"So, it's good? The kid isn't too much of a snot?"
You chuckle at your mother's antics, "Ezra is wonderful, and his father is very nice. A very gracious boss and pays well."
"That I know, you're not asking for rent money anymore."
"Mom! Jesus Christ, that's—"
"True."
"—okay, fine, it's totally true," you relent while grabbing Ezra's favorite cereal from the shelf before tossing it into the cart. You push forward though the isle, careful of a gaggle of school aged kids who obnoxiously barrel past you.
"And with that fancy new paycheck you can come visit, right?" Your mother asks softly.
Your chest pangs with guilt, it's been too long since you've seen your family, mostly because of travel expenses. Now the financial barrier isn't so bad, but that doesn't mean your schedule will allow it. Tom's film schedule is due to start within a few weeks and Ezra is finally getting used to you being a constant. The thought of flying home and spending less time with Tom, Tessa, and Ezra kind of makes you nervous, you've grown fond of them over the past few weeks.
"...(Y/N)? You still there?"
"What? Y-Yeah, yeah, I'm still here, sorry," you fumble and go to the bread aisle, "I'll have to check in and see if I'm able to get a few days off. I'll talk about it with Tom."
Your mother makes an appreciative hum, "good. Well, I'll let you go Hun, I love you."
"Love you too Mom, I'll talk to you later."
"Buh-bye."
You hang up the phone, letting out a deep sigh, and continue your shopping escapade. The days where it felt weird to handle Tom's card are gone; you shop for what the house needs but also keep it budget friendly because the thought of overcharging his card still terrifies you. By the time you start to head to the check out lane your phone starts to ring again.
Instead this time it's the FaceTime ring tone rather than the phone call tone.
Brows furrowed, you grab your phone and glance at the caller ID. Your curiosity fades quickly when you see Tom's name on the top of the screen, your finger swiping to accept. Once the call connects you see Ezra's chubby face way too close to the camera, Tom's voice echoing in the background.
"Ez, hold the phone away from your face," Tom says.
"(Y/N)!" Ezra cries out, and it's loud enough that you turn down your phone's volume.
"Hello you two, what can I do for you?" You ask with a soft smile.
"Nuggets!"
Tom's laugh cuts through the speaker, "is that how you ask for things bug?"
Ezra's face scrunches up in annoyance at his father's pestering, and this is the Ezra you're happy to know. The shy little boy is cute, but the sassy outgoing boy behind that is even better.
"I want nuggets, please," Ezra says.
"Oh really? Nuggets? Fish nuggets?" You tease.
Ezra giggles and shakes his head.
"Veggie nuggets?"
"No!" The boy protests.
"Do you mean...chicken nuggets?" You gasp.
"Yes! Chick'nuggets!" Ezra nods frantically.
Tom takes the phone then, holding and centering it for Ezra, "he really wanted to FaceTime you."
You smile, "sweetheart, I'll be there soon. Couldn't wait, could you?"
Ezra's face reddens and your heart swells four sizes too big for your chest. This boy is too sweet.
"He's totally taken for you, right Ezra?" Tom asks.
"What's that mean Daddy?"
"It means," you say, finally grabbing a bag of frozen chicken nuggets from the freezer section, "that you really really like me."
"Uhhuh!" Ezra agrees, his little lips clicking as he licks at them. They've been dry for a few days, and it may be a good idea to grab lip balm on the way out. The poor boy won't stop licking at them in hopes that it'll go away even with both you and Tom telling him not do to so.
"Well that's good, because I really really like you too!" You tell the boy even holding up the frozen nuggets bag for him to see.
The excited grin on his face is adorable.
"Alright, lets let (Y/N) finish at the shop. She'll be here later," Tom tells Ezra who nods.
"Bye!" Ezra yells before squirming away from Tom and out of the frame.
"Thanks for playing into that, he misses you."
"I think he just misses his nuggets," you chuckle.
"No," Tom sighs, "you're his new favorite. It wounds me."
You pause and shake your head, "I'm his new favorite nanny. You're his dad, he looks at you like you make the sun rise every morning. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about."
From the other end you watch Tom carefully, noting how his face stays lax but his eyes say something. You can't decipher it but obviously something you said affected him one way or another. After a moment Tom gives you a smile and a wink, letting you go to finish shopping. Once the call ends you take a moment to gather yourself before heading to the check-out.
