The first day had been fine; Tom was there the whole time, and Ezra had absolutely enjoyed every second of it. He'd even protested when you had to leave, and the promise of your return the next day barely quelled him. The image of his lower lip jutting out in a big pout still made your chest ache.
The next few days went on the same way, but every time it seemed to get easier and easier for Ezra to get into the habit of you coming in the morning and leaving at bedtime. Being in that routine was nice, and everyone was settling into it.
Which is why Tom leaving for majority of the day is so nerve wracking.
You're sitting at the table, with Ezra in the chair next to you sitting perched on his booster seat so he's the right height. With a knife and fork you cut up his pancakes so they're much more bite sized, because this boy tends to shove way too much food in his mouth at once.
You slide the plate in front of him when everything is sized down.
"This!" Ezra demands and points to his pancakes.
"Pancake," you say as you do the sign for pancake, which is just your hand scooping then flipping as if a spatula flipped a pancake, "you try."
Ezra attempts it in all seriousness, his brows furrowed in concentration, as he mimics the sign.
"Good job," you grin and do it a few more times with him.
Ezra is beaming, doing the sign with one hand as he takes his fork and eats with the other. You laugh at this, eyes flickering up when footsteps approach. Tom leans over the back of Ezra's chair and kisses his son's head before making his way to the kitchen.
"What are you signing now?" Tom asks.
"Pancakes!" Ezra says with a syrup sticky smile.
"And there are some for you too," you add, pointing to the plate covered with aluminum foil to keep it warm. Tom looks down at the plate and you note the small smile on his face as he goes to unwrap it. You smile back, even if he doesn't catch it, before turning your attention back to Ezra. You make sure he doesn't get syrup everywhere, even if he still manages to get it on his forehead.
You settle him on the counter when he's done, placing the plate in the sink before using a wet cloth to wipe off his face and hands.
"I do it now," Ezra says, making grabby hands for the cloth.
"Of course, you can do it too," you nod and hand him the cloth.
What you don't expect is him to grab your hand before you pull away, and he wipes messily at your hands. With a laugh you lean forward so he can get your face too. Ezra is very proud of himself, giggling when you take a fake bite out of his hand.
"Don't eat me!" Ezra gasps, yanking his hand away.
"But you're sooo sweet!" You tell him, tickling his stomach, and Ezra howls with laughter legs kicking.
You flinch out of the way before he kicks you, only stepping back to let him down. Once the boy is on his feet he bolts to the living room, screaming for Tessa to follow him. The pup, stationary at Tom's feet, jumps up to follow the little boy. It leaves both you and Tom in the kitchen.
"Are you sure I shouldn't call someone over to help out?" Tom asks softly.
You glance over to him, leaning against the countertop, "if you do he'll probably assume that's the norm. Eventually it'll just be him and I for periods of time. We should be fine."
Tom exhales audibly, his lower lip caught between his teeth, "you're sure?"
"Yes Tom, I'm sure."
"Alright," he nods, finishing off his plate before rinsing it and putting it in the drying rack, "I'll just go get ready then."
"Sounds good," you agree, watching as he vanishes down the hall.
You clean up the rest of the kitchen, making sure it's clean from breakfast before venturing off to find Ezra. The boy is sprawled on the floor, playing on his iPad, with Tessa curled up next to him. You approach and sit beside him, watching him play his coloring book app. Of course, it's a bit odd; you grew up using actual coloring books and crayons, but if he likes this you're not going to stop him.
"Are monkeys purple?" Ezra asks, looking up at you through thick lashes.
"No, they're usually black or brown. You can color the monkey purple if you want," you say.
Ezra taps the purple color and with confidence in his taps he makes the monkey purple.
"You do it too," he says and points to the tree.
You tap the brown and color the trunk of the tree in, and you alternate the leaves with a light and a dark green. Ezra of course stops you to add a few orange and pink leaves into the mix, but it's his own personal flare and it's adorable.
The two of you keep coloring for a while, and by the time you hear shoed footsteps approach the front door it's been at least fifteen minutes. Maybe more. Ezra all but abandons his coloring page in favor of getting up and attaching himself to Tom's legs. Tom stands there, dressed for the day with his keys and phone in hand.
"We go out?" Ezra asks and makes a move for his shoes by the door.
