Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I lean in until I can feel his sharp exhale against my lips. My stomach flips and my muscles clench in anticipation.
But whatever spell I’m under breaks before I connect.
Gavin’s hands wrap around my shoulders and he pushes me back, not forcefully but firmly. “Harley, no.”
Peyton’s shrill cry is a bucket of ice water over my head and a welcome distraction from my complete horror and mortification. I rush down the hall to Peyton’s room and scoop her up like a shield. Panic takes over, and fear and guilt swirl in my gut and make it tough to swallow. What did I do? How could I be so stupid?
“I’ve got it, Harley. You can go back to bed.” Gavin holds out his arms, his expression flat and remote.
I can’t say no. He’s my boss. He’s her father. I’m just the nanny.
And I almost kissed him. I would have, if he hadn’t stopped me. He’d been in need of comfort, and I’d taken advantage of that weak moment. Shame and disbelief make me want to disappear, to sink into the ground, to hide from my own mistake.
Uncomfortable, awkward silence follows as I pass Peyton over to Gavin, but her cries grow louder, maybe because she senses the disquiet between us.
“Go to bed, Harley.” Gavin’s voice is tight and clipped.
I move around him, unable to meet his gaze. I feel numb, as if my emotions have been dipped in liquid nitrogen. Frozen. And one flick will shatter me.
As I step into the hall, Peyton screams, arms stretched out to me. “Momma! Mummy!”
I pause, a sick feeling rolling through my stomach and creeping up my throat, and turn to see Gavin’s reaction. She’s said it before, at the park I sometimes take her to with a few other nannies in the area, but it’s never happened in front of Gavin before. I usually just shake my head and say, “No, not Momma, it’s Harley” to her because she doesn’t know the difference. To her, it’s just words she hears the other kids say.
But his eyes flash with ire, and he gives me a hard, cold look that makes me want to disappear all over again.
“That’s Harley, not your mommy. Daddy’s got you.” He shuts the door with a quiet click, and I stand there, my heart in my throat.
I go back to my room, tears of embarrassment and guilt falling. I don’t know what to do. How to fix this. I spend the rest of the night pacing the floor, trying to figure out how I’m going to apologize. That I didn’t mean to overstep. That I have no idea what came over me. That it will never happen again.
A few days later, just when I’m ready to express how sorry I am, Gavin tells me they’re moving to Boulder to be closer to his in-laws.
And when they do, I don’t hear from Gavin or Peyton ever again.
One
THIS MEMORY LANE IS CLOSED
HARLEY
AGE TWENTY-SEVEN
“I need you to work your magic!” London rushes me the second I walk into the Spark House office and thrusts baby Ella at me. “I have a call in five minutes, and I can’t take it with Ella losing her mind.”
Ella’s mouth is open in a wide O, and her face is beet red. She lets out a hearty wail and flails her arms and legs like a tiny human pinwheel.
Without a word, I drop my purse on the floor and hold out my arms, accepting my screaming niece. “What’s going on Ella-bella? Why so sad, little cutie patootie?”
She stops for half a second and cranes to look over her shoulder at London, then realizes she’s not in her mother’s arms anymore and starts up again.
London cringes. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it quick.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled. I’m happy to listen to Ella’s woes while you take the call.” I kiss her chubby, warm cheek and give her a raspberry. She startles, then giggles, then starts to frown until I do it again.
London shakes her head. “How do you do it? Every single time you get her to stop.”
“I distract her. And I’m calm, and you’re … a little high-strung and stressing about this call.”
She opens her mouth as if she’s about to argue, then clamps it shut again. “Maybe I need to take up recreational weed smoking or something.”
“I’m going to go ahead and say that if you do, please don’t make any videos. Remember the turtle-rant incident compliments of Avery?”
She makes a face. “Right. Good point. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Years ago, Avery’s friends accidentally fed her half a dozen pot brownies, and she ended up ranting about the lack of plastic straws and how turtles were smelly and not the only important species on the face of the earth. The rant ended up on social media and did not go over well, especially since we’d been trying to secure a sponsorship. We’ve moved past that, and more than recovered from that accidental blow to our business, which means we bring it up on occasion, mostly to annoy Avery.