Page 5 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

She stalks off but looks back at us before rounding the corner toward the front door. “I’m going to warn all of my nanny boards about you.”

Oh, fucking fantastic.

Then she leaves and slams the door loud enough to shake the house.

Ollie comes running out of his room, a huge grin on his face. “That was awesome, Travis.”

And, just like that, my kid gives me a high five.

It’s the first time he’s touched me on purpose since he got here. Emotion swells in my throat. He’s looking at me like he’s actually glad I’m his father.

It’s because I was rude to someone, but at least she deserved it.

“Why does she care about your father, though?” he asks. “Hasn’t he been dead forever?”

I laugh under my breath at his typical candor.

“No, not forever. He died just before you were born, though, so I guess for you it has been forever.”

“Did he have an accident?”

“No, he was sixty when my parents got married. Older, like your d?—”

Like your dad , I almost said.

The look on his face says he knows it, and my instant regret is so thick I nearly choke on it .

That man is not Ollie’s father in any way that matters. He abandoned him without a backward glance.

“He’s not my dad,” he says, his voice hard. “And neither are you.”

He turns back toward his room, and I want so badly to stop him. To tell him that I’m trying. That I want to be his dad, but I don’t know how yet…

“Ollie,” I call, my voice full of all those things I can’t seem to say. “I’m trying,” I manage.

“I know,” he says, pausing without turning around. “Thank you for letting Hannah come tonight and for being nice to me.”

I watch him disappear into his room. The warm moment between us is already slipping away, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

Hannah arrives in yoga pants and an oversized Asheville Tourists baseball T-shirt tied at the waist. She looks like she’s hungover from whatever alcoholic kombucha she was drinking last night.

Still hot, though, because she’s a redheaded spitfire with wild green eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

I’ve always liked freckles—like constellations on a face—but I don’t want to like her freckles.

Or her perfectly rounded ass, cupped by her yoga pants.

Or the sassy smile on her face that seems to challenge everyone around her to war.

She looks good, but I’ve seen her out enough times to know she likes clothes and makeup. Short, bright dresses and pants that hug her every curve. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she changed into this outfit specifically to send the message that she has no desire to impress me.

This is her way of saying she’s here for Ollie, and Ollie alone. It’s the complete opposite of what Rachel did, and it’s honestly a huge relief.

Unfortunately, it’s not having the intended effect. If anything, it’s making me more aware of having a sexy woman in my house, when it’s been so long since I had one in my bed.

“Hannah!” Ollie says, running up and wrapping his hands around her waist. Hugging her as if they’re long-lost pals. “Thank goodness you’re finally here.”

She laughs and hugs him before pulling back and whirling him around. “Look at you! I swear you grew half an inch since I last saw you. How’s school treating you?”

“It’s very boring,” he says. “They keep teaching us about things I already know, and the other kids don’t talk to me because Mickey told them I sleep in the sewers.”

“You didn’t tell me about that,” I say, stricken.

Ollie’s being bullied, and Mrs. Applebaum didn’t say anything? She sure as hell has been communicative about everything he’s supposedly doing wrong.

I’m having an ongoing conversation with both her and the school’s principal about what to do with Ollie. He’s in second grade, but the work is much too easy for him, and when he gets bored, he finds “unproductive” ways to entertain himself.

“I tried,” he says hotly, his arms still wrapped around Hannah. “He’s the one who thinks the Mutant Ninja Turtles are real.”

“He probably only said that to convince your teacher he thinks it’s a compliment to say you sleep in the sewers,” Hannah says, her eyes alight with fury.

“I think you should offer him the compliment of a nickname like Turtle Boy. Or better yet, we can get some turtle costumes from one of those Halloween stores and scare the?—”

“ Hannah . ”

She turns toward me, her expression a five-alarm fire. “You’re seriously telling me to let this go?”

“No.” I rub my temples, which suddenly ache. I’m tempted to ask why she cares so much, but Hannah seems to throw her entire being into any cause she decides she believes in. “I’m going to have another talk with his teacher.”

“They call people who tattle to teachers snitches,” Ollie says with a sigh.

“In second grade?” I ask in disbelief.

Damn. Our middle school students at The Missing Beat are like that, but I was expecting kids this young to be kinder, or maybe hoping they would be.

“I can get my brother Liam to walk into class with you a couple of times,” Hannah says. “He’s an amateur boxer, and I bet that little assh—jerk…”

“You already said the bad part of the word,” I mutter.

Ignoring me, she continues, “He won’t know what hit him.”

“What about me?” I ask. “Why don’t I just walk him in?”

Technically, I’m not supposed to. I drop him off in the auditorium, and the kids walk to class from there, but I have every intention of talking my way into it.

She gives me a weighing look, head to toe, her eyes blazing fire through me as she studies me and finds me inadequate.

“I mean, you’re tall and strong, sure,” she says. “And I’d be pretty intimidated if I were a twerpy little second grader who makes up lies, but Liam takes it to a whole different level.”

“Do you think he’d do it?” Ollie asks, buzzing with excitement at the thought of some other guy defending him.

Shit, I feel like I’m failing again.

“Of course he would,” Hannah says. “He’s desperate to get on my good side.” Her gaze falls on me, though. Lingers. And I feel her eyes shoveling past my barriers. Seeing what I wish she wouldn’t .

Turning back to Ollie, she says, “But, you know, your dad probably has a supercool plan for humbling this kid. You should give him a shot first. Travis can be very crafty when he wants to be.”

I’m grateful. I’m annoyed. I’m a little turned on by her, which is ridiculous. She’s been here for all of five minutes, and she’s already causing trouble.

And yet, Ollie is talking more than he has in weeks, and she just gave me an opening—and is now giving me the most obvious don’t mess it up eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I’d like that, Ollie,” I say. “Are you okay with letting me handle it?”

I expect him to say no. Or to point out that I haven’t handled any other aspect of parenting well, so why should this be any different? But he nods. “Okay. But shouldn’t you leave, Travis? It’s seven o’clock. Uncle Rob’s probably waiting for you.”

“His bedtime routine starts at eight o’clock,” I say, brushing my hair back, then promptly forward again when I remember Hannah’s here. “I left a few pages of instructions in the kitchen.”

“A few pages about how to get a kid to bed?” she asks, her eyes dancing. “I think Ollie and I can manage.” She thrusts a plastic bag with a goat printed on the side at me. “Will you give this to my brother?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Now, go bang it out. We’ll be waiting for you.”

This woman’s going to kill me.