Page 117 of Worst Nanny Ever
“I do,” Dottie says with glimmering eyes that say she’s seen everything passing through my head, the snapshots of the life I want. The life that feels too far away to touch. “And maybeyou’re so focused on the problems, dear boy, that you’re missing the solution sitting before you.”
“You?” I ask.
She laughs, then pats her chest. “It’s inyou.”
That sounds more like verbal gymnastics than an actual answer, but she’s so earnest it’s impossible not to like her. I’m touched that she cares enough to try to help me. My mother wasn’t an affectionate woman, and Nanny Grace was practical and no-nonsense. Caring but hardly warm and fuzzy.
Dottie reaches into her pocket and pulls out yet another crystal. “This one is for you. It’s for letting love back into your life. I’ve been holding onto it awhile, but I can tell you’re ready for it now.”
Another crystal? She must have spent a fortune on the ones she’s seeded throughout the house. Still, I’m grateful when I take it from her. Because she’s saying she believes in me. She thinks I’m capable of being the kind of man Hannah and Ollie deserve.
“Thank you, Dottie. You seem to take everyone you meet under your wing. Hannah’s a bit like that.” I run my fingers over the crystal. “I’m surprised you don’t run out of space.”
“Oh, dear, here’s the secret. You just grow bigger wings.”
Then she taps me once on the arm, almost like she’s casting a magic spell, and maybe she actually is. Because as she strides out of the room, I feel remarkably energized.
Instead of taking a nap, I place a few special orders for Hannah on my phone and then head into the music room and pick up my guitar to practice “Blue River.” While I’m playing, I let my mind drift, and it naturally lands on Hannah and the problems before us. I want to be with her, and she maybe wants to be with me, but it won’t feel right if it happens while she’s working with me, and I haven’t been able to find anothernanny Ollie likes.
Dottie said my solution was right in front of me.Inme…
Maybe it’s the music, or maybe Dottie really did cast a spell on me—either way, I suddenly know what I need to do. And itfeelslike magic.
When I emerge from the music room, the house smells like cookies. I follow the sweet scent to the kitchen, where Ollie and Dottie are smiling together as they sample the cookies.
“Want one?” Ollie asks, grinning at me. “They’re maple spice. Dottie says they’re full of love and they really taste like it. I already ate five.”
“Then I’d better take at least two,” I say with a smile, wrapping them in a napkin.
“Are you on your way out?” Dottie asks with a meaningful look.
I don’t ask how she knows. She may not be clairvoyant, but she’s definitely intuitive, a person who sees beneath the seething surface.
“Yeah, if that’s okay. I was wondering if you could stay for another hour or so.”
“Of course,” she says, acting like I’m honoring her by asking. “I was hoping to tell Ollie a story before bed.” Her smile broadens. “Do say hello to Hannah and dear Eugene for me. Liam too.”
“Of course,” I say with a smile, not all that surprised that she guessed where I’m going.
“Are you giving Hannah one of those cookies?” Ollie asks, looking delighted by theidea.
“I am,” I confirm.
When I getto Big Catch, the guy manning the host stand says, “Heyyy, it’s Drummer Boy.” He’s wearing a beanie over his dark curly hair and has a name tag that says,I’m[ink smeared],ask me about Dungeons and Dragons!
I smile and nod, at a disadvantage, because I honestly don’t remember him. Maybe I should be embarrassed about getting so drunk last night—I don’t usually let myself overindulge like that—but I’m sick of beating myself up over things I can’t change. I came here last night, got tanked, and that’s that. No need to dwell on it.
“Good to see you again,” I say with a nod.
“How’s your head, man?”
“It’s been better. Is Hannah here?”
“Yes!” he says, beaming. “And she brought Spreadsheet. You won’t believe it when you see him, man. They’re in the back. I’ll take you there.”
He promises the group people in line behind me that he’ll be right back, then walks at a completely unhurried pace past the familiar tables and booths, including the kayak booth. I vaguely remember trying to climb into one of the kayaks last night, which is another thing I’m determined not to be embarrassed about.
We head into the back, and then he leads me through another door into a wide, warehouse-style space, where Hannah is holding court. She’s wearing a purple sweaterdress that brings out her red hair and green eyes. She looks almost unreal—too bright, too pretty, too good for me, to be certain. She’s standing with Spreadsheet, the man formerly known as Eugene Peebles, next to a bunch of kegs.
