Page 33 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

HANNAH

Babes of Brewing chat

Sophie: So I know you told us this was NEVER going to happen just two weeks ago, but let’s be honest, I knew it was going to happen. YOU probably knew it was going to happen. I think Briar did too.

Briar: Definitely. The lady doth protest too much.

Me: You’re focusing on the wrong thing. Did you somehow miss the part where he said sleeping with me was a huge mistake?

Me: And today he didn’t say a damn thing about any of it. He just told me to have fun, like he was some boring TV dad.

Me: And he had on a polo shirt for a freaking show.

Me: I’m grateful he didn’t pop the collar, but honestly…

Me: I don’t even know why I hooked up with him. He’s not at all my type.

Sophie: Do you want me to pretend I believe you?

Briar: Why are we texting? This is dumb.

Briar: Can someone pass the popcorn?

I pass Briar the bowl of popcorn, rolling my eyes.

We’re sitting on Travis’s couch—the very couch where he dry-humped me last night. Ollie and I are in the middle, with Briar to my left and Sophie to his right.

I should never have broken my vow to keep things platonic with him. But the pull between us was so hard to fight that even Travis, who’s way more self-controlled than I am, gave into it. If he couldn’t tight the riptide, how was I supposed to?

It had started at the toy store, when we’d nearly kissed over the piano, and then he’d been so sweet and gentle when he’d put Ollie to bed, only to come back and prowl the living room like a panther, his dark eyes undressing me.

I’d wanted him to do unspeakable things to me, and he had delivered . Truthfully, I’d fantasized about him taking me exactly that way while I was at their concerts.

I’d been entirely lost in the moment, especially because he’d seemed so lost in it too…

But then he’d said the thing about me being a hurricane.

I’ve been told I’m too much by nearly every man I’ve had the misfortune of getting tangled up with.

Most of the time I don’t care about the people who accuse me of that.

I figure they only think I’m too much because they’re too little—like Jonah, whose ego was so fragile, he had to have at least four women around at any given time to stroke it.

Or my first serious boyfriend, who said I was too “embarrassing” to introduce to his parents.

They were jerks, but it hadn’t mattered, because I’d known they were jerks.

We were using each other. I’d chosen them because I’d known they didn’t have the power to really hurt me. The most they could do was bruise.

But it had hurt like hell for Travis to treat me like that, because I respect him. Because I like him.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve started feeling close to him, like the two of us were teammates on Team Ollie. Co-matchmakers for retirees. But now…

I’m bitterly disappointed, even though I’d promised myself a long time ago that I was done getting disappointed by men. Because sex with Travis had felt like a kind of…awakening. It had made me realize how different it felt to be with a man I actually respected and cared about.

But that feeling was obviously one-sided.

Travis is at his afternoon show with the guys, and even though I still feel a lot of righteous anger toward him, I hope it goes well.

I texted Ships Ahoy Alice earlier, asking her to keep me apprised of how the performance is going, both to make her feel important and because I’m worried, and she sent me fifteen texts back in response, all of which boil down to: it’ll be her privilege and honor to keep an eye on him.

“Will you guys please stop it with the phones,” Ollie says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not fair that I’m not allowed to use one ever, and you use yours whenever you want.”

“Life isn’t fair,” I say darkly, waving my hand at the TV screen, where one of the teenage mutant ninja turtles is executing a sick takedown. “Imagine. They were normal little turtles before all that ooze turned them into mutants.”

“Isn’t it better that they’re mutants?” Ollie asks. “Now they fight crime and know cool fight moves. Real turtles don’t really do anything except eat lettuce and poop.”

“I’m sure they do other things.”

“No, I think he’s right,” Briar says, pausing her popcorn consumption. “I researched turtles before I got a cat. They’re a bit dull, honestly, unless it makes you feel relaxed to watch things happen very slowly. I guess that does it for some people.”

“So the ooze was good for them, Hannah,” Ollie insists. “Can we make some ooze after the show?”

“Only if we keep it away from the cushions. There are only so many ways that I can fail to clean them.”

“Are you talking about slime?” Sophie asks. “I know how to get that stuff out. You should have asked me.”

I sigh, feeling my foul mood at a soul-deep level.

Maybe I should go pick someone up at a bar so I can erase Travis from my mind, or at least have the satisfaction of knowing he’s no longer the last person I slept with.

But the thought of sleeping with someone else makes me feel like my stomach is coated with turtle ooze, which brings me back, in a vicious cycle, to being pissed at Travis. How dare he affect me like this…

“You’re frowning again,” Briar points out unhelpfully, then thrusts the bowl of popcorn at me. “Have some popcorn. It always makes me feel better. Popcorn goes through a pretty miraculous transformation to go from hard, gross little kernels to this majesty.”

Briar’s in a weird mood, but I don’t call her on it, because I’m in a weird mood myself.

I start to reach for the bowl, then nearly tip it over when my phone buzzes. Briar wraps her arm around it as if she’s protecting a baby.

“Here we go again,” Ollie murmurs, giving me a dark look, as I pick up the phone to check it .

“I have to look,” I say. “It may be your dad’s stalker.”

“Dad has a stalker?”

“Sort of,” I say. “I’ll let him explain.

” The thought of Travis’s discomfort gives me momentary satisfaction, but I don’t want Ollie to worry that there’s some weird man hiding in the bushes outside of the house, so I add, “But what you should know is that she’s not dangerous.

She’s more like a really desperate wannabe friend. ”

“Okay, whatever,” he says, less interested in this than he is in real turtles.

I glance at my phone and see a message not from Alice but from Eugene, asking if we can meet up to discuss the Big Catch party.

“It’s Eugene,” I announce happily.

My friends give me tolerant looks, because they’ve heard all about him and care less about interruptions to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles . Ollie ignores me.