Eventually you have everything in the car, thankful to get out of the sixty-degree weather. It may be May, edging towards June, but London won't be warming up for at least a few more weeks. The drive back to Tom's is a bit of a drag, there's construction that prompts some stop-and-go traffic. Thankfully you're out of that cluster of cars before you can worry about the frozen food.
As you pull up to the curb you spot Ezra playing on the small-ish front grass, kicking around a tiny soccer ball. Or football if Tom has anything to say about it. Tessa is laying on the grass, her tongue lulling out of her mouth as she pants in exhaustion. You get out of the car and start grabbing at the grocery bags. When you have two in your possession you stand, watching as Tom approaches, clearly wanting to lend a helping hand.
"Hey," Tom smiles.
"Hey," you reply and make your way to the front door.
Ezra waves at you, "(Y/N) watch me!"
You pause and watch as the boy kicks the ball at the small goal, watching as the brightly colored ball makes it into the netting. A cheer leaves you, "good job sweetheart! Let me put away the food and I'll come out to play with you."
"'Kay," Ezra agrees.
With that you walk inside, Tessa following you only to make a beeline for her water and food bowls. You set the bags down and give the dog some petting and attention before going back to putting away the groceries.
"I got the script today."
You look up at Tom who walks into the kitchen, setting the bags he brought in down on the counter.
"Really? That's great! Have you read any of it yet?" You ask.
"I flipped through it a bit, but I was planning on reading through some of it tonight," Tom responds.
Excitement for Tom rolls through you, because he's been nervous and excited for Marvel to send him the script for the movie for a few weeks now. The fact he has an actual script makes the whole "your-boss-is-an-actor-and-happens-to-be-Spider-Man" thing much more real.
"I'll make sure Ezra is out of your hair then," you say, shutting the bread box which is now restocked with bread.
The two of you make quick work of the food while working together, and it doesn't take long for Ezra to start getting impatient for you to go play with him. You work through the rest of the bags before following the three-year-old outside.
"This?" Ezra asks and points to the ball.
Your nose scrunches up, "in ASL it's soccer, not football."
"No, this football," Ezra says and bends down, patting the ball.
"Yes, but in American Sign Language it's soccer," you tell him calmly, and do the sign.
Ezra's head tilts like a confused puppy, but he mimics the sign regardless. Your hand tangles itself in his thick hair, tussling it softly as a smile crosses your face. The boy beams, clearly proud hat he did the sign despite being confused about the differences between American and British sign language.
For a long while you two run around the front yard, playing football, and of course you letting Ezra get a few shots on you. There are a few times that he makes a good play on you, maneuvering in a way that gets the ball around you, and in response you cheer him on and shower him with high-fives. The two of you keep playing until the air starts to chill and Ezra's cheeks and nose turn pink. You manage to wrangle him inside, and it's then when you realize how messy he got from playing.
"I think it's bath time, you'll get clean and warm," you tell the boy.
"Bubbles!" Ezra demands.
"Is that how we ask for things?" You gasp in mock hurt.
"Bubbles please," Ezra corrects.
You smile, "much better sweetheart. Come on let's go have a bath then."
As you two walk down the hall you spot Tom in his room, the door slightly ajar. He's on his bed, head propped up with a few pillows, dressed down in sweats. To your surprise he has glasses on; you didn't know he needed glasses, but they look pretty good on him if you're being honest.
You feel your cheeks flush and you shove the thought away as you finish the walk to the bathroom. The water runs warm, filling the room with steam. You don't help Ezra with his clothes, letting the boy do it on his own. You only help when he struggles with his pants and asks explicitly for help.
"Which bubbles?" You ask, holding up too bottles.
"I smell them," Ezra says and toddles over.
Unscrewing both caps, you let the boy smell, and after a few sniffs of each he goes with green apple which is a very good choice. You pour a bit of the bubble solution into the bath, swirling it around with your hand until it foams up. Ezra settles into the mass of water and bubbles, instantly playing with the foamy mess.
"Toys!" Ezra gasps and moves to stand up.
"Hey-hey no, I'll go get them. Which ones do you want?" You ask.
Ezra's tongue clicks as he thinks it over, "pony, Bumblebee, and Daddy."
