Page 18 of Worst Nanny Ever
My kit is already packed into cases, and we both grab a load and start maneuvering through the crowded room, crossing paths with Rob as he heads back in from packing up his load. My buddy reaches out for a fist bump, and I oblige.
Moments later, Liam and I are out in the cool night air. I didn’t put on my coat before stepping out, but I don’t miss it. The mountain breeze feels good after the performance.
“Hannah mentioned she’s watching your son?” he asks, glancing at me.
“Yeah.” I smile. “She’s really good with him.”
As soon as I say the words, I feel a strange yearning bloom in my chest.Iwant to be good with Ollie. To be easy with him. But from the beginning, nothing between us has been easy. Maybe it never can be, given the way we began—a thought that’s depressing as hell.
“She has a way about her,” he says enigmatically as I pause next to my truck and unlock it.
“She certainly does.”
We stow the cases inside, working companionably enough, but there’s a reserve about him that seems at odds with Hannah’s uninhibitedness.
Before he can turn back toward the brewery, I say, “So what’s going on here? Why does everyone look so pissed off?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, Hannah has a way about her. The new second-shift floor manager has a different way.” His mouth twists into a sardonic smile. “We’re supposed to have the stage cleared within five minutes of an act ending.”
“Five minutes? Does Hannah know about this?”
Another shrug, this one weary. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Seriously? I’m surprised she didn’t ask you for this guy’s social security number and cell phone history.”
His laughter has an edge of bitterness. “Usually she would. She’s not too happy with me right now.”
I nod in sympathy. “Actually, she asked me to give you something.”
I unlock the cab and pull out the bag with the goat on it, handing it to him.
He opens it and laughs. “That’s Hannah for you.”
“Oh?”
“A goat headbutted me when I was six. I’ve hated them ever since. Her little way of reminding me.”
I have to laugh.
ThatisHannah for you. I haven’t known her long, but there’s no denying she has a unique sense of humor and justice. It’s the kind of gift that tells him she still thinks he’s a shithead, but she’s thinking of him all the same.
We head inside together, but I only make it a few steps, because Rob’s waiting for me by the door.
“There’s a guy sitting in the back booth who wants to talk to us,” he says, acting a bit jittery, the way he gets after too many cups of coffee. “Travis, he’s a producer who caught our set. Frank Jacobs. He came all the way from Nashville to listen to us.”
It feels like he just poured a bucket of ice down my back.
Producer. Nashville. Us.
This was what Rob wanted, years ago. Before we met, he’d had an up-close-and-personal brush with fame. The band he’d formed with his high school buddy, Bad Magic, went platinum…after Rob had been forced to drop out because his asshole little brother broke his hand right before the band went on tour.
He’d seen his friends and former bandmates achieve all of his wildest dreams, knowing he would have been with them if just one thing had gone differently for him. So I understand why he’s still hungry for it.
My throat constricts, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe. But I take a slow, deep breath, let it out.
“That’s awesome, man,” I say, almost sounding like I mean it. “Just let me finish up. We’re supposed to have the stage cleared five minutes after we play, apparently. New rule. I’m not going to risk them throwing the rest of my kit away.”
“Who made up that dumbass rule?” Rob scoffs.
