"Home sweet home," you breathe as you toss your keys into the door-side table.
You shut your door with a soft kick of your foot, stumbling over to your couch before completely collapsing. It's been a long day; errands and job searching, a few phone calls, and now you're finally able to take a load off. With a deep breath you pick your head up and look around your studio; it's a bit messy, and you groan knowing that if you don't do it nobody else will.
Oh, the joys of living alone.
After slipping off your shoes and taking off your jacket you stand up and tidy the place up a bit, and you even manage to start a load of laundry. When you feel a bit cleaner and decluttered you walk over to your kitchen space. On the island counter you find your laptop, and you move to open it wanting to do one last check in for the day before making dinner and relaxing.
When you open your email, you're welcomed with some spam, some coupons, and one important flagged one. Your brow furrows as you open the flagged mail; skimming it over. It's from this nanny site you registered for, as another option for a job that you wouldn't mind pursuing. The registration had been intense, even a few background checks had to be done, but considering you haven't had a bite in weeks you haven't thought much about it.
Now that there is a bite it feels all very real.
The email is simple; half of it is the host company that goes over the basics of being offered a position with a person in need of a caregiver. The other half is a small message from the person needing assistance, explaining what you'd potentially be doing for them. It's a bit vague and concise, just saying they need to set up an interview session and that you'd be taking care of their three year old
The only thing truly odd about this, is the confidentiality agreement. That and the fact it's paired with the words "high profile job offer". It's like you'd be nannying for the Queen or something.
Your cursor lingers over the confirm interview icon, your finger not clicking it yet. You look over the details only to find few in the first place; the pay is to be determined, the hours are to be determined, and it all seems rather unstable. Still it's the first interview offer you've had in weeks and you're running out of cushion money to live off of, and the last thing you want to ask is your parents for money.
"Fuck it," you mutter into the void as you click the accept button.
You get two pop up options for interview times, and you take the most convent one for you. You write down the time, place, and needed materials to bring on a sticky note before sticking it on the refrigerator. With that out of the way you shut your laptop and move to find something to eat for the night, more than ready to kick back and relax.
///
You park on the curb, letting yourself relax with a deep breath. The place in front of you is nice, a bit more south than where you reside in London, but nice nonetheless. You take in the English ivy that scales some of the brick work, the bright red door, and the cute fencing around the living unit. Other houses around it are similar and equally as compact, but the color schemes and ivy patterns set them apart.
After a moment you glance to the open passenger seat next to you, double checking your folder had everything in it. Your resume, references, certifications, background checks, and so on. You glance down at yourself, checking for anything like toothpaste stains or stray hairs. You even check your email to double check the address you're at is correct.
When you find no other reason to stay in your car you grab the folder and your purse and get out.
You lock your car, using your key because the automatic lock doesn't work anymore. Once your precious car is locked tight you turn on your heel and walk up to the house. Through the front window you see the TV playing a cartoon you're unfamiliar with, but the brightly colored pig on the screen is quite adorable.
Your finger grazes the chilled metal doorbell buzzer, and a blaring buzz can be heard from inside. You take a half step back to give whoever was about to open the door some space. Footsteps approach from the other side of the door followed by a muffled voice saying something you can't quite make out. You hear a sidebolt and a deadbolt unlock followed by the knob turning. The door hinges squeak slightly, but it's nothing some spray lubricant can't fix.
In front of you is a man; not quite short but not tall either. His dark hair is curly on top of his head and chocolate doe eyes meet yours. His skin is fair, and his cheeks have a bit of acne scattered across them. He's in a threadbare hoodie and a pair of tan pants that you can't decide are khakis or joggers.
You can't pinpoint why he looks familiar.
"Hi," you say finally, "I'm (Y/N), I'm here for the interview...?"
"Yes, hi, I'm Tom it's nice to meet you," the man says and holds out his hand.
You shake it briefly, not focusing on how nice his palm feels against yours.
"Please, come in," he says and lets go of your hand.
The second you cross the door frame you have a dog circling your feet. You look down to see a pit bull type dog with her tongue lulled out of her mouth, with her tail going a mile a minute. You grin and put your hand out for her to lick and sniff at.
"Tessa, darling, calm down," Tom chides and the pup, Tessa, backs off a bit.
You grin and pet her short grey fur before standing back up. The house is nice; it's a lot of white, greys, and blacks. However; the bright blue Thomas the Train blanket that is on the couch, the overload of crayon drawings that hang from the fridge, and the mass of toys scattered about give the place color. It gives the place some life. On the couch you finally see the three year old you could be potentially looking after.
The little boy is peeking over the back of the couch at you, his tiny hands gripping the cushions. You note his dark and very curly hair and his hazel eyes that look at you nervously. You give him a wave and a smile, but the boy just scrambles off the couch at breakneck speed. His bare feet pitter patter across the hardwood flooring as he rushes to Tom, hiding behind the man's legs.
"He's a bit of a shy one," Tom says and almost sounding nervous about it.
"That's alright, I don't mind," you say easily.
