Page 35 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

Toy Store Alice. I feel like I’ve been struck down with a sudden and possibly terminal case of chest congestion. Hannah’s pissed at me, deservedly, but she’s still taking care of me and my child. Of course she is. She likes to hide it, but she has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.

I’m a complete asshole. A waste of life. I feel like Ships Fucking Junior.

“You look pretty beat up about a few chicks in sailor dresses wanting you to sign their bras,” he observes, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s a long story.”

“Why don’t you come back to Big Catch with me, grab a drink before you go home? No offense, but you don’t look ready to face your kid.

He’s right. I’m not ready to face anyone.

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Thanks.”

I get behind the wheel, take a few deep breaths—inhale, hold for three seconds, exhale—then I follow his beat-up red truck to Big Catch, almost in a trance.

He leads me into the brewery, nodding to the hostess, who has a name tag that reads: I’m Rae, ask me about my crocheting! The “I’m” and “ask me about” are printed, her name and hobby handwritten in. Liam says, “We’ll sit in the kayak booth.”

“Sure.” She pauses, scratches her nose. “You’re supposed to wear one of these name tags too. Eugene came in with them a few hours ago, and he was really adamant about it.”

“I work in the back,” he says flatly.

“Everyone on staff.”

Liam groans but nods. “Fine, you have them?”

She grabs a sticker from under the hostess stand and hands it to him, along with a red Sharpie.

He writes in Liam and beer .

“Uh, it’s supposed to be a hobby other than beer,” she says, offering him another label.

This time he writes in Liam and hitting people .

“ Liam. ”

“What? The only other thing I do is box. It’s accurate. Eugene always says accuracy is important.”

She rolls her eyes and hands him a third label. “I don’t even know how to crochet. Write something socially acceptable.”

He sighs, and this time writes in Liam and boxing before sticking it to his shirt.

“Thanks, he’ll be really pleased,” she says, even though the look on Liam’s face says he doesn’t give much of a shit about pleasing most people, and particularly doesn’t give a shit about pleasing Eugene.

“Yup, I aim to please,” he says dryly, then leads me to a booth beneath a couple of kayaks mounted to the wall—hence the kayak booth, I guess.

“Take a seat,” he says. “I’ll bring you back something better than what they’re serving.”

“Yeah? Hannah gave me something you made the other night. It was really good…”

I trail off, filled with a sinking feeling. Thinking about Hannah fills me with fresh shame.

I need to figure out a way to make it right with her, without succumbing to the deep pit of need that’s opened up inside of me. I could give her a raise, but I already feel sleazy about sleeping with a woman who works for me. Paying her more after that would feel like adding insult to injury .

“Yeah, that was a good one,” Liam says, and it takes me a second to register that he was talking about the beer. “I’ll get you something else this time. Mix it up.”

He claps me on the shoulder and then disappears, leaving me to wonder if he’s actually going to poison me this time. Maybe he knows what happened with Hannah last night. Maybe he can tell all the things I did to his sister in the music room just from looking at me.

I drum my fingers against the table, feeling miserable in a way that I could only put into music. God, there has to be a way to fix things between Hannah and me. Right now, I’d even settle for just making them better.

I take a bracing breath, then pull out my phone to text her.

Thank you.

I’m so fucking sorry about last night.

I should have said so this morning, but I was ashamed and embarrassed.

Three dots appear, disappear, and then she writes:

Were you embarrassed about the polo shirt?

My fingers rise to trace the collar of my now-sweaty shirt.

What’s wrong with polo shirts?

Are you planning to go out for a jaunt on a horse with a mallet?

Maybe.

I don’t think I could feel like more of an ass, but I’m willing to try.

You seem to succeed without trying.

Hannah, I should never have said all of that last night.

I don’t know what I would have done without you.

Ollie would probably still be hiding sweet gum balls in my bed.

Yes, and you’re welcome.

I was trying to push you away last night because I thought it was the right thing to do.

You did a good job of it.

Say, is there a nanny HR department I should report you to?

Probably. Maybe you can just report me to one of those Ships Ahoy fan forums. That seems to be the best way to circulate information.

Where are you?

Liam asked me to have a drink at Big Catch.

Is he about to murder me?

Not on my behalf. So if you get murdered, we can blame your personality.

Odds aren’t good for my survival, but if I make it, I’ll be home in an hour or two.