"Aye-aye-aye, not today bug," Tom says and bends down to stop Ezra from getting to his shoes, "I have to go do some work stuff. That's why (Y/N) is here, she'll take care of you until I'm back."
You watch as Ezra's joyful mood sours. The whites of his eyes start to redden as tears well up and his lower lip begins to quiver. It makes your heart break, and you can't imagine how Tom feels in this moment.
"No," Ezra pouts.
"Yes, I have to go—"
"No," Ezra says again, this time whining with the words, "I go with you."
The toddler begins to have a meltdown. Tessa gets anxious and moves closer to her two owners to investigate, Tom tries to explain that he'll be back soon, and Ezra is having none of it. The boy is pulling at Tom's shirt and blubbering so loud it's echoing off the walls.
You bypass them both, go down the hall, and walk into Tom's room. It's simplistic, but a bunch of personal touches are everywhere from family photos on his dresser to a threadbare blanket he's had forever that strewn across the bedding. You grab a shirt like the one he's wearing, knowing Ezra has probably wrinkled and distorted the hell out of the one Tom has on.
Walking back, you find Tom standing up, leaning against the front door with Ezra in his arms. The boy's face is smashed into his father's neck, but it does little to muffle his heaving sobs. You hold up the shirt and Tom gives a small nod in return, his eyes telling you to trade that for Ezra. The moment Tom tries to pry his son off it's a whole new round of tears.
"Nuh-uh," Ezra chokes out.
"I'll be back tonight Ez," Tom says, biting the bullet, and finally holding out Ezra for you to take.
The second you have Ezra in your arms it's kicking and screaming and reaching out towards Tom. You watch Tom hesitate, tell Ezra he loves him very much, and finally take the shirt and leave. When the door clicks shut Ezra stops reaching out for Tom but continues further himself into hysterics. You hold him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back to comfort him.
You walk to Ezra's room with him still in your hold, letting him get all the crying out of his system instead of forcing him to be fine when he's clearly not. Instead you grab his favorite plush, his blanket, and his pillow before walking back out into the living room. You toss the three items onto the couch before you grab an extra blanket from the linen closet for yourself.
"What is your favorite movie?" You ask softy, sitting on the couch with Ezra now perched in your lap, with his head still resting on you shoulder.
Ezra mumbles something too soft for you to hear.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
"Ratatouille," Ezra says clearer, but his pronunciation is a bit off. Then again, it's an incredibly difficult word, all things considered he did well.
"I love that movie! Should we watch it?" You ask.
Ezra sniffles with a nod as his fingers nervously twiddle together.
"Do you wanna cuddle up with some blankets too?" You hold up his plush with a warm smile.
"Okay," Ezra agrees, and you let out a breath as you let him curl up in the corner of the couch. You get him all situated with his pillow and blanket, making sure his plush is tucked in justright. You sit next to him with your own blanket draped across yourself. Tessa climbs up as well, spins for a second before getting cozy on your other side, with her head on your lap.
Using the remote you scroll through Tom's Amazon, looking through their movies until you find Ratatouille. It's halfway through from the last time it was put on, so you start from the beginning and relax back into your seat. By the time the movie is halfway through, Ezra is giggling along with the funny parts and has let go of the hurt he had for Tom leaving.
Ezra's even moved so instead of resting on the couch he's half sprawled over you, as if he's part starfish.
"'M thirsty," Ezra says and breaks his gaze from the movie up to you.
"Do you want some water?" You ask.
Ezra nods, and with that you get up and move him so he's sitting in the warm spot you left. The movie echoes through the house, and you can still hear what's happening all the way in the kitchen. The floorboards are chilled under your bare feet, and you quickly fill up one of Ezra's water bottles. Before you can rush back to join the boy and warm back up you hear the lock on the front door click open.
Tom is supposed to text when he's on the way back, which means this definitely isn't Tom.
The first thing you see is a meat tenderizer in the utensil holder beside the stove. You rush to grab it, and at first your plan is to sneak up, but Ezra's high-pitched scream has you sprinting and vaulting over toys into the living room. You see a male figure hunched over the back of the couch right over where Ezra should be.
"Get the hell away from him!" You yell and take a swing.
The guy whips around and his hand grips your wrist mid-swing so tight you feel like it'll bruise. You're met with intense light-colored eyes and a very angular face. He's just as shocked as you are, his breathing increased now that he knows you're fighting back.
