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As soon as the words had come from his mouth, he’d known she wouldn’t stay. Of course, she’d supported him as he’d grieved for his mother, and had promised to do whatever he needed to help care for Bree. Gavin never doubted that Caroline loved him and that her promise was well-intentioned, but he’d seen the tiny flicker of shadows that had darted through her eyes like a quick jolt of panic, and in hindsight, he knew.
Of course, Bree hadn’t made it easy, fighting Caroline to the teeth at every turn. Add the pressure of Gavin not being able to find a job in the saturated Philadelphia restaurant market to the inconsistency of Caroline’s breakneck travel schedule for her own job, and it had been a recipe for disaster. Things with Bree had become increasingly strained, and the nicer Caroline had tried to be, the harder Bree fought her kindness. After three months of trying to make things work, Caroline had finally admitted that maybe taking care of a child with such an emotional background wasn’t in her future, and he’d had no choice but to watch her go.
An angry gust of wind scattered hard raindrops against the glass, bringing Gavin back to the staff lounge with a start, and he bulldozed the memory into the back of his brain.
Dwelling on Caroline and all the what-ifs was pointless now. What he needed more than anything else was to figure out a way to connect with Bree, to help her past the grief that was clearly still bogging her down. If a woman came along who had the sticking power to help him with that, then great. But no way was he going to roll the dice on anyone who wouldn’t be around for the long haul, especially when that long haul involved the ups and downs of an emotional preteen. So maybe Sloane had more in common with Caroline than he’d thought.
Which was all the more reason he needed to stay the hell away from her.
7
By the time Bree emerged, bleary-eyed and still yawning, from her bedroom at ten forty-five, Sloane had amassed a brand-new pile of failed attempts at a paper hero—or a paperanything—by her feet.
“Oh, hey.” She scratched out the latest horrible idea with a sigh and poked the brim of her hat from her eyes before looking up. “You’re awake.”
Bree rubbed her sleep-swollen eyes with one hand. “How come you didn’t wake me up?”
“Um, I didn’t know I was supposed to.” Damn it, Gavin had never said anything about waking her up eventually. How was she supposed to know she had to wake the kid up at a certain time? It seemed kind of mean, considering it was Saturday, but then again, what did she know about this kind of thing?
“Mrs. Teasdale usually wakes me by nine. She says it’s good for me to have a regular sleep schedule.”
Sloane took off her hat and pushed her pencil behind her ear, looking at Bree with interest. “Who’s Mrs. Teasdale?”
“The lady who normally babysits me.” Bree’s face bent into a disdainful frown.
Ah, the regular sitter. Of course that lady probably knew how to take care of kids in her sleep. “You don’t like her?”
“She’s okay, I guess. She says getting up at the same time every morning makes for a happy, healthy day.”
Sloane barely bit back the rude noise bubbling in her throat. What a load of happy, healthy crap. Then again, she was probably a teensy bit biased, being that she was as far from a morning person as a girl could get. “And what do you think?”
Bree’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. It’s your schedule, right? Do you think waking up at nine is a good idea?”
While Sloane could admit she didn’t have a clue how much sleep a thirteen-year-old was supposed to get and that her own sleep schedule had all the twists and turns of an ancient treasure map, not asking Bree what she thought about her own sleep habits seemed kind of stupid. If the kid was tired on a Saturday, who was Sloane to wake her up?
“I’m usually up anyway.” Bree pulled at the hem of her pajama top. “Plus, it makes it kind of hard to get up for school and stuff if my sleep schedule on the weekend is all messed up.”
Huh. Okay, so that made sense. Still… “But that doesn’t answer the question. Do you like getting up early on the weekend?”
Bree measured Sloane with a wary glance, yanking the hem of her top even harder to twist it around her thumb. “Well, it’s hard to get up sometimes. Especially if…” She jerked her words to a halt, letting her shirt fall loosely from her fingers. “No. I guess I don’t like it.”
Sloane nodded, looking down at her legal pad. The scratched-out words sent weariness into her bones, and she cast it aside in favor of a good stretch. “I can relate. Lucky for you, you’ve got the whole day to go back to bed if you feel like it. After that last assignment gets done, anyway.”
“Are you seriously going to let me do whatever I want if I finish that paper?” Bree’s skepticism was evident in both her tone and her expression, but Sloane wasn’t about to renege on their deal. How much trouble could one kid stir up at home, anyway?
“As long as it’s not illegal or dangerous, sure.” She shrugged.
“Turn my stereo up as loud as it’ll go?”
“Something tells me if you blow out your speakers, your brother won’t buy you new ones. But if you’ve got the cash to spare, knock yourself out.” Maybe a little loud music would nudge her creative juices into flow-mode. That could be a good idea for both of them.
“Okay, what about letting me wear black eyeliner, red lipstick, and a miniskirt that comes up tohere.” Bree indicated the top of her thigh in a dramatic sweeping gesture.
Sloane laughed, trying to picture such a brash look on the fresh-faced, sullen preteen. “If you want to Goth up in the privacy of your own home, go for it,” she said. What could it hurt to let the kid parade around the living room all done up? It wasn’t like they were going to go anywhere with her looking like that.
Bree’s eyes glinted. “Okay. What if I want to drink a whole pot of coffee?”
