Page 61 of Worst Nanny Ever
Hannah’s wearing a yellow-checked dress today, with a thick, fuzzy purple sweater instead of a coat. She was the brightest thing in the room at Tea of Fortune, which is saying something, because Dottie has never met a color she didn’t like.
The color alone didn’t do it, though. It was Hannah herself. She draws other people in without trying. To be with her for five minutes is to want to talk to her forever. To tell her things you haven’t told your oldest friends. To stare at her and soak her in.
She calls herself nosy, and she absolutely is, but I’m starting to realize it’s because she’s interested in everything. She finds life exciting and full of possibility in a way that I only do when I’m playing the drums. And she makes me wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my life that way.
That’s crazy, obviously.
All of the reasons for us to stay away from each other haven’t changed over the last two days. Still, as we leave the tea shop, I feel my hand trying to settle on her lower back.
“We’re not going to Target or one of the other big-boxstores,” she declares as we walk down the sidewalk toward where I parked.
“No?”
“Definitely not,” she says. “We’re going to a real toy store. There’s one off Tunnel Road that has Willy Wonka vibes.”
“You mean the fictional man who made chocolate? Sounds like a much better bet than a well-organized store with labeled aisles.”
“It looks fun.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “More stores should put on a show. You, of all people, should know the importance of showmanship. You have that T-shirt you wear to all of the shows.”
“They’re different T-shirts. I’m not some guy who never changes his jockstrap because he thinks it’s lucky.”
“But they’re all the same brand.” She pauses as we reach a street corner, waving to an older woman who waves back with a bright smile. I’ll bet everyone she’s ever met remembers her, even if it’s just asthe woman with all that bright red hair and that smile.“I can tell,” she adds, glancing back at me.
I shrug. She’s right, and I’m kind of pleased she noticed. “I like keeping my street clothes and my performance clothes separate.”
“Shocking,” she says with a teasing smile.
“All right, Hannah.” I pull her back because she clearly intends to rush across the street so she won’t have to wait for the light to change. “We’ll go to the Willy Wonka toy store. Have it your way.” I’m pleased she cares this much, honestly. I know it’s above and beyond the call of duty for her to come with me at all.
“Sooo, tell me what went wrong this morning,” she asks when the light finally changes and we cross the street to my car parked on the side of the road. “The donuts plan seemed solid.”
“It should have been,” I agree, walking around to the passenger side. I unlock the car with my key fob and open herdoor for her, and she gives me a grin that looks half teasing and half pleased. “Why, what a gentleman you are, Ships Junior.”
I roll my eyes as I circle around to the front of the car and then slide in behind the wheel. After I look up the store’s address on my phone, I drive us toward Tunnel Road and tell her the whole sorry story.
“The kids thought there was a real mouse?” she asks, clearly delighted.
“It’s not funny,” I say, although I can feel the corner of my mouth trying to hitch up. “All the kids stampeded into the hallway like wild animals, and they were so hyped up on sugar it took a team of teachers twenty minutes to track them all down. And someone broke Mrs. Applebaum’s prized pencil holder. A painted clay hedgehog. Someone who used to work at the school got it for her, apparently. If she didn’t like us before, she’s definitely not our number one fan now. Of course, that Mickey kid’s embarrassed too. I mean, I think he might have wet his pants a little, and?—”
Gasping, Hannah claps her hand around my bicep in a burst of excitement, and I nearly plow into the Honda Civic in front of me. I give an apology wave; the driver gives me the finger.
“Hannah…” I dart a sharp look at her. “What the hell? I nearly hit that guy.”
“Sorry! Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that, but I had a good reason. I’m pretty sure I know who gave her that pencil holder. This is crazy!”
“And that’s a good reason for almost killing us?” I resume driving, white-knuckling the steering wheel, because my pulse is still elevated.
“It wasEugene,” she says dramatically, pushing her seat belt down under her arm and fully turning in her seat to stare at me.Anxiety blasts through me. She shouldn’t be sitting like that. It’s not safe.
“Come on, Hannah, sit properly.”
She seems taken aback, but a second later she fixes the belt and scoffs, “Okay,Dad.”
I feel ridiculous for letting anxiety get the better of me, so I shrug. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
I force a laugh. “At least someone wants to call me dad.”