"Christ calm down—!"
"Calm down? You just broke in—!"
Tessa is barking loudly, her tail going a mile a minute.
Ezra jumps up and down on the couch with a grin on his face, "Unca Haz!"
You freeze and look to Ezra who looks the opposite of upset.
"Uncle Haz? There is no Haz on my contact list?" You say and yank your hand out of his strong hold, hating how much your wrist aches.
The guy sighs, running a hand through is light hair, "a Harrison Osterfield is, Tom and Ez call me Haz. He texted me to come over and check up on things. I thought he'd have the brain to give you a heads up."
You narrow your eyes and round the couch, grabbing your phone while setting the tenderizer down on the coffee table. Sure enough, there is a text from Tom saying his friend Harrison was on his way over about twenty minutes ago. With a sigh you run a hand down your face before turning back to Harrison.
"Sorry, I didn't see the text, glad I didn't hurt you," you tell him, feeling incredibly embarrassed.
"But I did hurt you," Harrison notes and points to your wrist.
You glance at it, it's a bit red, and you shrug, "it'll be sore. You've got a hell of a grip."
"Well at least I know Tom picked the right Nanny, not everyone would come at someone with at meat hammer," Harrison points out.
You laugh a bit, "I guess not. I'm gonna get some ice for myself and get Ezra his water. Make yourself at home."
With that you brush past them and return to the kitchen. You grab an ice pack—no doubt they're mostly for Ezra—from the freezer and wrap it in cloth before pressing it against your wrist. The cool pack makes the irritated skin feel better, and you feel a bit better walking into the living room. Ezra is climbing all over Harrison, clearly excited to see his uncle-figure.
You flop onto the couch and hand over the water.
"What do you say?" Harrison asks.
Ezra takes his water bottle, and smiles at you, "thank you."
"Good job mate," Harrison says, ruffling the boy's curls, "are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, I'll live," you say, and hold your ice pack on a different part of your wrist.
Harrison lets it go and the three of you continue to watch the movie. Near the end Ezra's attention fades, which is to be expected, he did better than most three-and-a-half year olds do. Now both you and Harrison are running around Ezra's playroom, and while both of you aren't completely sure of the game you've been roped into, Ezra is having a blast.
At one-point Harrison is wearing a cape and a tiara while wielding a sword and a shield. Meanwhile you've been given a knight helmet and a very cool kid version of Thor's hammer.
"Why don't I get Thor's hammer?" Harrison asks.
"Because you can't lift it," you claim and set it down.
Harrison takes the hint and walks over to it, trying and "failing" to lift it off the ground.
"Whoa!" Ezra gasps and rushes over, "I can do it! Watch me (Y/N)!"
Ezra lifts it up high, jumping and sticking his tongue out to Harrison.
"Oi, that's it Ez, I'm gonna get you!" Harrison says.
"Run!" Ezra screams, laughing as he runs out and down the hall.
You quickly follow him, promising to defend him against his uncle. However, the front door opening has the three of you pausing mid step. Tom isn't even fully inside yet before Ezra is screaming and barreling towards him. The man bends down and hoists his son up into his arms, holding the boy tightly while kicking the door shut with his foot.
"You look stunning Haz," Tom chuckles as his eyes flicker to you, "and you as well."
You feel your face heat up, and a smile crosses your face.
"Why is the tenderizer on the coffee table?" Tom asks out of the blue.
You look at the coffee table then to Harrison who looks at you. The both of you erupt into laughter, because the story is honestly funny when looking back at it. You move to grab it while Harrison explains the whole miscommunication situation. Tom loses it, a full body laugh escaping him, and you find yourself pushing back the thoughts of "oh that's attractive".
Blinking rapidly, you walk into the kitchen to put the mallet away. You turn to leave the kitchen when you find Tom right behind you. In shock you jump, barely containing a yelp. Tom's hand holds your arm up, and his skin is so warm against yours.
The pad of his thumb brushes against your sore wrist, "you alright (Y/N)?"
The way he says your name with such concern makes your words stutter.
"I-yeah, it'll bruise for a bit, but it's fine."
"I'm sorry though, I should've called," Tom says and meets your gaze.
You swallow hard, letting your arm fall from his grip, and it surprises you how much you miss it.
"It's fine, I promise," you tell him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "how does veggie chicken pasta sound for dinner?"