We’ll be here. We’re having a paint-off in your living room without a drop cloth. Whoever gets the most acrylic paint on the floors wins.

Have fun ;- )

I’m about to write something else—hopefully something deep and meaningful—but Liam sets a beer in front of me.

“Talking to Hannah?” he asks as he gets settled into the booth with his own drink.

I itch to pocket my phone, as if Liam might develop X-ray vision and see our conversation, but I settle for setting it down on the table.

“Yeah. I let her know we’re here.”

He raises his eyebrows, leaning back in the seat across from me. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

“You mean with Hannah? I?—"

“No, I meant with those women at the show,” he says, frowning, and gestures to the kayaks on the wall. “Those people have as much of a hard-on for ships as the guy who started this place.”

I laugh and nearly choke on my sip of beer. “I figured Hannah told you all about my past.”

He holds my gaze for a moment before saying, “Hannah might seem like an open book, but she doesn’t share other people’s secrets.”

“So I’m discovering,” I say, feeling an ache of longing.

I don’t need to tell Liam about my dad. I get the feeling he won’t insist on it, but at this point, the secret isn’t much of one.

People will be talking. People will be posting .

My only hope is that Lilah’s still in the middle of her internet desert or that the local news is the only place this will end up.

After all, my dad is old news, and I shouldn’t be news at all.

So I tell him about Ships Junior. Meeting Alice in the toy store. The social media post.

“Well, damn,” Liam says, cracking his scarred knuckles. “Someone’s got a grudge against you. Who have you pissed off other than my sister?”

I laugh uncomfortably. “She said something about that, huh?”

“I’ve known her since she was born,” he says, giving me a look that informs me he could kill me without trying. “She didn’t need to say shit.”

“I think very highly of Hannah.” I immediately feel like an idiot.

It sounds like the kind of thing an HR professional would spout off, but I can’t exactly tell him how I really feel about her.

How I felt perfectly happy for the first time in years last night, only to screw it up.

Because there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I get to be perfectly happy—that I could have my son and a woman who cares about both of us.

A silence settles between us, not exactly comfortable, because I can feel him sizing me up.

Finally, he says, “You should know that Hannah asked me for two favors, to be granted at a time of her choosing.” He allows for a dramatic pause before finishing.

“She could have asked for anything, but she used one of them to send me over to New Belgium to get you. So it seems like she thinks very highly of you too.”

Fuck. Fuck.

I need to make this up to her somehow. I have to show her how much I value her, how much I care, even if I can’t show her the way I’d like.

“Thanks for telling me that,” I say with a tight nod.

“Needless to say, if you mess with my sister, she won’t have to use her remaining favor to get me to defend her. I’ll?—”

“You’ll use my balls as a boxing bag,” I say, gesturing to his name tag. Feeling the sweat beading again at my hairline. “Got it. I’d deserve it. Like I said?—”

“You think very highly of her,” he says with a smirk. “Yup, got it. So, do you have any enemies?”

There’s a rustling sound, and then Eugene turns the corner, coming into view holding a big aluminum pan filled with tiny cakes frosted with curlicues.

“Would you like to try a free sample?” he asks with a tight smile that shows too much teeth.

“I work here,” Liam says.

Eugene sets the container down on the table with a huff. “So what are you doing?—”

“ Eugene ,” says a calm, serene voice from behind him. Dottie Hendrickson appears behind him, giving him a supportive smile. “Go ahead and stroke your crystal. It’ll help you remember the buzzwords we talked about. Collaboration. Community. Connection .”

A sigh whistles out of Eugene like he’s a tea kettle full of boiling water, but he nods his head three times and reaches into his pocket, presumably to stroke his crystal. Then he gives Liam another rictus grin. “I see you’re wearing your name tag. Good job, Liam.”

“Where’s yours?” Liam asks, lifting his eyebrows.

Eugene looks startled, and he glances down at his own shirt as if expecting it to appear. “I’ll be right back,” he says, before turning and hustling away.

Liam shrugs and slides the box of cakes toward him, popping one into his mouth.

“Oh, a spicy one,” Dottie says with a smile.

He starts coughing immediately, and she pats him on the back soothingly, as if he’s Ollie’s age.

“How’s your dear boy doing?” she asks me.

“He’s having a bit of trouble at school.”

“Has he been placing those crystals around the house like we discussed?”

I glance at Liam, who’s now guzzling his beer.