Page 22 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

I gesture back at him. “And this is the problem with you. No one you work with would call you their friend. If you want people to listen to you, you need to gain their respect. You have to treat them like human beings.”

He surprises me by sipping his tea thoughtfully. He pauses, twitches his mustache, then sighs and says, “Who’s the boy’s teacher?”

“Mrs. Applebottom,” I say, delighted. Is he going to give me the inside scoop? Mrs. Applebottom’s Achilles’ heel? I’d love to pass his hot take on to Travis.

A surprised look crosses his face, followed by a smile, which looks even stranger on him. Like suddenly he’s not Eugene Peebles, professional Debbie Downer, but somebody’s grandpa.

“You mean Moira Applebaum , I suppose,” he says. “You’re very lucky. The boy’s in good hands. The best.”

I stare at him in wonder, because I’m picking up on some nonprofessional interest in Mrs. Applebaum. Yup, I have to tell Travis all about this. Instantly. The need to share this information with him practically hums under my skin.

“Did you get it on with Applebaum?” I ask.

“Of course not,” Eugene says, nearly dropping his teacup. “I just finished telling you how I feel about inappropriate, unprofessional conduct.”

“But you like her.”

He bristles. “I think highly of her ability to run an organized, well-disciplined classroom, yes.”

“I’m starting to think we have different values, Eugene.”

“That much is obvious…” He trails off, looking down at his hands, and when he speaks again, his voice is plaintive. “How do I gain their respect? At Big Catch, I mean. I’m fairly certain Mrs. Applebaum and I have a strong feeling of mutual respect.”

“Oh, Eugene,” I say sadly.

He adjusts his posture before taking another sip of tea.

“I didn’t want the employees to dislike me,” he says, and now I hear it, a strain of loneliness threading through his voice, of existing on the outside and looking in.

“I knew it would benefit everyone if things were run more efficiently. My hiring manager told me he was going for the ultimate customer experience.”

“You know what they say, buddy,” I tell him. “Happy wife, happy life.”

He scowls at me. “I don’t know what that has to do with the situation.”

“Okay, fine, Mr. Literal. Happy staff, happy customers. If you want the customers to have the ‘ultimate’ experience, then you need to make sure your staff isn’t on the verge of quitting.”

He takes another sip of tea, his features a little crumpled, as if they’re collapsing in on themselves. Then he says, “What would make them happy?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked.” I grin at him. “The answer’s simple. Drinking, flirting, and fornicating. So I’m going to suggest you have a staff party.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, and I can’t help but ask, “Why’d you get into this line of work, Eugene?

Shouldn’t you be on a fishing boat somewhere, glowering down at the fish?

My dad retired as soon as he hit that sweet six-five.

He basically lives at my brother’s restaurant now—as a guest, not an employee. ”

Eugene surprises me by serving himself one of the possibly allergy-laden pastries and taking a big bite. From the brief look of pleasure he allows to pass across his face, I can tell he’s not completely a lost cause.

Once that bite of goodness is headed down his gullet, he says, “My son suggested I get a job after I retired from the school. I thought I would enjoy retirement, but there were some…problems.”

“Problems?” I ask, because nosy bitch, reporting for duty.

He takes another bite of the pastry. “I made a schedule, so my days were highly structured, but I got a little…”

My heart suddenly aches for him. “You were lonely.”

“My wife divorced me fifteen years ago, and my son has very little use for me. I’m used to being alone,” he says, with a tone that suggests he’s offended by the very notion that he might have sought out human companionship.

“I’m sure you’re very good at being alone, but no one wants to be totally alone. Why didn’t you join a seniors’ group?”

“I tried,” he says stiffly. “But it was poorly organized, and the leader didn’t appreciate my suggestions for improvement. I was asked to leave.”

I sigh and crack my knuckles, thinking Dottie must be psychic after all, because she completely foresaw what I’m about to say. “I’m going to help you, Eugene.”

“You are?” he asks, surprised.

“I’m afraid I have to. You’ve given me no other choice.”

Just then, Dottie swoops in with a ready smile. “Are we ready to read some fortunes?” she asks, beaming.

No one can talk smack about her sense of timing. Briar was right—Dottie really does know how to rule a room.

I give Eugene a sharp look, trying to telepathically remind him of the beginning of our conversation, but he must be immune to telepathy, because he frowns at her. “It’s dishonest to tell people you can read their fortunes from a clump of wet leaves.”

