Page 7 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

TRAVIS

Text conversation with Hannah

If he won’t sleep, he can have some chamomile tea.

Oh, he’s fine. I let him smoke a joint, and he was out like a light.

I know you’re joking. But can you just confirm for my anxiety that you’re joking?

Oh, Travis. You’re the wind beneath my wings.

Two minutes later…

Fine. Confirming: it was indeed a joke. He got out of bed, so I made him some hot chocolate, and he read that boring science book until he conked out for real.

“That was banging,” says Bixby, the bassist in our band, as we pack up our equipment .

I roll my eyes. “You sound like one of our kids at The Missing Beat.”

“He is a child,” Rob teases, ruffling Bixby’s hair, then making a face as he pulls his hand away because we’re all covered in sweat. Bixby’s the youngest of us, at twenty-nine.

“Yes, the couple of years of experience you have on me made all the difference,” Bixby says. “But come on, it was banging. One of our best sets in a while.” He waggles his brows at Rob. “You know it, front man. You don’t get panties thrown at you on just any old night.”

Rob snorts. “Maybe she was throwing them at you, but she had bad aim.”

He’s making jokes, but I can tell from the zen look on his face that he feels it too.

Bixby’s right. We were perfectly in sync tonight— all for one and one for all , the way Rob and I tell the kids at The Missing Beat to play when they’re having trouble meshing.

It’s been a while since we’ve sounded so good.

Small wonder, since I’ve been more present tonight than I’ve been over the last several weeks. Even though I’m desperately worried about what Ollie and Hannah might be getting up to, I know he must at least be happy.

It makes a difference, surprisingly.

“It was a good set,” I agree, “but something feels a bit off about this place tonight, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, here we go,” Bix says, already laughing. “Travis and his endless vibe checks.”

“Yeah, but he’s usually right,” Rob says, nodding to me before glancing around, his eyes unsurprisingly settling on Sophie, who’s standing with Briar.

Bixby huffs a laugh. “Yup, he’s really good at reading a room. That’s why he keeps getting back together with Karen, when everyone who’s met them knows the violin music started playing on their personal Titanic years ago. ”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “That’s over for good this time.”

He shakes his head. “Is that why she comes to all of our shows? Hell, she was here up until fifteen minutes ago. That woman’s like a dandelion. Give her a bit of sun and water, and she keeps popping up.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Rob says, rubbing the penny he wears around his neck—something to do with an in-joke he has with Sophie.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “She just likes the music. I haven’t even talked to her for weeks. Maybe months.”

I scan the area, trying to put my finger on what I’m sensing….

Big Catch Brewing is one of the best-looking breweries in town, slick and shiny and devoted to its fishing theme down to the nautical décor.

You won’t find a lot of people willing to say so, though, because the owner sold out to Bev Corp, one of the big beverage conglomerates, which pissed off locals.

We’ve played here a few times before, including back when Hannah was the second-shift floor manager.

It’s funny to think about that now. I’d seen her, noticed her, but we’d never had a casual conversation.

She’d existed on the periphery of my life, not unlike the black-haired woman staring slack-jawed at her cell phone in the background of one of my beach photos—a forever mystery.

Then Rob got with Sophie, and suddenly the loud, outspoken floor manager at Big Catch became loud, outspoken Hannah.

Wait…

That’s what’s different. Hannah’s not here, and the whole vibe of the place has shifted. Before, Big Catch had the friendliest staff of any of the breweries in town. Now, most of the staff seem exhausted and annoyed.

“It’s the staff,” I muse. “They’re…”

“Are you done up here yet?” asks a sullen-faced man with a knit beanie pulled all the way down to his eyebrows. He’s wearing the Big Catch uniform but not the old Big Catch smile.

“Uh, almost, man,” I say, nodding to my kit, which I’ve already packed up.

He glances at his watch pointedly, then sighs. “I’ll have Liam come out and help you move your stuff.”

I’m not sure what the big hurry is, given that we were the last act tonight and they don’t close for another hour, but I’m too caught on his last sentence to say so.

“You mean Hannah’s brother?”

He was already walking away, but he pauses. “You know Hannah?”

I gesture to Sophie and Briar, who’ve just walked up to the stage to join us. “Yeah…so do they. Hannah’s babysitting for my son tonight.”

His glower deepens. “We all thought she’d be here until she texted Liam earlier.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely not passing the famous Travis Thomas vibe check,” Bixby says, sounding amused.

The guy looks at Bixby, shakes his head ruefully, and says, “Sorry, it’s been a long month. It’s just…anyway, I’ll get Liam.” And he takes off as if herding dogs are nipping at his heels.

“They all miss her,” Sophie says, watching him as he disappears into the back. “Of course they do. I’ll bet they replaced her with someone truly repellent.”

“And I missed you ,” Rob says as he pulls her close.

Briar crosses her arms, looking a little uncomfortable.

“I’ll hug you if you want,” Bixby tells her with a grin. He has at least half a thing for her. She isn’t the slightest bit interested in him, but I’m not worried about his feelings. He has half a thing for every woman he comes across .

“No, thank you,” she says. “But if you’d like me to help move your stuff, I can carry up to a hundred pounds.”

He whistles and hands her a case that weighs twenty, max.

“Let’s get ’em out to Travis’s truck, Rapunzel,” he says, tugging gently on a lock of her long blonde hair.