Tom bends down and lifts his son into his arms, and you do as Tom says and take a seat at the dining table. Both him and his son vanish or a few minutes, you can hear them down the hall and you hear toys being shuffled around a bit. You smile softly when Tom returns and takes the chair across from you.
"I have him playing for a bit, so we can go over the adult things," Tom explains.
"Sounds good, speaking of I brought everything that was on my profile," you say and put your folder on the table.
Tom, whose eyebrows shoot up, obviously impressed, takes it and riffles through it.
"You really know sign language?" He asks.
You sign yes.
"That's pretty basic—" Tom starts.
You sign to him that his son is probably the cutest boy you've ever seen, and you really want this job.
"Touché darling," Tom chuckles.
"I took it as an elective and I fell in love with it," you tell him, giving him a quick backstory.
Tom smiles at you before glancing back through the paperwork, looking through, and occasionally, nodding. Nodding is probably a good sign. It makes your shoulders relax and the tension in your jaw lessen. Your eyes can't help but glance around as he reads through things again. You see cute patterned kids water bottles on a drying rack by the sink. Tessa's food and water bowls rest on the ground, but a waterproof mat buffs it from the polished wood.
"—you with me (Y/N)?"
You blink rapidly and your gaze snaps back to Tom.
"Yes, yeah, sorry," you nod sheepishly.
"I was wondering why you want to be a nanny?" Tom asks again.
You could give him some bullshit answer, but you feel like honesty is going to serve you better.
"It's not some dream of mine to be a nanny. I really need a job, I love kids, I found this host service, and that's about it," you say.
Tom chuffs, clearly amused, "I guess those are good reasons."
You can't help but smile as your cheeks flush. Maybe you should've bent the truth a bit, maybe going off about having quite a few cousins and how you had to take care of them would've helped. Regardless of the embarrassment you feel the interview goes on; a few more questions are asked, and you answer them, keeping with the honesty route you've taken. Eventually Tom leads you down a hallway, the same one he took his son down, and you stop at a small doorway.
Inside the room you see the little tyke, playing with a Barbie and her pink dream car with Spider-Man in the passenger seat with a Transformer blocking the car. The boy hasn't noticed either of you yet, and it's a true joy to see him babble and play on his own. It makes a warmth seep into your chest that you didn't expect.
"Ezra," Tom starts, getting the boy's attention, "this is (Y/N). Come say hi."
The boy stands up, his little mouth opening and closing a few times before he does the same thing as before and moves to hide behind his father's legs.
"Come on bug, she's not going—" Tom says tiredly.
"Don't worry about it," you mutter, and the man beside you raises an eyebrow at you.
You toe off your shoes and leave them by the door, not wanting them to ruin the plush play mat in the middle of the room. You take the spot Ezra had been, using the same toys he had been, and you begin playing with them. Of course, you give them silly voices and whatnot, making sure to over animate in hopes to draw Ezra in.
When you have Barbie run over the Transformer you hook Ezra in.
"No!" Ezra gasps and toddles over.
"No to what?" You ask, running over the Transformer again.
Ezra bends down and picks up Bumblebee, "he's a car too."
"He is? Can he turn into a car?" You prod.
The boy nods ad begins fiddling with the toy in his hands until Bumblebee is in his car form. You gasp and look at the toy like it's the coolest thing you've ever seen. Ezra picks up on this and extends the car out to you. You thank him with a warm smile and take it.
"Do you have more?" You ask curiously.
"Op'mis Prime!" Ezra says and goes over to a toy crate, leaning over to riffle around for the toy.
You take this moment to look over at Tom who looks taken back, his eyes wide in disbelief. It's clear that this is probably a very rare occurrence. Still you motion for Tom to go.
"I'll hang with him for a bit if you want to take some adult time, do what you have to do," you offer, "I can get to know Ezra better."
Tom hesitates, "are you sure?"
"Yeah I—"
"Here!" Ezra exclaims and rushes back over to you holding up Optimus Prime.
When your eyes flicker back to the door Tom's gone, and you give Ezra your undivided attention. He shows you the ins and outs of Transformers and you keep up the awestruck act. He ends up playing as Barbie and Optimus Prime while you play with Bumblebee and Spider-Man. Throughout playtime a bunch of stories are made up, Barbie learns to fly—which is just Ezra throwing her across the room, and you get the boy to giggle uncontrollably a few times which makes that warm feeling stick in your chest.
Ezra starts to get all antsy and squirmy, and before you can ask you watch him rush out of the room screaming "Daddy I hafta potty". You hear Tom's much quieter voice answer the boy, and there's a door closing somewhere in the house. Now left alone you feel a bit odd, so you stand, slip your shoes on, and head back to the living room.
You stop on the way when you notice a framed hung poster in the hallway. It's for a marvel movie, the Civil War one, and there's a bunch of signatures on it from the cast and who you assume is the crew. Suddenly the familiarity from before makes a lot of sense; Tom's an actor, you've seen him in commercials—unfortunately not the movies themselves, yet.
"High profile job" is crystal clear now.