“ Eugene ,” I say.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dottie says, seeming genuinely undaunted.

“This dear man hasn’t been given any reasons to believe lately.

” With that, she sits down at our table as if invited.

She’s wearing a pretty blue dress that makes me think of a sunny summer day and a crystal hair clip that probably has some deep symbolic meaning.

“Don’t you work here?” Eugene asks her uneasily.

“I do,” she says sweetly. “I also own the place. I like to connect with everyone who pays us a visit.

“She didn’t know how to retire either,” I joke.

His sighs are a language all their own, because this one is almost empathetic. I know how that feels.

His eyes linger on mine for a moment, and I feel another pulse of sympathy for him. This man is so lost in the weeds when it comes to making the connections he needs. Just like Travis.

I smile and nod and try not to think about Travis anymore.

“Okay,” he says. “Why not. You can look at my wet leaves.”

“First you’ll need to finish the tea, my dear man,” Dottie says. “Bottoms up.”

He slurps down the rest of the tea, wetting his bottlebrush mustache, then passes the cup to her.

She does her tea-leaf routine, and Eugene and I watch with healthy skepticism. Smiling down at his teacup, she says, “Yes. Yes, indeed. This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Well?” Eugene says.

“You’re going to fall in love again, my dear man, deeply, madly, and truly. Oh, I’m so excited for you. Your whole life is about to be transformed.”

He gives me a quizzical look, and I nearly burst out laughing, thinking about what Briar said the other day.

“Don’t look at me, Eugene,” I say, lifting my hands. “I’m not the lucky lady. I have commitment issues, not daddy issues.”

His cheeks go scarlet.

“Oh, it won’t be with Hannah, of course,” Dottie says. “Hannah’s already met her great love.”

“Excuse me?” I say, my heart pounding even though I know it must be BS.

“All of you girls are going to find new love. Sophie’s already found Rob, of course, but you, Briar, and Nora will all be happily settled before long. I’ve known that from the beginning of our journey.”

“Nora?” I scoff. “She wants nothing to do with us.”

Dottie gives me a knowing look. “She’s going to be part of your little group before long.” She pats her chest. “I feel it here.”

Eugene gives me a pointed glance, reminding me of the whole let’s be tolerant of other people’s weird quirks speech I gave him.

She beams at us. “Now, why don’t you finish your breakfast? I’m meeting with my Wise Elders group this morning, Eugene, and I would simply love it if you’d join us once you’re ready. We’re having a riveting conversation.”

“Eugene would be thrilled,” I answer for him, because I can already hear he’s gearing up for a no.

“Splendid,” she says, then gets up to return to her friends.

“Why’d you have to say that?” Eugene grouses.

“She changed the name of her club just to include you. It’s usually the Wise Women Group. Besides, you’re looking for connections, and I’m guessing they won’t kick you out for being a rigid…” I let my worlds trail off, because I can’t think of a kind word for prick.

“She did?” he asks, clearly perplexed by the idea. “But why?”

I gesture toward her. “Because she genuinely wants to include people, and better yet, she’s good at it. You could learn a lot from her.”

He heaves a sigh. “It sounds like I have a lot to learn in general.”

“Lucky for you, old dogs can learn new tricks.”

My phone buzzes, and I pick it up, smiling when I see Travis’s name.

Travis: Are you free for shopping?

Me: Yes, please. DYING to hear how it went with the donuts.

Travis: Poorly .

Me: You know how to leave a girl wanting more.

Travis: Very poorly.

Me: Meet me at the tea shop.

I set the phone down with a click and find Eugene staring at me.

“Who was that?” he asks.

I raise my eyebrows.

“I was just trying to take an interest,” he says, gazing into his empty teacup. “You told me I should take an interest in people.”

I didn’t mean me, but it would be hypocritical to say so. “It was my boss, technically.”

He gives me a look I can’t interpret. “And do you have a strong feeling of mutual respect?”

I find myself smiling at him. “What do you know, Eugene, I think we do.”

We eat the rest of our breakfast, and I manage to get a few salient facts out of him.

Eugene is sixty-seven. His birthday is on Flag Day, whenever that is. His ex-wife is an accountant, and his son is some kind of computer genius. His spirit animal is a hedgehog, and he has very strong opinions about cheese, which scheduling app is “superior,” and basically everything.

