Page 112 of Worst Nanny Ever
“Are my clothes inadequate?” he asks, glancing down the front of his checkered brown shirt.
“They’re fine. You should always wear what makes you comfortable. I just think we could explore a few different colors. We’ll go brown adjacent to make things easy on you. Some gray maybe. Dark green. We might get crazy and layer in dark red.”
He runs his finger over his mustache.
“You like having that mustache?”
He touches it again. “My ex-wife told me I have a weak upper lip.”
“If you like it, we keep it. If you don’t, it’s coming off or getting trimmed. Screw what she thinks. I’m guessing you two broke up for a reason. How about the glasses?”
“I enjoy seeing, Hannah,” he says wryly. His cheeks flush as he adds, “And Moira told me she appreciates seeing men in glasses.”
“That’s a yes for some slutty little glasses. Let’s try out a few other frames, though. You should have a backup.”
He gives me an amused look. “You’re very unlike anyone else I know.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It is one,” he says, his expression turning serious. “Hannah. I owe you.”
“I like the sound of that, but you don’t owe me anything. We don’t even know that any of this will help.”
He surprises me by reaching out and touching my hand. “You’ve already helped, just by wanting to help. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, all you need to do is ask.”
Heat wells behind my eyes, catching me off guard.
My instinct is to make light of what he said to deflect the way it’s making me feel. But I’ve done that for years, keeping the world at arm’s length by making everything a joke, and I think I’d like to be done with that. No more bullshit for me, thank you very much. So I just nod. “Thanks, Eugene. You’re all right.”
His phone buzzes, and he takes it out of his pocket while I paint a cape onto my squirrel, only realizing after the fact that I shouldn’t have used red paint. Now it really does look like roadkill. Vampire squirrel roadkill.
Movement in my peripheral vision draws my eye to thewindow—a couple of women are strolling down the hallway outside the studio, moving at a snail’s pace as they look from left to right. The moment I get a clear look at them, I drop my red-dabbed paintbrush onto my dress, because I know them. The woman closest to the window is Rachel, “childcare professional” who tried to screw up Travis’s life. I recognize her from her profile pic. And the woman she’s walking with is none other than Karen, Travis’s ex-girlfriend.
I bristle at the sight of the two of them together. I’m guessing it’s no coincidence that Rachel knew all about Travis’s past. Are they in cahoots? Are they trying to tear him down?
“Uh, Eugene,” I say. “I think I’m ready for that favor.”
He looks up in surprise. “That was fast.”
“We need to spy on those women.” I nod toward the front window, where the two women have paused to chat.
I fully expect him to balk, especially since I’ve given him no reason for my interest in them, but he lifts a finger, makes one final dab on his piece of artistry, then says, “I think it would be better if I spied on them by myself, Hannah.” He waves at my bright hair and the purple sweaterdress I changed into after getting back from Travis and Ollie’s house. “I can go through any crowd without being noticed.”
“They don’t know me.”
He smiles. “But theywillnotice you.”
“I don’t want to miss out,” I insist. “Let’s go together.”
He cleans up his station, and then we stop at the front to pay and turn in our masterpieces, which we’re told will be ready for pickup on Wednesday.
“We’ll pretend we’re power walking,” he says as we hurry after Rachel and Karen, who have resumed walking are now far ahead of us but still within view. “There’s a power walking club that meets here a few times a week, so they won’t be suspicious.”
“Were you in the club?”
“I saw a flyer by the front door.”
I give him a teasing smile.
