Page 8 of Worst Nanny Ever (Babes of Brewing #2)

CHAPTER SIX

HANNAH

I feel someone pulling a blanket over me.

“Liam?” I ask, still mostly asleep.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice says, and I open my bleary eyes to see Travis leaning over me, his hair brushed back enough to reveal his strawberry birthmark. He probably hates it, but I’m fascinated by it. It’s his special beauty—everyone has one, if you ask me.

“Jesus, how late is it?” I ask, sitting up, the blanket pooling around my lap.

“I’m sorry.” He sits beside me, not close enough that our thighs are touching, but enough that I feel the whisper of him. “It’s two. There was…it was an interesting night. We went somewhere else for a little while after the brewery closed.”

His vague explanation suggests I’ll be getting information from Sophie and Briar about it, not him. So noted.

I turn to get a better look at him. He’s wide awake, his eyes full of worry or maybe excitement.

“An expensive night for you,” I point out. “If you intend to bankroll my nap. ”

He laughs, a low, husky sound that my mind stores away. “A deal’s a deal. I already Venmoed you. Did it go okay?”

Ah, worry, then.

He scans the room, searching for disaster, and I make a point of not looking in the direction of the stained chair.

“Like I said over our many text messages…it went great. He’s a good kid.” I pause. “Why don’t you ever take him to your shows? Sophie, Briar, and I would be happy to look after him.”

He gives me an incredulous look. “They’re all at bars or breweries.”

“As if other people don’t bring their children to breweries.”

He shrugs. “But the music’s for adults. The lyrics…”

“You’re worried he’ll realize ‘Hot Honey’ is about Rob going down on Sophie? I doubt it. He may be too smart for his own good, but he’s still seven.”

He gives me a wry smile and leans back into the sofa. “I’m not comfortable with it. Some woman threw her panties at Rob tonight.”

“Dammit,” I say, instantly bristling. “I wasn’t there to defend Sophie’s territory.”

“What if Sophie was the one who threw them?” he asks, his smile widening.

“Come on. We both know she wasn’t.”

“It’s okay,” he promises. “Rob threw them back and said there was only one person whose panties interested him.”

“Did Sophie go bright red?”

“Yeah, and so did Briar.”

I pucker my lips, wishing I’d been there to see it.

At the same time, I don’t regret having been here instead.

Besides, I have mixed feelings about returning to Big Catch.

I worked there for years, and going back as a visitor would feel bizarre, like seeing a dude you dated for months out on a first date with someone else.

Granted, I know my ex, Jonah the Super Tool, went out with Sophie, Briar, me, and the elusive Nora Leigh aka GingerBeerBabe at the same time, but I didn’t see it go down.

I also never cared about Jonah the way I care about Big Catch.

I’d felt no sense of ownership toward him.

He’d claimed to be single. I was always more or less single, and I’d figured we might as well have some fun.

I know it was different for Briar, who genuinely cared about him, and of course for Sophie, who was engaged to him.

But I do care about Big Catch. It was never mine, but for a long time it had felt like mine. Even the way it smelled, like malt and hops, had reminded me of my childhood home. Because Liam and my dad had brewed beer together for years, starting when Liam was at least ten years too young to drink.

All of the over-the-top nautical touches are super dumb, given we live in the mountains, but also really dear to me—like Christmas displays in July.

I loved leading the second shift team. Figuring out which of the employees loved each other, which of them hated each other, and which of them wanted to bone. Helping them. Holding their hands as they figured out what they wanted to do for a living. What their passions were.

So, no, I don’t really want to watch anyone trying on my old job for size, whether they like the fit or not. I have a feeling it would piss me off and make me want to defend my territory, even though I left willingly.

Travis studies me, then says, “You’re dying to ask what it was like there, aren’t you?”

“No,” I say tightly. “If I’d cared, I would have gone. I had way more fun here.”

He gives me a knowing look. “Okay, but I’m going to tell you what you supposedly don’t want to know. The new evening floor manager sucks, and everyone misses you.”

I search his face for lies and see none, but I can tell he’s holding something back. “I had my doubts, but you do know how to improve a woman’s day,” I say. “Still, I think Ollie would like to feel included. You should bring him to one of the daytime shows.”

