Page 42 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HANNAH

“So the tension is pretty crisp with Travis right now. Not gonna lie, I’m starting to think we’re at the beginning of an epic love story. You know, like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.”

Eugene looks up from the hedgehog pencil holder he’s painting and regards me through his double-bar glasses. “They broke up. More than once.”

“Huh. That’s probably not a good sign.”

We’re at The Clay Place, Constance’s granddaughter’s art studio, situated in a big warehouse in the River Arts District.

The whole building belongs to this awesome art collective called The Waiting Place, filled with small studios that offer specialized classes and sell art.

It got washed out by a hurricane a while back, but they’ve rebuilt, and some remarkable artist painted a mural outside captioned, Stronger than the storm .

I wouldn’t willingly admit this to most people, but it makes me tear up every time I see it.

It’s an impressive space with all the studios lined up around a gorgeous atrium capped with a sunroof, complete with a coffee shop and café tables.

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me all of this anyway,” Eugene says. “It’s decidedly none of my business. ”

“This is what friends do, Eugene. They shoot the shit. Besides, I do have a point. You’re being impatient.”

He sighs and carefully dabs black eyes onto the little hedgehog pencil pot I badgered him into choosing. His painting skills are impeccable. The squirrel sculpture I’m painting for Ollie looks like microwaved roadkill.

“And the point?” he asks.

“You’re not the only one who’s had some workplace tension, my friend. There are no easy answers. But I have to be honest. Travis shared what you told everyone about Mrs. Applebottom?—”

“Applebaum.”

“Sorry, it’s hard to get that right. Anyway, he told me, but I’d already guessed.

I could tell how much you respected her.

In any event, if you’ve still got it bad for her after all this time, I think you should do something about it, you know?

She’s officially divorced, and you no longer work at the school, so the time is right to pursue something real. ”

He sighs and adds a dab of red, a surprisingly jaunty color, to the hedgehog’s collar. It seems pretty unrealistic for a hedgehog to have a collar, but art’s gotta art, I guess.

“I don’t know,” he says after a moment. “She must have several more appropriate men pursuing her.”

I stifle a laugh.

He glowers at me. “Moira is a lovely woman.”

“Sure, of course. But she’s no better than you. You’re Eugene Freaking Peebles. Spreadsheet. ”

He scowls at the nickname.

“Trust me, they only give nicknames to people they tolerate. You’ve moved up in their esteem.”

He shrugs. “Well, Moira didn’t get terminated for crashing a golf cart into a vending machine. That automatically makes her better than me. ”

“The teachers did seem salty about the broken Cheetos button, but no one’s perfect. I’m sure she has some kind of embarrassing incident buried in her past.

“Oh, I doubt that very much.”

He executes a little flourish with his paintbrush that makes me smile.

“Don’t put her up on a pedestal, Eugene. No one likes being on a pedestal. It makes for a pretty crappy fall.”

“Wouldn’t it be highly unusual for me to give her a call after all this time?”

“Okay, here’s our plan. Step one, give her the pencil cup.”

“Why?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted you to make this because the one you originally gave her broke. You’re making the replacement as a grand gesture.”

He glances down at it, his brow still furrowed. “I never gave her a pencil cup.”

Oh, shit.

“Well, she had one just like this, and she said another teacher gave it to her in the Secret Santa exchange, and you said?—”

He sets down his brush, looking panicked now. “It was the gym teacher, Mr. Rodney. He can bench-press sixty pounds.”

“That’s not as impressive as you seem to think it is.”

He takes off his glasses and starts wiping them manically on his shirt. “Of course. I don’t know why I never saw it before. She’s in love with Mr. Rodney.”

“Snap out of it, Eugene,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face. “The person who gave it to her is immaterial. She didn’t say she wanted to jump the guy or anything. What matters is that you’re giving her a new one.”

“She’ll think I’m a stalker.”

“I’ll explain that you and I are friends, and when you found out about the broken pencil pot, you insisted on personally replacing it. That’s the first step.”

“And the second?” he asks, giving me a hopeful look.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He sighs and forlornly applies some gray paint to his hedgehog. It’s still excellent, bless him, even now that he’s feeling deflated. I add some jagged white teeth to my squirrel’s mouth.

“Is that a vampire squirrel?” the purple-haired studio owner asks, walking past us with a grin.

“It is now.”

“Excellent.” She checks out Eugene’s work and nods. “Wow, that’s really good.”

