunscreen, Mais. Before you take one step off the shore.” She pointed at Denny, dropping her voice. “I’m not done with you either.”

“Look at you with your mom voice,” Denny teased, jumping out of the way before Monroe could slap him with the towel she was holding.

“It’s sticky,” Maisie complained, even as she trudged back toward where Monroe and Denny were setting up shop on the beach.

They’d spent the morning at Joystick Junction, the retro arcade in town, where Denny had shared his love of old video and arcade games with an extremely interested Maisie. Duck Hunt on the Nintendo had been her favorite, which hadn’t thrilled Monroe.

The cowboy boots that she’d been wearing since Austin were fine—actually, they made Maisie look cute as hell—but Monroe wanted to draw the line at guns, even fake ones, before she ended up with a little Wyatt Earp on her hands.

She could picture Denny and Maisie out on some flat stretch of land, shooting bottles off a log.

Denny hadn’t shared the same concerns, and Monroe could at least admit that they’d looked adorable together, as they’d sat on the large sofa set up in a reconstructed ‘90s living room in the back of the arcade, both intently staring at the screen and picking off ducks as their pixelated forms had flown up from the high grass.

She slathered the sunscreen on Maisie in spite of her wriggling attempts to escape. “Will you stop moving so much if I explain that I’m only doing this because I love you?” Monroe pleaded. The more sunscreen she covered Maisie in, the harder it was to hang on to her.

Maisie crossed her little arms and pouted, which didn’t deter Monroe from moving onto her legs, though she was grateful when Maisie finally relented and let it happen. A sunburn was not something that she was chancing, even if it made her woefully uncool in Maisie’s eyes.

“You aren’t wearing it,” Maisie fairly pointed out. Kids could be really annoying like that.

Monroe had dug around in the bottom of her suitcase to find something that could handle being out in the sun for hours on end, which had been a pair of tapered, high-waisted, white shorts that fell to mid-thigh and a flowy, striped button-down that was surprisingly breathable.

Regardless, she was already sweating so much that she wasn’t sure whether sunscreen would even absorb into her skin.

Monroe wiped her hand across her forehead, leaving behind what had to be an impressive white streak. “How’s this look?” she asked Maisie with a grin.

Maisie laughed. “You look silly, Aunt Monroe.”