Page 1 of All Your Dreams

PROLOGUE

PEYTON

If someone had told me last week that I’d be driving across the country alone in my late grandpa’s favorite car, I would’ve laughed in their face. Sure, the road trip from San Diego to New York had been on my bucket list for years. But it was always an experience I wanted to share with my family someday: my husband and children. Not an escape after discovering my soon-to-be ex-husband Nathan and former best friend Madeline are expecting a baby. Before our divorce is even final.

I wish I could say the news was a surprise, but it wasn’t after I found condoms in my ex’s suit pocket five months ago. We hadn’t used protection since our wedding early last year. Not since we agreed to try for a baby. Even if trying looked different because of my endometriosis diagnosis.

I remember standing in our spacious living room, the foil packets in my hand, my stomach dropping when he scrambled to explain that it “wasn’t what it looked like.” His feeble excuse was he didn’t want children anymore and wanted a double income, no kids household instead.

The worst part? I almost believed him.

By then, he'd convinced me he was always right. If I was upset, I was too sensitive. If I questioned him, I was overthinking. If something felt wrong, I simply wasn't seeing the bigger picture. For the years we were together, I ignored every red flag, even the ones waving right in my face. I foolishly wanted to believe Nathan and I were on the same page, so deeply in love that nothing could break our marriage. Yet, for the first time in months, my instincts were louder than his sorry-ass excuses. The condoms in my hand were real. They couldn't be explained away, no matter how hard he tried.

“You’re seriously accusing me of cheating? After everything I’ve done for you? Jesus, Peyton. You really do have a talent for twisting things. You find a pair of condoms and suddenly I’m the villain? Maybe you should ask yourself why you’re so desperate to believe the worst about me. Those are for us. Trust me, baby.”

Not wanting to listen to any more of his obvious lies, I packed my bags and drove to my parents’ house where I cried myself to sleep in my childhood bedroom, mourning the future I had planned. The next morning, I called our family lawyer. Two days later, I filed for divorce, not even a year into our marriage.

Then last week, I opened my phone to a flood of messages waiting for me. “Friends” were checking in, acquaintances making sure I’d seen the post and people I hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly remembered I existed.

Madeline had posted a photo of her and Nathan, his hand resting on her rounding belly. They must’ve gotten pregnant shortly after I moved out. Or worse, Nathan already knew back then and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be stuck with two baby mamas. All the while telling me he didn’t want kids and couldn’t justify the expenses they bring. Have fun paying off those damn college tuitions, asshole.

What a fool I was. I fully trusted two people who stabbed me in the back in return. Still, I didn’t cry or scream once the evidence of their betrayal was revealed. No. Beneath the numbness, a hopeful thought sparked to life; I was free to do whatever I wanted. It was time to take my life back one step at a time.

The first call I made was to Rose, one of the few people still in my life after Nathan slowly pushed everyone else away. I’d met her through her partner Eli, my sister-in-law Claire’s brother, so we’re more family than friends. I asked if I could spend a few days with them in Manhattan and Rose immediately told me I was welcome for as long as I needed. I thanked her for the incredibly generous offer and made plans to stay in New York indefinitely.

Four days ago, Eli sent me a voice note: “Remember my best friend Ollie from last Christmas? Well, he needs a temporary nanny for the rest of the summer as he’s unexpectedly looking after his infant niece Tilly. Rose thought you might be a good fit for the gig with your previous experience and I think it's a great idea too.”

Without listening to the rest of the message, I replied that I’d be happy to take the job. It would buy me time while I figured out my next move. I adore Rose and Eli, but staying under the same roof as a couple in love probably wouldn’t do my sanity any favors. Living with Ollie and his niece is a more suitable option for me right now.

So here I am, finally where I’m supposed to be: New York City. The city that never sleeps and where dreams come true. My safe harbor and the place where I can hopefully breathe easier again.

As I cross the bridge into Brooklyn, I crack open the window and take in my new surroundings. The summer breeze plays with the tendrils of my long hair and I let out a relieved sigh. Almost there. There’s magic in the New York air that makes my heart race and my senses come alive, as if they were hibernating for the past few years. The pleasant tingling spreading over my body feels a lot like the hope I’ve been missing lately.

It doesn’t take long to find the right place with the help of GPS. Getting out of the car, I lock the doors and survey the area. Ollie’s apartment sits above an auto body shop, both tucked away on a quiet side street, making me forget I’m in the middle of a big city.

A whistle from across the road takes my attention away from the brick building. I spot two men around my age. One is taller with dark, long hair, and his rolled-up sleeves display a colorful mural of tattoos. The other, shorter guy, has tanned skin, a buzz cut, and a boyish grin that screams trouble.

“That’s one sweet ride,” the shorter guy comments, motioning to my cherry red ’67 Impala. “Do you mind if we have a closer look?”

I notice their overalls with the familiar logo and smile. “Do you happen to work for Ollie Braxton?”

“We do,” the same guy replies, his grin returning. “Are you the new nanny?”

I nod. “I’m Peyton.”

“Peyton,” he repeats, like he's trying the name out. “Pretty name. It suits you.”

Before I can respond, the other man chuckles. “Easy there, Dennis. Try not to scare her off.” He jerks a thumb toward himself. “I'm Boone.”

I laugh freely at their antics. “Nice to meet you, Boone and Dennis. I should go meet with Ollie and his niece. Feel free to admire my ride, maybe I can show you how she purrs later.”

“See you soon, Peyton,” Boone says with a smile, and Dennis lifts his chin.

I leave the guys by the car while they admire its beautiful paint job and detailing. I don’t blame them—it’s my most treasured possession. The car used to belong to my maternal grandpa before he passed away three years ago. My brother Dex and I spent hours fixing it during evenings and weekends. The restoration project was our own type of grief therapy that resulted in something beautiful.

The staircase door leading to Ollie's place is around the corner from the entrance to the shop. He texted me the access code to the building the previous evening, so I don't have to call him to get in. As I take steps toward the apartment, the sound of crying intensifies. He mentioned that Tilly, his niece, hadn’t slept well since his sister dropped her off on his doorstep in one of the few texts we exchanged. Poor little baby.

Gently knocking on the door, I wait, but nothing happens. I raise my hand to knock again when Ollie finally opens it. Holy shit. He’s in a white bath towel, his blond hair wet from the shower with plenty of ink on display. I catch myself staring—he’s even more attractive than I remembered from last December—and quickly focus on his face instead. I shouldn’t be ogling him, no matter how distracting his toned body is. He’s my new boss for heaven’s sake.