Page 223 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“And you had your wife. And then it was you, your wife, and your boy. That’s not your life, Erasmus,” Aug belted, color rising to his cheeks.
Raz didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“We’re doing something different this time,” Aug said, speaking slowly, his tone resolute as he cooled down.
“And what’s that?”
“Reminding you who you bloody are, lad.”
There’s a no-answer answer.
“That really helps, Aug,” he grumped.
“Shut your bloody gob, Erasmus. We’re close.”
“What about the weigh-in? We can’t miss that?”
“We’ll leave from where I’m taking you. You’ll be on time. What do you want? Exact times? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been busy. Do you think I’ve had a moment to memorize the tube timetables for the Piccadilly line?” his trainer ranted.
“Look at those knickers in a twist! Why the hell would you need to memorize the London tube timetables? We’re in Colorado?” he shot back.
“I’m making a point, Erasmus! Training your arse doesn’t give me time to do much else.”
“Fine, we go where you want to go, Aug,” he answered, sitting back and focusing on the scenery.
They’d left the swanky Crystal Creek neighborhood, sailed past the city’s skyscrapers, and ventured into a grittier, more eclectic part of Denver. One- and two-story buildings with funky cafes, little boutiques, and small art galleries lined the street. And bloody hell, there was something familiar about it.
Aug turned the corner and headed toward a large building. Taking up nearly a block, people milled around the courtyard. Teens and young men and women blanketed a basketball court fenced in adjacent to the building. And then he saw the sign.
Helping Hands Shelter and Community Center.
“I know this place. Mitch Elliott is friends with the people who run it.”
“The Dagby’s,” Aug supplied.
He stared at his trainer. How would Aug know that?
“Yeah, Mitch named his first food truck after Louise Dagby.”
“Louise and Ralph Dagby run the shelter,” Aug added. He parked the car, grabbed a plastic bag from the center console, and got out.
“What are we doing here, Aug?” he asked, exiting the vehicle. “Am I signing autographs?”
“Take this,” Aug said, handing him…a tiny net?
“What do you want me to do with it?” he asked, pulling at the elastic rim.
“It’s a hairnet. You put it on your head.”
“You okay, Aug? Are you off your rocker, mate?” he asked, stretching the thing out in his hands.
“I’m peachy keen. Come on,” the man said, starting for the door.
They entered the center’s vestibule, and Aug waved him to follow as the man set off down a hallway.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“Yep,” Aug shot back. “This is the part of the center for kids and teens.”
