Page 6 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

HANNAH

“I think there’s something weird about Travis’s father,” Ollie says.

It’s getting late, and we’re in his bedroom. He’s been reading a painfully boring book about earth science in bed while I sit beside him, being companionable and texting Sophie and Briar about the band’s performance.

“Oh?” I say, glancing up from my phone.

“Yeah.” Ollie sets the book down as he warms to the subject.

“He was really old when Travis was born, and he’s been dead forever.

I think he must have been famous or something, because this woman came here earlier to interview to be my nanny, and she acted like she was going to kiss Travis.

You know… adult -kiss him. And Travis asked if she knew who his father was.

So he must have been someone important, right? ”

“Huh, did you ask him?” I say, setting the phone aside and trying to remind myself that I should not get gossip from a child. Definitely not.

“I did, but he didn’t really answer me. We’re basically strangers.

I guess I have a new aunt and a grandmother, too, but they’re definitely strangers.

We’re going to meet them at Christmas, but I’m not sure how much I’m going to like them.

His mom has a scary stretched-out face, plus she sent me a bunch of picture books that are for toddlers. ” He sighs. “Travis doesn’t like me.”

“Totally not true,” I say, feeling an ache for him. He’s so little, tucked into his bed. “I can tell he’s crazy about you.”

“I drive him crazy, that’s for sure,” he says with a huff.

“Yeah, but I think Travis only gets himself wound up about people he cares about. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother, you know? Has he brought you to any of his band performances?”

“No,” he scoffs, “and he won’t. Travis says it’s for adults.”

“What about to his after-school program?”

He sticks out his lip. “They’re all middle schoolers. I’m too young to go. But Mrs. Applebaum says I practically read at a middle-school level.”

“Did you tell him you want to go?”

“I told him it was dumb that he wouldn’t let me.”

Men. The failure of communication starts early. “Would you like me to talk to him for you?”

“Would you?” he asks, his little face transformed by happiness, and I feel my heart swelling.

I hold out my fist for a bump, and he reciprocates. “Consider it done, little man. Are you good to go to bed?”

We completely ignored Travis’s two pages of instructions.

Okay, I’ll be honest. We didn’t just ignore them; we made them into paper airplanes and had a competition with them.

Ollie’s was way more aerodynamic, and it surprised neither of us when he won by a long shot.

We also made a supersized batch of slime and got it all over the armchair.

I turned the cushion over, and we threw away the evidence.

“Yeah, but Hannah?”

He pauses, giving me the kind of look that makes people donate fortunes to sad dog-rescue charities. “Would you be my nanny? I know you’re not really a nanny, but you’re my only friend. Uncle Rob’s nice, but he’s Travis’s friend, not mine. Sophie, too. I want someone who’s mine.”

Well, stick a javelin in my heart and call me a kebab.

“Your dad hasn’t asked me about that,” I say, feeling a bit like a jerk for saying it, even though it’s technically true. Travis is obviously struggling to make inroads with Ollie, and it won’t help if Ollie sees him as the only obstacle to his goal.

“He’s going to ask,” Ollie replies. “I think he’s desperate.

He doesn’t know what to do with me.” He’s quiet for a second.

“Travis thinks I miss my mom, and I guess I kind of do, but the person I really miss is my nanny. Nanny Rose is the only one who cared about me. My mom doesn’t even like it when I call her Mom. ”

“Do you think your old nanny would move to Asheville?” I ask, temporarily excited by the idea.

He shakes his head. “She writes me letters, and she says she’ll come visit sometime, but she just had her first great-grandchild. Can you imagine? She’s in her seventies. Maybe eighty. I think her traveling days may be done.”

Inspiration strikes, and I feel like a genius.

Sophie’s next-door neighbor is this gorgeous woman in her eighties who runs a tea shop, and she’s in a club with three other delightful elderly women.

They’ll fawn all over Ollie and make him feel loved, no question.

“I have some friends you’d love. We’re gonna get with them, pinky promise. ”

I extend my pinky, and he hooks it with his, shaking.

“But what about you being my nanny?” he asks, so hopeful it hurts.