Steadying yourself you walk into the living room and find your purse with your folder hanging on a coat rack. You grab your phone from it and check the time, you've been here or a little over two hours. Time flies when you're playing with an adorable toddler. When a doorknob opens at the start of the hallway your head jerks up.
Out comes Ezra who nearly trips over his own feet with Tom right behind him, quickly lurching forward and helping the boy get back on his own two feet.
"Whoa, slow down bug," Tom says softly, rubbing his hand up and down his son's back.
"Oopsie Daddy," Ezra giggles, wobbling before righting himself.
You smile at the interaction.
"Better now?" You ask the boy.
The three year old nods, "mmhm."
"Why don't you go watch more Peppa Pig while I have a chat with (Y/N)," Tom suggests, and the boy returns to the couch and pulls his blanket close.
You spot the remote near you and you grab it, clicking the play button so the show resumes. Setting the remote back down you follow Tom back to the dining table. On it you see a bunch of print outs and a few pens. In bold letterings you see things like "confidentiality agreement" and "Disney and Marvel binding guidelines".
Holy shit, you got the job.
"You saw the poster, right?" Tom asks softly.
You glance up a him and he seems a little nervous, but you nod, "yeah. I did, I'm not...you know going to go nuts or anything. I'm here to take care of Ezra."
"Good answer," Tom smiles and sits beside you instead of across from you.
"So, I'm hired? Just like that?" You ask.
"You're the only one out of all the other nannies I interviewed that got him out of his shell," Tom says, "he's so shy...I just want to have someone he likes taking care of him."
You feel yourself grow hot under the praise, it's clear that this has been a long and grueling process for Tom and Ezra. There've probably been countless interviews that have lead them nowhere. You're glad, not just for yourself, but for them that that process can be done with. Grabbing the pen, you let Tom walk you through signing and reading things. It's a lot of rules but they all come with one two basic overviews.
One; don't talk about projects related to upcoming movies, press releases, and so on.
Two; don't use any platform to jeopardize the wellbeing, safety, or image of both Thomas Stanley Holland and Ezra James Holland, this includes associated family members.
You sign everything, making sure to ask questions when you're confused because this is all legal stuff. The last thing you need is to get wrapped up in some legal debacle that is more trouble than just asking a few questions at the get go.
"...last one right here," Tom says and puts the last sheet in front of you.
Your eyebrows draw up in confusion as you read the handwritten paper. It's a bunch of "I statements" like wanting to go to the park with Tessa, wanting chicken nuggets at least twice a week, and wanting bedtime cuddles. Surrounding the terms and conditions are little scribbled drawings clearly done in unsharpened crayons.
"Is this from Ezra?" You ask.
Tom looks a bit pink in the cheeks, "I wanted to make sure he had a say in this too."
"This is so cute, I'm taking this very seriously," you say and give a very extravagant signature at the dotted line at the bottom. You add a heart to the end, just to make it fit with the drawings around it. Tom looks it over and the grin on his face is infectious and bright. It makes your stomach tie itself in a knot.
The next thing you go over with Tom is pay and hours.
It's a printed spreadsheet of the next six months; it includes Tom's schedule along with a travel schedule with both you and Ezra. Apparently, you'll be traveling with Tom at times, which makes sense given the kind of dad Tom seems to be and how attached Ezra is.
"Wait—" you pause and point at the pay rate, "this is a misprint, right?"
Tom shakes his head seriously, "no. That's your pay."
You open your mouth to protest a bit, because that's a lot of money. The serious vibes projecting off Tom stop you. Instead you nod and just except that for the foreseeable future you'll no longer worry about having gas money or paying for utilities. Instead you continue to go over other important things. You're given a stack of things like medical things you need to be aware of, family and emergency contacts, a credit card from Tom and a spending limit so you can get something Ezra needs but not out of your pocket.
"Wow, this is a lot," you say halfheartedly.
"We can stop for the day, I'm a bit exhausted myself," Tom says, running a hand through his hair.
You like that plan a lot, "I can come back tomorrow?"
"Sounds good, I'll text you a time later?" Tom asks.
Agreeing you head to the door, your paperwork in hand as you shove back on your jacket and purse.
"Ezra say goodbye to (Y/N)."
You look over to the couch where Ezra is. The boy looks a little groggy, his thumb in his mouth as he sucks on it for comfort. He looks over and waves to you with his free hand.
"Bye sweetheart, I'll see you tomorrow okay? We can play with more toys then, right?" You ask.
The boy smiles around his drool covered thumb at you before returning to Peppa Pig. You grin and look back to Tom, "he's so sweet. I look forward to watching him and working with you."
"I think we both are too," Tom says while opening the door for you.
Tessa wanders over, obviously excited about the door being open to the outside. You step out onto the front steps and Tom wedges himself in the door, so the dog can't get out even if she tried. With a brief wave you turn on your heel and walk back to the sidewalk curb and unlock your car, letting yourself situate before shutting yourself in your car.
You can't resist looking back at the house, and you see Tom still there. When he meets your eyes he tenses, recovers with a wave, and shuts the door. Your smile won't leave your face as you start up your car and pull away, excited that you get to come back tomorrow.