Eugene huffs another sound of dissatisfaction as she walks away, joining her tattooed boyfriend at the front desk.

“Yes, Eugene? Was that sigh for me?”

He sighs again, pushing his glasses up. “I can’t imagine going into the brewery this afternoon after the display I put on. I’m tempted to call in sick.”

I feign shock. “Playing hooky? What have I done to you?”

“Moira would be disgusted with me,” he grumbles. “She would never play hooky.”

“Well, don’t worry,” I say. “We’re going together, after we go clothes shopping, and we’re going to announce our supercool holiday party. Everyone’s going to want to slap you on the back and buy you a drink.”

“No more drinks.”

“Have it your way, Spreadsheet.”

“Are my clothes inadequate?” he asks, glancing down the front of his checkered brown shirt.

“They’re fine. You should always wear what makes you comfortable. I just think we could explore a few different colors. We’ll go brown adjacent to make things easy on you. Some gray maybe. Dark green. We might get crazy and layer in dark red. ”

He runs his finger over his mustache.

“You like having that mustache?”

He touches it again. “My ex-wife told me I have a weak upper lip.”

“If you like it, we keep it. If you don’t, it’s coming off or getting trimmed. Screw what she thinks. I’m guessing you two broke up for a reason. How about the glasses?”

“I enjoy seeing, Hannah,” he says wryly. His cheeks flush as he adds, “And Moira told me she appreciates seeing men in glasses.”

“That’s a yes for some slutty little glasses. Let’s try out a few other frames, though. You should have a backup.”

He gives me an amused look. “You’re very unlike anyone else I know.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It is one,” he says, his expression turning serious. “Hannah. I owe you.”

“I like the sound of that, but you don’t owe me anything. We don’t even know that any of this will help.”

He surprises me by reaching out and touching my hand. “You’ve already helped, just by wanting to help. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, all you need to do is ask.”

Heat wells behind my eyes, catching me off guard.

My instinct is to make light of what he said to deflect the way it’s making me feel.

But I’ve done that for years, keeping the world at arm’s length by making everything a joke, and I think I’d like to be done with that.

No more bullshit for me, thank you very much.

So I just nod. “Thanks, Eugene. You’re all right. ”

His phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket while I paint a cape onto my squirrel, only realizing after the fact that I shouldn’t have used red paint. Now it really does look like roadkill. Vampire squirrel roadkill.

Movement in my peripheral vision draws my eye to the window—a couple of women are strolling down the hallway outside the studio, moving at a snail’s pace as they look from left to right.

The moment I get a clear look at them, I drop my red-dabbed paintbrush onto my dress, because I know them.

The woman closest to the window is Rachel, “childcare professional” who tried to screw up Travis’s life.

I recognize her from her profile pic. And the woman she’s walking with is none other than Karen, Travis’s ex-girlfriend.

I bristle at the sight of the two of them together. I’m guessing it’s no coincidence that Rachel knew all about Travis’s past. Are they in cahoots? Are they trying to tear him down?

“Uh, Eugene,” I say. “I think I’m ready for that favor.”

He looks up in surprise. “That was fast.”

“We need to spy on those women.” I nod toward the front window, where the two women have paused to chat.

I fully expect him to balk, especially since I’ve given him no reason for my interest in them, but he lifts a finger, makes one final dab on his piece of artistry, then says, “I think it would be better if I spied on them by myself, Hannah.” He waves at my bright hair and the purple sweaterdress I changed into after getting back from Travis and Ollie’s house.

“I can go through any crowd without being noticed.”

“They don’t know me.”

He smiles. “But they will notice you.”

“I don’t want to miss out,” I insist. “Let’s go together.”

He cleans up his station, and then we stop at the front to pay and turn in our masterpieces, which we’re told will be ready for pickup on Wednesday.

“We’ll pretend we’re power walking,” he says as we hurry after Rachel and Karen, who have resumed walking are now far ahead of us but still within view. “There’s a power walking club that meets here a few times a week, so they won’t be suspicious.”

“Were you in the club? ”

“I saw a flyer by the front door.”

I give him a teasing smile.

“It looked interesting,” he adds defensively.

“Of course it did.”

“You can pretend I’m your father.”

“How do you power walk?”

He starts moving his arms in a hilarious pantomime that cuts off as he gives me a sidelong look and says, “You need to do it too.”

Dammit.