Make a Wish (Spark House #3)
Helena Hunting
Prologue
A FUTURE TOO DISTANT TO REALIZE
HARLEY
AGE TWENTY
My eyes snap open at the despondent cry lighting up the baby monitor. It’s the third time Peyton, the toddler I nanny for, has woken tonight. She’s teething and she has a cold, the combination of the two making her restless and uncomfortable.
I lie there for a few seconds, waiting to see if the cry is isolated or she’s actually awake and needs comfort. A few seconds later another cry filters through the baby monitor, and then again, more insistent this time. I toss my covers off and my feet hit the cold floor. I grab my housecoat and shrug into it as I rush down the hall, wanting to get to her before the cries reach their highest pitch and wake her father as well.
Gavin’s been burning the candle at both ends, work taking up more of his time than he’d like, and with Peyton not sleeping particularly well this week, he’s been tired. If I can save him another broken night’s sleep, I can also save myself from having to drive something to his office because he’s forgotten it on the kitchen table.
He steps into the hallway just as I reach Peyton’s room. He’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a thin white T-shirt, his lean, toned body throwing shadows on the wall and floor.
He blinks blearily at me and runs a hand through his sleep-messed hair. “I can handle this.” His voice is gruff and thick with exhaustion.
“You have to be up in two hours. She’s teething and cranky. I can take care of it.”
He glances at the door and then at me, teeth tugging at the skin of his bottom lip before he blows out a breath. “She’s been up three times already.”
I pat him on the arm. “I know. And you have to function tomorrow. I can take a nap when she does. I’ve got this. Go back to bed.”
“Thanks, Harley.” He gives me a weary smile and turns around, disappearing into his bedroom.
As I rush into Peyton’s bedroom, she’s standing in her crib with her arms outstretched, stiff and shaking. When she sees me, her wailing hits the high notes and she stomps her little feet.
“I’m right here, sweetie. You must be so uncomfortable.” I pick her up out of her crib and she snuggles into my neck, sniffling and crying. Her cheeks are red and her fingers go straight into her mouth. At eighteen months, we’re in the thick of another round of teething, and this time it’s her canines, which are proving to be particularly uncomfortable. And I thought the molar stage was rough.
I carry her over to the rocking chair and cuddle her, singing lullabies until she finally falls asleep again. I don’t know how long she’ll be down before she wakes up again, so once I have her settled in her crib, I make a trip to the kitchen to grab a teething ring from the freezer.
I stop when I reach the threshold. Gavin is sitting at the island with a glass in front of him. It’s mostly dark, the only illumination comes from the light above the stove. His broad back expands and contracts on a sigh, and he drops his head, fingers pushing through his thick, dark hair. He laces them behind his neck and makes a despondent sound.
I don’t know whether I should leave him and let him have a moment of peace or offer him comfort.
This week has been difficult for him. Peyton just turned a year and a half, and with each milestone, it’s another reminder of how long it has been since his wife died. Add in the sleepless nights, the long work hours, his parents still both working full-time and unable to offer much in the way of babysitting support, and his in-laws in Boulder, it’s no wonder he’s struggling.
I overheard him on the phone with his mother-in-law before he took it off speaker phone. She doesn’t feel it’s appropriate that I’m the woman practically raising her granddaughter. I’m too young to be taking care of Peyton. I spend too much time with them as a family. It didn’t sit right with her that I was solely responsible for Peyton while Gavin was at work. I might be twenty, but I have always loved working with children. I took the babysitting course as soon as I turned eleven and started sitting for family and friends right away. While other teenagers went out with friends on weekends, I spent them taking care of little kids while their parents went on dates or out with friends. And with over half a child development degree under my belt, I’m more than qualified to be a nanny. Besides, I’ve been through more than a lot of people my age, lost more and survived.
My feet make the decision before my head can weigh in, and my heart is already in agreement with my actions as I cross the kitchen and head for Gavin.
I purposely step on the board that creaks, and Gavin’s head shoots up. My heart clenches at his expression. Shock, dismay, and embarrassment pass through his eyes, but the pain I see reflected back at me is what stops me from changing course. I bridge the gap between us and settle a hand on his shoulder. “What can I do to help?”
He scrubs a hand over his tired face. “You’re already doing too much.” His chocolate eyes lift to meet mine. “I’m putting too much on you.”
I shake my head. “You’re not.”
“I am. You’re only taking Sundays off. You should be going out on weekends with your friends, going to house parties, doing what college kids do.”
I don’t understand where this is coming from, or why all of a sudden Gavin is worried about my social life. “I’m more into Disney movies, arts and crafts, baking cupcakes, and making popcorn than I am going to house parties.”