He leans a little closer, maybe only half an inch, but I feel the distance between us shrinking. “My parents brought me to things I shouldn’t have gone to when I was a kid, and I don’t want to subject Ollie to that. Kids should be allowed to be kids.”

I’m reminded of what Ollie said about Travis’s mysterious parentage, and my natural curiosity kicks in. “Like what kinds of things?”

His lips quirk up at the corners. “You’re imagining live sex shows or coke dens, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to get a mental picture.”

“Fashion shows. Concerts. Red carpet events.”

“Sounds terrible ,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest in mock outrage. “You poor dear.”

“It was terrible. My mother treated me like a purse dog. My suits always matched her outfits. The kids at school eviscerated me.”

“Ouch. Okay, maybe I can share in your outrage over that. But Ollie wants to feel like he’s part of something. What about your after-school program? I bet those kids would go crazy for Ollie.”

He messes with his hair, covering the birthmark again. “I’d worry about not being able to keep an eye on him. Thinking about it makes me anxious. Maybe once I have a steady nanny.”

I tell him quickly about Nanny Rose and my idea about introducing Ollie to the little old ladies from the tea shop.

By the time I finish, he’s shaking his head.

“No?” I ask incredulously. “This is a slam dunk, Travis. You just don’t want to admit I’m brilliant. ”

“That’s not it. You’re right. It’s just…I should have thought about that. I didn’t even ask follow-up questions about his old nanny. I’m so bad at this.”

There’s something earnest and sad in his eyes, and I think about that marked-up book sitting on his bedside table. A surge of affection has me reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“You care about him. You’re trying . That means more than you think.”

“Oh shit,” he says, giving me a slow smile that’s frankly a bit devastating, “you’re being nice to me. I must seem more pathetic than I thought.”

I pat his hand, and he turns it around to clasp mine for a brief squeeze. The gentleness of his touch shocks me. This is a man who can slam those drums. I know. I’ve watched. I’ve noticed every flexing muscle.

I clear my throat and pull away. “You do. Very pathetic. How dare you make me be nice.”

His eyes, dark and bottomless, are still holding mine, and I’m newly aware of how close he is, of his body inches from mine.

He’s dressed in the clothes he wears for concerts—a black T-shirt and jeans, distinct from the preppier look he goes for otherwise—and I’ll bet he’s still salty with sweat from playing…

I clear my throat. “Speaking about nannies…there’s no sugarcoating this, so I’m going to come out and say it. Ollie wants me to be his nanny.”

He gives me a look he’d probably describe as droll. “Do you honestly think I haven’t heard about this every day since you were here last month?”

I snort-laugh. “He’s good for a girl’s ego, too.”

“Not so great for mine. But he gave me a high five earlier, so maybe all hope’s not lost.” He pauses, studying me, his gaze digging deep again. “Do you want to be a nanny, Hannah?”

“Honestly, no. ”

“Would you prefer to return to Big Catch? I get the sense they’d carry off a full-on rebellion to get you back.”

I smile, imagining my former colleagues holding pitchforks. “No, not right now, anyway.” I hesitate. “I care about Ollie. Would you let me take him places? I’m not much for sticking around in someone’s musty old living room for hours on end?—”

“You know it’s not musty.”

I lift my eyebrows. “But it is boring. Honestly, would it kill you to get a PlayStation?”

“You’re only supposed to let kids use screens for an hour or less a day.”

“Oh, please, I must have watched thousands of movies when I was his age.”

He casts a wry glance at me that’s totally asking for the shove I give him.

He laughs, then gives the room a thorough once-over as if taking it in with new eyes. “Look, I know. His room is a blank slate too. But he won’t go shopping with me. He insists he isn’t going to be here long enough for it to matter.”

“But he will be, won’t he?” I ask, all humor slipping away.

He nods slowly, watching me. Probably waiting for me to ask the dozens of questions dancing in my head. After a moment, he says, “I think so. I hope so. But I can’t tell him that yet.”

I nod. “I get it. But kids shouldn’t sit around twiddling their thumbs. You ask me, that’s why he’s getting into mischief. He’s smart, and he’s probably super bored. Which is why I like the idea of taking him places. Look how we circled back around to that.”

He sighs and rubs his temples. “I like knowing where he is.”

“So put that find-my-friends thing on his phone.”

“Hannah,” he says. “He’s seven years old. He doesn’t have a phone. ”