Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(4)
I keep Ella distracted with things that sparkle as I double-check everything one final time before the guests begin to arrive. I’m making sure all the costumes are labeled with the guests’ names—we asked the partygoers who their favorite princess was, and their size, so we could have all the costumes ready ahead of time.
When I read the name PEYTON on a fairy costume, my heart clenches, taking me back in time to when I nannied for a little girl with the same name. She’d have to be close to the same age as the birthday girl by now. I shove those memories down, because the feelings that come with them are never easy. Mortification and guilt are forever associated with that time in my life. Mortification about the lines I crossed. Guilt that those actions are what sent Peyton and her father to Boulder to be closer to his in-laws. Or at least that’s how it seemed.
“This place looks like a princess convention.” Avery appears in the doorway to the dress-up tent. Like everything else, it’s been decorated with balloons, streamers, and all things glittery and sparkly.
“It pretty much is,” I agree.
Ella coos, and when Avery tickles her under her chin, she giggles, toots, and ducks her head.
“How are you doing?” Avery asks, her smile questioning and slightly chagrined.
I lift a shoulder and let it fall, working to keep my smile in place and my tone light. “At least my birthday parties are going out with a bang.”
“I’m really sorry we can’t keep hosting them.”
“It’s okay. I get it. They aren’t a moneymaker, and we need to keep Spark House available for bigger events.”
“I know how much you love them.” Avery tried to go to bat for me, and so did London when Declan told us the birthday parties were costing us money instead of making it. A two-hour birthday party on a Saturday afternoon isn’t as financially lucrative as a wedding where every room in Spark House is booked for two nights.
When I first suggested the birthday parties a couple of years ago, it was a way for me to feel like I was making a more significant contribution. But Declan is right. It isn’t financially responsible. They have to be cut. So I’m making the last one as awesome as possible.
“I’ll be able to throw kick-butt parties for my nieces and nephews, starting with this little princess.” I give Ella a kiss on the cheek.
She takes my face in both of her hands and plants a wet one to the left of my nose.
“You know Ella was crying for half an hour before London palmed her off on you.”
“London’s stressed. Babies feel that.” And I’m sure London thought it would be fine to bring Ella to Spark House since the birthday party isn’t going to take the whole day. “Where’s Jackson, anyway?” Jackson is London’s husband and owns Holt Media, a massive company that started up an initiative called Teamology. It pairs companies with sponsors to help put small businesses on the map. Since Teamology took Spark House under its wing a couple of years ago, we’ve grown by leaps and bounds.
“He had a meeting this morning. And Declan is out with the guys.” She glances around the tent. “Do you need help with anything?”
“I don’t think so. Catering has set up everything in the food tent. Crafts and games are all organized, the adult tent has appetizers and beverages ready to be served, and guests should be arriving shortly. I think we’re good.”
As sad as I am about my birthday parties ending, I know changes are coming. Recently we’ve been in talks with the owners of Mills Hotels, who run some of the most luxurious and prestigious hotels in the world. They’ve expressed interest in helping us expand even further by creating a Spark House franchise. It’s a huge opportunity, and if it happens, it could take Spark House to an entirely new level. The kind of level where afternoon children’s birthday parties are definitely off the table.
I can see the value in it, especially for my sisters, who are both starting families and need the security and the time. I know that in the grand scheme of things, it will give us incredible exposure. And financially it will help us move forward. But at the same time, the things that I love most about Spark House, and my role here, keep shifting. I feel as though I’m always rushing to try to catch up with the changes. And like we’re leaving behind the hands-on approach, which is something I’ve always enjoyed.
“Okay, well, if you’re good here, I’ll just leave you to it. Do you want me to take Ella back to London?”
“You can leave her with me for now. I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
Avery heads in the direction of the main house, and I deflate a little. Just because I know the birthday parties aren’t good for our bottom line doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed about losing them. They’ve been my baby for almost two years and I really love planning them. Plus, it’s given me an opportunity to work with kids on a semiregular basis, which is something I’ve missed. It reminds me of the days when I used to be a nanny. It’s not a road I’ll likely ever go down again. Not after what almost happened the last time.
I swallow the familiar unease that comes with just thinking about that time in my life. Ella’s chubby, damp hand settles against my cheek. Her expression is serious when I give her my attention again, as though she can sense the change in my mood.
My phone buzzes from the pocket in my poofy skirt. I have to push layers of tulle out of the way, but I finally manage to find the opening and pull it free. I hold it up to my face to unlock it, and Ella tries to grab it with her spit-covered fingers.