Page 28 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“No, they’re not!” she exclaimed.
“They kind of are, sweetie,” Libby countered, rubbing a lime around the rim of the glass.
“Name one weird guy!” Penny replied, challenging her besties—which, thanks to her friends’ knowing expressions, wasn’t the smartest thing to do. These girls had been with her through thick and thin.
Harper glanced around the table, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m gonna take this one, ladies.” She plucked a tortilla chip from the bowl. “You dated that dumpster diver who made bizarre trash art. You let him store some pieces at your place.”
Charlotte nodded. “And the police came because the stench was so foul, they thought you were hiding a dead body under your bed,” she finished as the women broke out into laughter.
Penny sucked her cheeks. “Okay, Levi was a little strange,” she conceded.
Libby tapped the table, then gasped. “What about the guy who had a chickpea phobia!”
“Right!” Harper replied through another bout of giggles. “We went out to eat, and I ordered a salad. The minute the waiter set the plate on the table, that dude ran out screaming—like literally screaming. How could you be scared of legumes?”
“You guys,” Libby said, raising her hands. “What about the guy Penn dated in college who ate his food in clockwise bites?”
“It was hypnotic to watch him eat a hamburger. The circle kept getting smaller and smaller,” Charlotte chimed, using her hands to depict the shrinking sandwich.
Maybe her friends were right? Perhaps she did have a thing for the odd ones.
“He even ate his pizza that way!’ she conceded. “It was so bizarre to watch him rotate the slice as he chowed down,” she added, grinning as her friends imitated the movement with tortilla chips, nibbling around the triangles through their laughter. The four of them had been inseparable when they were kids. Now that they were in their twenties and working insane hours, they didn’t see each other as much as she wished they could.
The laughter died down.
“All right, girls,” she said. “Point taken. I’m drawn to men with quirks.”
Harper shook her head, and her chestnut curls brushed her shoulders. “No, babe, you like the freaks.”
“You’ve always had a soft spot for the eccentric. It’s your creative nature,” Libby offered, bumping her playfully on the shoulder.
“My creative nature is about to make my fingers fall off. Do you know how many piano lessons I’ve taught today? Eight,” H answered, not waiting for anyone to guess.
“Hey, I work two jobs—one at a restaurant where the temperamental chef fired half the waitstaff and the other as an assistant for a children’s photographer where I was forced to dress up as Tinker Bell to distract a crying two-year-old,” Charlotte countered.
“Hold up, people!” Libby announced. “If we’re talking about our crap jobs, may I remind you that I taught a yoga session at a senior center after they’d eaten a lunch of bean burritos. I’m not going to go into the sounds and smells that came out of that class,” she finished, then pinched her nose.
“I wondered what smelled,” Harper teased.
“Shush,” Libby exclaimed, chucking a tortilla chip across the table.
Penny sat back and gazed at the women who knew her best. They’d met in kindergarten. They’d been in the same class and sat together at the same little table—seated just as they were right now. With Libby to her left and Charlotte and Harper sitting across from them, she could still picture the first day of school. With her dark hair in pigtails, Libby had rescued a ladybug and had it stealthily cupped in her hands, hidden away from the teacher, while Charlotte gazed at Marco Peters, the kindergarten equivalent of a Jonas brother. And then there was Harper, who in true Harper Presley fashion, kicked a boy who dared glance her way and had ended up spending most of the day in the time-out chair.
Penny caught Harper’s eye, and it was as if her friend could read her mind and somehow knew that she’d taken a little walk down grade-school memory lane. The woman tossed her a little wink, then held up her glass.
“A toast to us,” H said with a wide grin. “All hail the broke-ass babes! Ladies using their world-class liberal arts educations to work dead-end jobs for peanuts—or refried beans in Libby’s case!”
They clinked glasses through another bout of laughter, then downed their margaritas.
Charlotte set her glass down first. “That’s not quite true. We’re not all broke. Penny’s making bank.”
“Really?” Harper asked, refilling her glass.
“It pays well—really well. But there’s no guarantee I’ll get to keep the job. After a sixty-day trial period, either party can end things without having to give a reason,” Penny answered.
“Tell us more about it, Penn. How many kids will you be caring for?” Libby asked.
A warmth enveloped Penny’s chest. “Just one. A six-year-old named Phoebe. I met her today. She’s spirited but adorable.”