When we’re finished, the dark-haired server comes by to grab the dishes, and I tell Eugene, “It’s time for you to join the elder brigade. We’ll talk later about the kick-ass staff party we’re going to plan together.”

He adjusts the bridge of his glasses unnecessarily. “I’m not convinced a party’s necessary.”

“Oh, it’s necessary. Give me your phone.”

He shoots me a distrustful look.

“I’m just going to plug my number into it.”

He passes it over, and I save my number under THE OLD EUGENE before calling myself so I have his number too.

“Very funny,” he says when he sees it.

“I thought so. Now, come on. Be sociable. Consider it practice. I’m sure they’re having a perfectly normal conversation.”

He grumbles but stands up to join me. Of course, as we walk up to the table of four older ladies, one of them, whom I’ve nicknamed No-Nonsense Constance, says, “I told my granddaughter that I’d like to be cremated, and I want her and her boyfriend to sneak me into the Biltmore Estate and toss my ashes in the Italian Garden. ”

“Wouldn’t the fishes eat you?” asks Penny, Sophie’s aunt. She’s not religious, but she makes the sign of the cross on her chest. “I’d rather eat fish than be eaten by them.”

“I want them to eat me,” Constance says. “I’ve always loved the phrase sleeping with the fishes. I figure this is my big chance.”

Dottie catches sight of us. She gives us a luminous smile as she tugs over a chair, the feet screeching. “Join us, Eugene, please. We’re all eager to get to know you better. Right now, we’re discussing what we’d like our loved ones to do with our remains after death.”

Eugene gives me the pleading look of a man on the gallows. I could save him, but what better way to force him to practice his social skills than to push him into the middle of an impossible conversation with a few strangers?

“You’ll do great, Eugene. I’ll be in touch.”

He clears his throat. “Uh…ah…”

But then the door to the tea shop open, and Travis walks in.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms. There’s a smear of powdered sugar on his cheekbone, and he has the look of someone who just survived a battle…barely.

“Who’s that hot hunk of heaven?” asks the fourth woman, Ann, famed for her lip-reading abilities.

“He’s my boss.”

“Sign me up for your employment agency,” she adds with an appreciative look.

“Ann, you’ve got to stop taking all that ginseng,” Constance says with an eyeroll.

“Ginseng?” Eugene says as Travis reaches us, coming to a stop beside me. I can feel him there, his presence sturdy and unshakable. I have an insane urge to wrap my arm around him and soak up some of that energy, but I restrain myself.

Dottie pats Eugene’s hand. “It gives a wonderful kick start to the libido. I’ll be sure to make you a nice tea blend so you can prepare for meeting your lady.”

“Well, this has been fun and all,” I say, “but duty calls.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Ann asks.

Ginseng, Constance mouths to her.

“Of course.” I gesture to him. “This is Travis. He enjoys playing the drums, making rules and schedules, and…actually, I’m drawing a blank, Travis. Do you enjoy anything else? ”

He gives me a dark look, then says, “Walks on the beach and pina coladas, naturally. And glitter.” He turns to face the Wise Elders’ Club. “I’ve already met Penny, Dottie, and Eugene, but who are you lovely ladies?”

I smile at him, impressed by his hustle. Without thinking, I reach up and swipe away the sugar on his cheek. His skin is warm, and even though it should have been a lightning-quick maneuver, my finger lingers on his cheek until his gaze tracks to me, deep and searching.

“Are you smearing something on my face, Hannah?” he asks, deadpan.

“I was wiping something off your face. It’s these new nanny instincts. They’re impossible to turn off. Anyway, we should get going. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Ann quips, making it perfectly obvious what she means.

Eugene’s mustache twitches. “I have a lot to learn about the modern working world.”

“Goodbye, dears,” Dottie tells us. “Don’t worry about Eugene here. He’s in excellent hands.”

He shoots me a slightly panicked look, and I feel a bit like Travis probably did when he dropped Ollie off at school that first day.

“You’ll do great, Eugene,” I say. “I can tell you’re someone who has a comprehensive body disposal plan.”

Travis smiles at me, shaking his head slightly, and then we turn to head out of the tea shop.

I’m not sure whether I imagine it, or feel it just because I want to, but it feels like his big, callused hand is hovering just over my lower back as we leave.