Daddy just means his Spider-Man toy, something both you and Tom figured out and found it so heartwarmingly adorable. You nod and tell Ezra to stay put as you walk to his play room to grab the toys. You grab the My Little Pony toy, Bumblebee, and Spider-Man and rush back.
You find Ezra licking at the bubbles and making faces by how horrible it must taste.
"Here you go," you say and plop the toys into the tub.
Ezra thanks you before going straight into playtime. He plays, and plays, and plays until he starts to yawn. Of course, throughout bath time play you clean him up, even at one point giving him a soapy mohawk that has him cackling for a good few minutes. You can't help but pull out your phone and take a goofy picture of him. His chunky cheeks are wide with a big smile, his nose is scrunched up, his ears stick out adorably, his eyes are squeezed shut, and his hair is hilariously sticking up.
It's without a doubt the best picture you've ever taken.
Eventually you have Ezra all dry and in pajamas. Dinner consists of the high in demand chicken nuggets, steamed broccoli, and some fruit which Ezra devours in record time. He does so well you give him a sweet biscuit treat as thanks for eating without a fuss.
Teeth brushing is a little less smooth than dinner. Ezra wants to do it himself, but he's not getting all his teeth and you clearly need to step in and help him out. Somehow you both get through it and he finish the bathroom routine with a gummy vitamin.
"You want to go say goodnight to Daddy?" You ask.
"Yes!" Ezra beams and races from the bathroom.
Little baby footsteps pound across the wood floor and tiny hands push at his father's bedroom door to get in. You follow but stop in the door jam, leaning against the frame, watching the scene unfold in front of you. Tessa, who was chilling on her pet bed sits up, tail wagging in excitement while watching Ezra scramble up the bed.
"Hey bug, you gettin' ready for bedtime?" Tom asks, setting down his script haphazardly on the bed so Ezra has room to crawl up on his lap.
Ezra nods and nuzzles his father's chest, "yeah."
"I bet (Y/N) can read you a few stories, I hear she's really good at that," Tom says.
"The star stories!" Ezra beams.
You can't help but smile, a bit shy about the star stories. The first time you put Ezra to bed you noticed the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. Of course, Ezra couldn't pick out just one story that night without going back and fourth on six others, so you offered him an original. On the spot you just made up a story about the stars on the ceiling, making it funny and interesting but easy to follow.
From that night on the star stories were kind of a must have for bedtime. It was a full-on emergency when you got a text on your night off from Tom that was a rushed "what the hell are star stories?! help, Ez is upset that I'm not doing it right".
"Of course, that's the best bedtime story," Tom smiles, his eyes flickering over to you for the briefest moment.
Ezra responds by curling as close as he physically can to his father, and Tom holds him close with his nose buried in his son's curls. You feel a bit invasive, watching this incredibly private moment. You blink and swallow around the lump in your throat, backing up until you're out of the door frame. You fall back into Ezra's room just down the hall and start to get everything ready.
Close the curtains.
Arrange his blankets and stuffed animals just right.
Turn on his night light.
A few minutes later Ezra comes in with Tessa on his heels. You watch as Ezra climbs into bed and Tessa jumps up and curls by foot of it. Although Tessa isn't exactly allowed on the bed during bedtime, it's so cute you find yourself letting it slide.
"You ready for bed sweetheart?" You ask softly, tucking him in and running a hand through his hair, smoothing the curls back and out of his face.
Ezra yawns and nods, "star story."
"Yes, a star story," you chuckle.
With that you start making up a story, this time the main character is the smallest star in the cluster. The whole time you're lulling the boy to sleep by playing with his hair and scalp. It doesn't take much for Ezra to start yawning a bunch, and within ten minutes the boy's eyes are shut and his little mouth has gone slack. You finish your story anyways even if he's asleep, just to make sure he'll stay asleep.
Quietly, you stand up and glance to Tessa.
"Come on Tess," you whisper, and the dog gets off the bed, shaking it a bit.
Holding your breath, you look at Ezra who didn't move a muscle. Exhaling you lead Tessa out of the room before shutting the door. You head to the bathroom and make sure all toys are being dried out and the bubbles aren't becoming scum against the tub. You finish cleaning up the rest of dinner which is just a pan and some dishes.
Once everything looks good you pad quietly back down the hall to Tom's room.