I hadn’t intended to tie myself down. This time was supposed to be about figuring out what I’d like to do with my life, about detaching my tether from my brother and having fun— accepting weird jobs and unexpected opportunities. But the way he’s looking at me…

“I’m not saying no, and I’m not saying yes,” I tell him. “We both know I’m not a real nanny like Nanny Rose. I’ll bet she had one of those magic bags that always held the right amount of snacks and sunscreen and water, and she probably made color-coded schedules and did laundry and stuff, right?”

He nods.

“I’m not like that. I enter rooms and forget why I went in, and I’m pretty sure your dad would have a heart attack if he ever saw my apartment. It definitely doesn’t look like this place.”

“This place is boring,” he says, puffing his lips out.

“I totally get why you’d feel that way, but hey, your dad’s a drummer. That’s pretty cool. Don’t you like listening to him play?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says bitterly. “I’ve only heard recordings of his band. It’s like I told you. He won’t let me go to any of their shows.”

It’s hard to keep silent. Because, honestly. Travis is trying so hard to connect with Ollie, but he can’t see the obvious solution sitting right in front of him.

What better way to connect with his son than through something he loves?

“I’m sure he has his reasons.”

He pauses. “I don’t want to talk about Travis right now. We were talking about you becoming my nanny.”

“To be perfectly honest with you, I’d be an awful nanny.”

“I don’t care,” he replies, and the stubborn set of his jaw reminds me sweetly of Travis.

“Okay, but your dad might.” I lift my hands to cut off the protest I know is coming. “And he’d have every right to. I think I ruined that chair, and I’ve only been here for a couple of hours.”

“I’ll get the stain out,” he says. “It’s simple chemistry. ”

“But you shouldn’t have to clean up after your nanny, Ollie. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

He gives me a long, serious look. “Parents aren’t supposed to leave either. A lot of bad stuff happens. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s supposed to or not.”

There he goes again with those heart javelins.

“No, parents aren’t supposed to do that. But we’re like the heroes in fairy tales, aren’t we? They all had crappy moms or stepmoms. So let’s just say we’re super-duper, extra special. I’ll talk to your dad about all of this, though. I promise.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” He flings his little arms around my neck and hugs me, and I’m shocked by the burning in my eyes.

It’s just…

The man and woman who abandoned this child deserve a special place in hell. I truly hope they have to spend an eternity listening to a dry British narrator read a thousand-page manual about steam cleaning carpets. No, that’s not enough. They should have their eyelids peeled back and be forced to?—

“Hannah?” Ollie asks.

“Yes?”

“You can go now. I’m feeling pretty sleepy.”

I tuck him into his bed, then hand over the big stuffed sloth next to it. Something super suspicious happens to my heart when he wraps his little arms around the sloth and snuggles into the blankets, his tiny body barely a blip under the covers.

“Sleep well, little man,” I whisper.

I head into the living room, feeling restless, driven by the same curiosity that’s steered me into half of the bad decisions I’ve made.

Except this curiosity runs a little deeper, with a metaphorical current I feel pulling at my toes.

It’s because Travis is so closed-off, I decide. A mystery of a man.

I check out his music room.

I look inside his refrigerator, taking in the shocking and kind of sexy orderliness.

I tiptoe into his bedroom, feeling less guilty than I should, and look around. There’s nothing much in here other than a big, king-sized bed with a black satin comforter.

It’s easy to imagine Travis pulling off his shirt and falling into that bed, the covers draping over him.

There are a few framed album covers on the wall, a couple of floofy throw pillows that suggest he had a girlfriend at some point, but there’s a conspicuous lack of family photos.

I run my fingers over the books on his nightstand, feeling a tug on my heart when I see a well-thumbed copy of The Single Dad’s Handbook . I pick it up and flip through it, smiling when I see that he’s written notes in the margins.

“Hannah?” a little voice says.

I glance back and find Ollie standing in the doorway, his hair sleep mussed.

“What are you doing?” he asks, yawning. He says it with such perfect innocence, I feel a lurch in my heart. A need to protect him.

I lift up the book, showing it to him. “Learning how to be a single dad.” I don’t want to lie to him, and it’s a better explanation than saying I was nosy about his mystery-wrapped-in-an-enigma father, who plays the drums with complete abandon but is so set in his ways.

“Can you teach Travis?” he asks, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

I laugh and set the book down, then join him in the doorway, resting my hand on his little head. “If he can teach me how to be a nanny, we’ll call it an even trade.”