“I want to help too,” Sophie says, pulling away from Rob.

He gives her his guitar with a grin, which, for him, is like entrusting another person with his child.

Ollie.

I’m about to tug out my phone to text Hannah again, when her brother comes lumbering over with Beanie Guy.

I’m six-one, but Liam’s got at least four inches on me, and he’s broad, with reddish-brown hair and a short beard.

There’s a bruise on his cheekbone, and I’d hate to find myself on the wrong side of the man big enough to have given it to him.

I consider what Hannah said earlier, and I have to admit she has a point. It would make more of a statement for Ollie to walk into school with this guy than with me. But I’m grateful she reversed course and gave me the chance to make a stand for my son.

“You need help getting your stuff out?” Liam asks.

Not really, but I nod. I need to give him the bag she gave me earlier, for one thing, and I’m also curious about Hannah. Maybe he’ll give me some insight. “Sure, thanks, man.”

My kit is already packed into cases, and we both grab a load and start maneuvering through the crowded room, crossing paths with Rob as he heads back in from packing up his load. My buddy reaches out for a fist bump, and I oblige.

Moments later, Liam and I are out in the cool night air. I didn’t put on my coat before stepping out, but I don’t miss it. The mountain breeze feels good after the performance.

“Hannah mentioned she’s watching your son?” he asks, glancing at me .

“Yeah.” I smile. “She’s really good with him.”

As soon as I say the words, I feel a strange yearning bloom in my chest. I want to be good with Ollie. To be easy with him. But from the beginning, nothing between us has been easy. Maybe it never can be, given the way we began—a thought that’s depressing as hell.

“She has a way about her,” he says enigmatically as I pause next to my truck and unlock it.

“She certainly does.”

We stow the cases inside, working companionably enough, but there’s a reserve about him that seems at odds with Hannah’s uninhibitedness.

Before he can turn back toward the brewery, I say, “So what’s going on here? Why does everyone look so pissed off?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, Hannah has a way about her. The new second-shift floor manager has a different way.” His mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “We’re supposed to have the stage cleared within five minutes of an act ending.”

“Five minutes? Does Hannah know about this?”

Another shrug, this one weary. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Seriously? I’m surprised she didn’t ask you for this guy’s social security number and cell phone history.”

His laughter has an edge of bitterness. “Usually she would. She’s not too happy with me right now.”

I nod in sympathy. “Actually, she asked me to give you something.”

I unlock the cab and pull out the bag with the goat on it, handing it to him.

He opens it and laughs. “That’s Hannah for you.”

“Oh?”

“A goat headbutted me when I was six. I’ve hated them ever since. Her little way of reminding me. ”

I have to laugh.

That is Hannah for you. I haven’t known her long, but there’s no denying she has a unique sense of humor and justice. It’s the kind of gift that tells him she still thinks he’s a shithead, but she’s thinking of him all the same.

We head inside together, but I only make it a few steps, because Rob’s waiting for me by the door.

“There’s a guy sitting in the back booth who wants to talk to us,” he says, acting a bit jittery, the way he gets after too many cups of coffee. “Travis, he’s a producer who caught our set. Frank Jacobs. He came all the way from Nashville to listen to us.”

It feels like he just poured a bucket of ice down my back.

Producer. Nashville. Us.

This was what Rob wanted, years ago. Before we met, he’d had an up-close-and-personal brush with fame.

The band he’d formed with his high school buddy, Bad Magic, went platinum…

after Rob had been forced to drop out because his asshole little brother broke his hand right before the band went on tour.

He’d seen his friends and former bandmates achieve all of his wildest dreams, knowing he would have been with them if just one thing had gone differently for him. So I understand why he’s still hungry for it.

My throat constricts, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. But I take a slow, deep breath, let it out.

“That’s awesome, man,” I say, almost sounding like I mean it. “Just let me finish up. We’re supposed to have the stage cleared five minutes after we play, apparently. New rule. I’m not going to risk them throwing the rest of my kit away.”

“Who made up that dumbass rule?” Rob scoffs.

“I did,” says a gruff voice.

I shift to look at the speaker—and find a wizened man in a Big Catch T-shirt and corduroy pants. He has a full head of hair the color of tarnished silver, a bushy mustache the same color, and rheumy light-blue eyes behind enormous double-bridge wire glasses.

“ You’re the new Hannah?” I ask in disbelief.

No offense to this guy, but going from him to Hannah is like swapping crisp french fries for a shriveled, uncooked potato.

I have no idea what the hiring managers were thinking.

He’s got to be in his late sixties, past the normal age of retirement, while the majority of the people who work here are in their early to mid-twenties.

He sniffs. “I’m Eugene. I was brought in to restore order. You have no idea what it was like before I came on board. People fornicating in canoes, outrageous parties, and bands leaving their kits out overnight .”

“Sounds fun,” Bixby says as he breezes past us and heads out the door. Liam’s with him, and they’re both weighed down with cases.

“Hardly,” the old guy scoffs, then rubs his chin. “Still…I suppose she had a way of connecting with all of these hooligans.” He hesitates, playing with the end of his mustache like a cartoon villain. “Actually…I’ve been thinking of reaching out to her. Having an official handing over of the torch.”

“Yeah, I bet she’d like that,” I say, knowing this guy would entertain her. Another thing I know from observing Hannah is that she likes a good story. “You want her number?”