Page 23 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TRAVIS

Hannah’s wearing a yellow-checked dress today, with a thick, fuzzy purple sweater instead of a coat. She was the brightest thing in the room at Tea of Fortune, which is saying something, because Dottie has never met a color she didn’t like.

The color alone didn’t do it, though. It was Hannah herself. She draws other people in without trying. To be with her for five minutes is to want to talk to her forever. To tell her things you haven’t told your oldest friends. To stare at her and soak her in.

She calls herself nosy, and she absolutely is, but I’m starting to realize it’s because she’s interested in everything.

She finds life exciting and full of possibility in a way that I only do when I’m playing the drums. And she makes me wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my life that way.

That’s crazy, obviously.

All of the reasons for us to stay away from each other haven’t changed over the last two days. Still, as we leave the tea shop, I feel my hand trying to settle on her lower back.

“We’re not going to Target or one of the other big-box stores,” she declares as we walk down the sidewalk toward where I parked.

“No?”

“Definitely not,” she says. “We’re going to a real toy store. There’s one off Tunnel Road that has Willy Wonka vibes.”

“You mean the fictional man who made chocolate? Sounds like a much better bet than a well-organized store with labeled aisles.”

“It looks fun.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “More stores should put on a show. You, of all people, should know the importance of showmanship. You have that T-shirt you wear to all of the shows.”

“They’re different T-shirts. I’m not some guy who never changes his jockstrap because he thinks it’s lucky.”

“But they’re all the same brand.” She pauses as we reach a street corner, waving to an older woman who waves back with a bright smile.

I’ll bet everyone she’s ever met remembers her, even if it’s just as the woman with all that bright red hair and that smile.

“I can tell,” she adds, glancing back at me.

I shrug. She’s right, and I’m kind of pleased she noticed. “I like keeping my street clothes and my performance clothes separate.”

“Shocking,” she says with a teasing smile.

“All right, Hannah.” I pull her back because she clearly intends to rush across the street so she won’t have to wait for the light to change.

“We’ll go to the Willy Wonka toy store. Have it your way.

” I’m pleased she cares this much, honestly.

I know it’s above and beyond the call of duty for her to come with me at all.

“Sooo, tell me what went wrong this morning,” she asks when the light finally changes and we cross the street to my car parked on the side of the road. “The donuts plan seemed solid.”

“It should have been,” I agree, walking around to the passenger side. I unlock the car with my key fob and open her door for her, and she gives me a grin that looks half teasing and half pleased. “Why, what a gentleman you are, Ships Junior.”

I roll my eyes as I circle around to the front of the car and then slide in behind the wheel. After I look up the store’s address on my phone, I drive us toward Tunnel Road and tell her the whole sorry story.

“The kids thought there was a real mouse?” she asks, clearly delighted.

“It’s not funny,” I say, although I can feel the corner of my mouth trying to hitch up.

“All the kids stampeded into the hallway like wild animals, and they were so hyped up on sugar it took a team of teachers twenty minutes to track them all down. And someone broke Mrs. Applebaum’s prized pencil holder.

A painted clay hedgehog. Someone who used to work at the school got it for her, apparently.

If she didn’t like us before, she’s definitely not our number one fan now.

Of course, that Mickey kid’s embarrassed too.

I mean, I think he might have wet his pants a little, and?—”

Gasping, Hannah claps her hand around my bicep in a burst of excitement, and I nearly plow into the Honda Civic in front of me. I give an apology wave; the driver gives me the finger.

“Hannah…” I dart a sharp look at her. “What the hell? I nearly hit that guy.”

“Sorry! Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that, but I had a good reason. I’m pretty sure I know who gave her that pencil holder. This is crazy!”

“And that’s a good reason for almost killing us?” I resume driving, white-knuckling the steering wheel, because my pulse is still elevated.

“It was Eugene ,” she says dramatically, pushing her seat belt down under her arm and fully turning in her seat to stare at me. Anxiety blasts through me. She shouldn’t be sitting like that. It’s not safe.

“Come on, Hannah, sit properly.”

She seems taken aback, but a second later she fixes the belt and scoffs, “Okay, Dad .”

I feel ridiculous for letting anxiety get the better of me, so I shrug. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

I force a laugh. “At least someone wants to call me dad.”