I glance down at the screen again.

I remember the dearly beloved hedgehog Mrs. Applebaum lost and write back:

Why don’t we paint some pottery together to discuss everything? It’s supposed to be very relaxing. I think your number one goal should be to learn how to relax.

I’ll research some days and times.

Let’s go tomorrow.

Sunday seems like a good day for pottery. We can do it at noon, maybe. I’ll text you the location tomorrow morning.

He seems like a man who probably has a color-coded calendar, so I’m guessing this on-the-fly planning will drive him crazy—and possibly be good for him.

He responds more quickly than expected:

One of the Wise Elders has a granddaughter who runs a clay studio. Perhaps we can go there.

Oh, Eugene, all grown up and making friends with adorable older ladies.

I’m glad you joined their club.

Did you have fun discussing the dispersal of your remains?

They had some informative opinions. Did you know that human ashes can be pressed into a record?

No, and I could have gone without knowing that.

I had coffee with them this morning, too, and they had some interesting ideas for tactics I can try at Big Catch.

Oh?

I’m going to attempt some of them today.

Dottie offered to help facilitate.

I was thinking we could plan a staff party for December. That’ll give us enough time to make a thorough plan. I already started the spreadsheet.

A holiday party! Holiday parties are epic. We can discuss the details over pottery.

Oh, by the way, could your tech genius son figure out who made this post?

I send him the link Alice gave me the other day, and he responds with admirable speed:

I love assignments.

Nothing about that surprises me.

I’ll ask him immediately, but he’s traveling for work, and it’s possible he won’t respond in a timely manner.

Thank you, Eugene.

I hope to have an answer for you soon.

“Hannah,” Ollie groans. “You’ve missed everything.”

I glance up, and sure enough, the end credits are streaming.

“No, I didn’t,” I lie. “They fought someone, and then at the end everyone’s friends again, and they ate a pizza. Speaking of which…do you guys want pizza later?”

“Yes,” Briar says. “I’ve been stress-eating. My mom and dad are scouting locations for his new business. I don’t even know what it’s going to be anymore.”

“So you’re going to become Mrs. Silver Star very soon, “I say.

She sighs and sets the popcorn bowl down on the coffee table. “Seems likely, but he wasn’t kidding about Briar Boot Camp. I think he’s been watching too many game shows.”

“What’s he up to now?” I ask, drawn in.

“He challenged me to find out which of the staff members are talking about him. They’re all talking about him.

Even around me. I’m not about to tell him that, of course, so I panicked and told him the brewer praised his work ethic.

He knew it was a lie, though. Then he told me I had to remove all of the chairs from the break room because people were spending too much time in there.

He asked me to do it in the middle of the day, when everyone was watching, so now they’re probably talking about me.

” She heaves a sigh. “And he’s driving the brewer crazy about the tropical IPA.

Nothing satisfies him. And yesterday, he asked me to drive all around town to find twenty different tropical IPAs for him to taste test.”

Sophie cringes. “His tropical IPA obsession might be my fault.”

She’d famously tossed back some of his tropical IPA and then informed him that Buchanan Brewery’s was better. Briar’s dad is nothing if not competitive.

“At least the staff will be happy when you take over,” Sophie adds. “You’ll be an amazing boss.”

“We’ll see,” Briar says with another sigh. “I’m a little nervous about the transition. I couldn’t manage a single staff member with the jewelry business. How am I supposed to run a whole brewery?”

“Can we do something fun?” Ollie asks. “This isn’t really a kid conversation.”

I wrap him in a hug before releasing him. “More turtles?”

“Nah, how about we play with some of the toys you and Travis got yesterday?”

I laugh. “How’d you know about that, you little gremlin?”

“Travis isn’t nearly as good at hiding things as he thinks he is.”

I’m not so sure I agree with that. I looked and found nothing, but I guess I wasn’t very strategic about my snooping.

“Do you have painting supplies?” Sophie says. “What if we paint turtles?”

“Yeah!” Ollie says. “Maybe I’ll give mine to Mickey. Hannah thinks we won’t hate each other so much if we can talk about the mutant turtles. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I’m willing to try for the sake of peace.”

I ruffle his hair, feeling my heart expand, as if it’s growing around him. “That’s because you’re a good kid. A real A-plus child over here.”

My phone buzzes again.

“Hannah,” Ollie groans. “ Please don’t look at that. People can get addicted to their devices, you know. That’s what Travis told me. I don’t want you to have an addiction, Hannah. They’re really bad. You might have to go to a halfway house.”

I frown at him. “What have you been reading?”

“You’re the one who gave it to me.”

Oops. I found some middle-grade-looking books in the Little Free Library in my building and brought them over.

“I’m going to ungive it to you. Don’t worry about the phone, though. I’m not going to be glued to it. I just have to make sure it’s not the stalker.”

I check the screen and see that it is Alice.

The first thing she sent is a photo of the crowd at New Belgium Brewery gathered around the outdoor stage.

Right near the front, there’s a group of women of variable ages wearing sexy sailor dresses totally inadequate for the chilly November air, carrying signs that say Rip It, Baby Ships and I Ship Ships Junior .

It’s followed by a long text:

We didn’t do this, Hannah. I have no idea where these other fans came from, but they’re VERY disrespectful.

One of them just threw her unmentionables at Travis, and they got caught on his cymbal.

He had to remove them with a drumstick. We’ll try to encircle them to contain the problem, but I wanted you to know that we played no part in this disaster .

I’m still furious with Travis, but I care about him, and I know what this must be doing to him. They’re ripping him apart. Making him feel like that little kid again, lost and in need of control. A commodity to be packaged and used.

“Just a second, Ollie,” I say. “Your dad is a damsel in distress.”