Page 70 of Quiet Beautiful Things

“Sierra?”

I must hesitate a moment too long.

“It’s Sierra, isn’t it? Did something happen? Did she leave?”

I shake my head again, even though it’s a lie.

Me: I guess I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed. New town, new job, new sister, new everything.

He raises an eyebrow. “Newman?”

I sigh. Why does he say things like that when he knows what we have isn’t going beyond the bed?

Bolt skitters off Maisy’s lap and she traipses off to follow him.

Blake settles a hand on my forearm. Maisy isn’t watching, so he leaves it there and runs his thumb across my skin. Goosebumps form at the feel of his touch. He said he’s wanted to kiss me all night. He has no idea how much I’ve thought about kissing him. How every night since we were together, I think about being with him again. How I wonder if it will be just as incredible as the first time.

Simultaneously, though, thoughts of how it will end bombard me. I’ll just be another notch in his belt. Which is fine… or itwas.

When did itstopbeing fine?

Chapter Twenty-six

Blake

Maisy falls asleep on the couch right after she eats, Bolt still in her lap.

A match made in heaven.

“I’m going to put her to bed,” I tell Ellie.

I carefully extract the cat from Maisy’s arms, but when I pick her up, she awakens and immediately searches for him.

“Bedtime,” I sign as best I can with one hand.

“Cat,” she signs.

I turn to Ellie. “I think she wants the cat to sleep with her.”

She shrugs and holds out her hands as if askingwhy not?

I suppose it will be okay. It’s not like Maisy is an infant who can be suffocated. It’s probably Bolt that I should worry about. But he’s done well and seems to be completely happy with her smothering.

I lean down, grab him with my free hand, and put him back into her arms.

In her room, I put Bolt on the bed and point to the bathroom. Maisy knows the whole bedtime routine by now and is good at getting herself ready. I even let her brush her own teeth, though I help her in the mornings to make sure it’s done properly, something I’m quite certain wasn’t accomplished tonight since she’s running back across the room and hopping on the bed in record time.

“Did you brush your teeth?” I ask, doing the motion.

She bears her teeth and shows them to me. I’ll take that as a yes.

“Did you wash your hands?” I ask, mimicking the task.

She puts a hand up to my nose. I can smell the fruity scent of the hand soap.

“Good girl,” I sign.

She snuggles Bolt the same way she has always snuggled her stuffed cat every night when we settle in to look at a book. The poor ragged toy sits perched against the wall, forgotten. I almost feel sorry for it. It makes me wonder if it ever had a name or if Maisy thought of it as ‘cat’ as well. Then again, she didn’t even know what ‘cat’ was back then. She didn’t knowanythinghad names. She didn’t know about letters and words. Her whole life was about pictures.

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