“I’m guessing there are plenty of people who’d be willing to call you daddy,” she says with a sidelong glance that lights me on fire. Just like it’s supposed to, no doubt.

I tighten my hands on the wheel. “You’re right. But there’s only one person I’d like to hear it from, and it’s not them or you.”

I resent her flirting, especially since I get the sense she talks to everyone this way.

Lilah used to speak in innuendos and compliments because she loved having every man she met wrapped around her finger.

It’s not calculated like that with Hannah.

I get the sense that she’s barely aware she’s doing it.

She flirts because she likes to flirt, not because she wants me.

While she may have kissed me back the other day, I was the one who started it.

I’d do well to remember that (on top of all the other reasons I need to stay away from her).

To quote my least favorite film franchise ever: Don’t let yourself get carried away by the tide.

It’s the only useful advice my father ever gave me, and he didn’t even come up with the words. Or say them to me.

“I’m sorry, Travis,” Hannah says softly, and I steal a quick glance at her before returning my gaze to the windshield. “That was a shitty thing for me to say. I know Ollie cares about you.”

“Thank you,” I say with a stiff nod, feeling flustered. “Now, go ahead and tell me your theory about Eugene. I know you’re probably dying to.”

She grins at me. “Eugene is the ex-principal of Lakeshore Elementary, and he already told me that he thought very highly of Mrs. Applebaum. And he told me that the hedgehog is his spirit animal. So I’m thinking he’s the one who gave her the pencil cup.

She treasured it, which means there’s a chance that she might have a thing for Eugene. Do you think it’s possible?”

I consider Eugene, with his thick glasses, mustache, and complete lack of interpersonal skills, then Mrs. Applebaum with her contemptuous looks and stern voice.

“No,” I say.

But Hannah’s face falls, and I don’t want to be the one to cast doubt on her pet theory. If she wants to think two disagreeable old people can secretly be in love, then who am I to take that fantasy away from her?

“Maybe,” I amend. “But if they’re into each other, what does that have to do with us?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she says as I turn onto the winding side street leading up a hill to the toy store. “We’re going to set them up.”

I laugh with genuine amusement as I turn into the parking lot and maneuver through it, searching for a spot close to the store.

“You’ll be flying solo for that one, Maverick,” I say as I park the car.

She’s out before I can even think about going around to open the door for her.

“No way,” she says. “This needs to be a joint effort, and I’m going to tell you why.”

“I’m listening.” I reach down to touch her arm without thinking, guiding her toward the store.

Her pretty lips curve into a smile. I force myself to look away, only for my gaze to fall on her freckles, dotted across the bridge of her nose with such precision it’s as if someone took a makeup pencil to her face.

“Do you draw them on?” I ask before I can regain sense and stop myself.

“Excuse me?”

“Your freckles,” I say. “It’s just…they’re perfectly spaced.”

She laughs. “No. But thank you, I think.”

“Oh, it was definitely a compliment. But go on. Tell me why I should want to help two disagreeable people fall in love.”

She beams at me, barely seeming to notice as we step through the automatic doors. I claim a shopping cart at the front, and she trails after me, saying, “If they fall madly in love, it’ll benefit both of us.”

“I look forward to hearing how,” I tell her, pushing the cart slowly past the first shelves, which are geared toward babies and toddlers.

Many of the displays are interactive, allowing kids and adults to test the wares, and there are a couple of toddlers playing with a toy xylophone.

The sound is overwhelming, but the sight of them connecting with music makes me smile.

“If Mrs. Applebottom—sorry, Applebaum—is getting some,” she says loudly, prompting the toddlers to glance up and their mothers to give us disapproving looks before nuzzling their kids close, “she’ll be way more chill in the classroom. That’ll benefit Ollie.”

I nod to the mothers and mouth sorry , before asking Hannah, “And what do you stand to gain?”

“The joy of being helpful. I’m going to help Ollie and Eugene.”

I stop pushing the cart and just look at her for a second, trying to get a handle on this woman who has taken over so much space in my brain and my life. “I understand why you’d want to help Ollie, but why Eugene? ”

“Because he’s the new me,” she says. “I don’t want him to terrorize the people I worked with. Or my brother.”

I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s also super pathetic. He made me feel bad for him.”

I don’t fully buy it, but I can tell she’s explained as much as she intends to.