Page 1 of Bad Nanny

Chapter 1

My Life is a Toaster Fire

Josie

I willedmyself not to freak out.Deep breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Who was I kidding?

Right there, in the middle of my dad’s kitchen while still in my pajamas, I did the running man, the cabbage patch, and threw in a few butterflies for good measure. I’d hit a quarter of a million subscribers, and the views were still pouring in from the video I’d posted last night. It had been so crazy that I’d only slept a few hours because I was excessively watching the comments section and my numbers grow.

Sarah Swoon and her trusty sidekicks, Patricia Pearl and Eggplant Earl, were set to take the world by storm. I was both excited and terrified, but what really scared me was the shrill wail of the smoke alarm.

I fumbled my phone, nearly dropping it as I spun around to a flaming toaster. “Shit, shit, shit!” I yanked the plug assmall flames shot out of the top, and the acrid burning smell finally hit my nose.

How did a device high up on the ceiling know that something was on fire before my nostrils did?

“Josie!” my dad yelled from downstairs. “Are you okay?”

“Fine!” I certainly wasn’t fine; my Pop-Tarts were on fire.

I flung open the cabinet under the sink and grabbed the fire extinguisher my dad kept there. Thank fuck I’d done a video project teaching kids how to use a fire extinguisher for one of my assignments, because otherwise, I wouldn’t have a clue how to use one.

I pulled the pin and sprayed the death box in sweeping motions, angling it so it would get inside the slots.

“Jesus Christ, Jo!” My dad’s frantic voice came from behind me, and that was perhaps more frightening than the smoldering toaster in front of me.

Yet another disappointment to add to the pile.

I put the fire extinguisher down and opened the window over the sink before opening the large sliding glass door that led to the patio. The early morning ocean breeze wafted in, making me shiver.

My dad was fanning the smoke detector with a kitchen towel, sweaty from his morning workout. “Get me a pillow from the couch!”

I rushed into the living room, grabbed one of the throw pillows, and flung it to him. I was far off target, but he caught it by the corner, like he was catching a puck about to go into the net. If I hadn’t almost burned down the house, I would have called him a showoff.

Fanning with the pillow did the trick and thebeeping stopped, but my ears were still ringing. “At least we know the smoke detectors work. It’s always good to check them once in a while.”

He tossed the pillow out of the kitchen and put his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. “What the hell happened?”

I shrugged and stood on my tiptoes, trying to peek into the toaster without getting too close. “Damn it, those were the last two Pop-Tarts. I should have eaten them cold.”

He grabbed a sheet pan and potholders and took the toaster outside, away from the house. Though he appeared as cool as a cucumber on the outside, the lecture was coming. Grabbing my phone off the counter, I planned my escape back to my fortress of solitude, but he came back inside and stood right in my path.

“Are you okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against his athletic shirt. The man was in tip-top shape, despite not playing hockey professionally anymore.

“I’m good.” I sighed, looking back at the counter, where the toaster used to sit. Luckily, it hadn’t damaged anything, since it had been on a clear silicone heat mat. “I should get the mess cleaned up.”

“How high did the flames get?” Dad went to the sink and turned on the water. “How did it even catch on fire?”

“They barely were coming out of the top. No clue how it caught fire. Maybe Belinda forgot to clean it out?” I wasn’t about to tell him I was having a dance party celebrating my viral video and follower count. Throwing the housekeeper under the bus was a shit move, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

“It was clean the last time I used it.” Of course it was.

He wasn’t a prude, but what twenty-three-year-old wanted their dad to know they used their degree in puppetry to give love and sex advice, among other things. He was from the generation who thought social media wasn’t a job, even though he worked with people all the time who did.

His eyes dropped to my phone in my hand, and he nodded his chin toward it as he started to wipe up the foam from the extinguisher. “You were on the TikTok, weren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes. “There is no ‘the’—it’s just TikTok. And, no, I wasn’t. I...” I bit my lip, trying to think quick on my feet, but I was so tired that my brain malfunctioned. “I can clean up the mess. I’m sorry I scared you. You should go back to getting all muscley or whatever it is you do.”

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