Page 92 of Worst Nanny Ever
This time he writes inLiamandhitting people.
“Liam.”
“What? The only other thing I do is box. It’s accurate. Eugene always says accuracy is important.”
She rolls her eyes and hands him a third label. “I don’t even know how to crochet. Write something socially acceptable.”
He sighs, and this time writes inLiamandboxingbefore sticking it to his shirt.
“Thanks, he’ll be really pleased,” she says, even though the look on Liam’s face says he doesn’t give much of a shit about pleasing most people, and particularly doesn’t give a shit about pleasing Eugene.
“Yup, I aim to please,” he says dryly, then leads me to a booth beneath a couple of kayaks mounted to the wall—hence the kayak booth, I guess.
“Take a seat,” he says. “I’ll bring you back something better than what they’re serving.”
“Yeah? Hannah gave me something you made the other night. It was really good…”
I trail off, filled with a sinking feeling. Thinking about Hannah fills me with fresh shame.
I need to figure out a way to make it right with her, without succumbing to the deep pit of need that’s opened up inside of me. I could give her a raise, but I already feel sleazy about sleeping with a woman who works for me. Paying her more after that would feel like adding insult to injury.
“Yeah, that was a good one,” Liam says, and it takes me a second to register that he was talking about the beer. “I’ll get you something else this time. Mix it up.”
He claps me on the shoulder and then disappears, leaving me to wonder if he’s actually going to poison me this time. Maybe he knows what happened with Hannah last night. Maybe he can tell all the things I did to his sister in the music room just from looking at me.
I drum my fingers against the table, feeling miserable in a way that I could only put into music. God, there has to be a way to fix things between Hannah and me. Right now, I’d even settle for just making them better.
I take a bracing breath, then pull out my phone to text her.
Thank you.
I’m so fucking sorry about last night.
I should have said so this morning, but I was ashamed and embarrassed.
Three dots appear, disappear, and then she writes:
Were you embarrassed about the polo shirt?
My fingers rise to trace the collar of my now-sweaty shirt.
What’s wrong with polo shirts?
Are you planning to go out for a jaunt on a horse with a mallet?
Maybe.
I don’t think I could feel like more of an ass, but I’m willing to try.
You seem to succeed without trying.
Hannah, I should never have said all of that last night.
I don’t know what I would have done without you.
Ollie would probably still be hiding sweet gum balls in my bed.
Yes, and you’re welcome.