The last thing you expect is to see Tom hunched over, thick black rimmed glasses still on, with one hand tangled in his hair with a white knuckled grip while the other follows the words on the script as he reads. He looks beyond tired and frustrated. The dent he's made in the script doesn't really add up when you think about how much time he's had to read it.
Tom hasn't noticed your presence either, and it gives you a moment to watch silently. The way he gnaws at his lower lip with his upper teeth and the pinched look on his face makes worry knot in your stomach.
"You good?" You finally ask, making yourself known.
Tom flinches and over, "fuck, don't—don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry," you amend and walk into the room, continuing until you're bedside, "I just came to tell you that Ezra's asleep and I've cleaned up for the day."
The man nods and takes off his glasses, and you can't help but raise your eyebrow in curiosity.
"How long have you had glasses?" You ask.
"Since I was about seven," Tom sighs, "they're just magnifying ones...it helps my dyslexia."
Oh.
Well that makes a lot of sense. The intensity that Tom was reading and the amount he's read paired with dyslexia as the root cause makes sense. You can tell it stresses him out, if this moment is anything to go by. You glance at the script and take note at the horribly tiny text Marvel uses. Frowning, you glance back at Tom who is looking at you nervously.
"If you ever need someone to play sixty other characters I'd happily read those parts for you, so you know, you can focus on reading your own. I don't know if you can even share it with me or—"
"I'd really like that," Tom interjects quickly, his eyes lighting up.
You can't stop the smile that crosses your face, "good."
"Obviously not now though, it's getting late and I don't want you to drive home any later than this," Tom adds.
At this you feel yourself grow tingly and warm, because he cares about what time you have to drive home. You have a million things to say to that, but instead you shrug as a response.
"Is there anything I can do right now, get some of that tension out of your shoulders?" You ask.
Tom looks a bit taken at the offer, like he doesn't know what to do with that.
"Shoulder massage, scalp massage, some tea, I mean...anything really..." you list, awkwardly shoving your hands into your pant pockets.
"Tea would be lovely," Tom says, his voice cracking through his words.
Nodding you turn on your heel and make your way to the kitchen. You refuse to let yourself delve deeper and question why your face feels so warm or why your hands are so shaky. Instead you focus on making Tom some tea, even going so far as to use his favorite mug which is one Ezra painted at a children's ceramic art shop. You smile at the scribbles of color and his stark white hand prints forever stuck at age three.
You let the tea steep for a few minutes, putting in a dash of milk and sugar, before carefully delivering it to Tom. The steam from the boiling drink curls into the air in thick tendrils and Tom doesn't even attempt a sip. Instead he lets it cool on his bedside table for a bit.
"Thank you (Y/N)," Tom smiles but it sounds cut short, as if he wanted to say more.
"...anything else?" You ask.
Tom's face goes red, and you can't help but find it endearing.
"You mentioned, um, a head massage which um...I find it relaxing when people play with my hair which sounds really weird now that I say it out loud," Tom laughs nervously.
You smirk and walk closer, "it's not weird. Shush and turn around, get close to the edge."
Tom shuts his mouth and turns so his legs are sprawled out on the bed, his back pressed to your front as you stand at the very edge of the bed. You grab his tea and hand it to him, knowing he'd probably ask for it in a moment anyways.
You take a steadying breath before letting your nails run up the back of his neck in slow lazy circles. His pale skin rises his goosebumps and a small shiver runs through him.
"Sorry," Tom says softly.
"You're fine," you reassure him.
For the next ten or so minutes you let your hands and fingers play with his hair, your nails scraping at his scalp and neck. Tom's eyes slip shut every once and a while and during those times a vulnerability washes over him, as if he's given you complete power over him. Trust. Your heart tightens in your chest every so often, and you're glad you're helping him relax and unwind. You let yourself really look at him. The sharpness of his jaw, the lines of his nose, the dusting of freckles he has. It's beautiful really, a work of art. Of course, the softness of his curls takes the cake; his hair is so damn soft it almost makes you jealous that yours doesn't compete.
By the time Tom opens his eyes, the lids looking heavy with sleep, it's been a good few minutes and he begins to pull away.
"You should get home," he yawns.
You nod, "y-yeah, I should."
The two of you look at each other and you put on a smile.
"You good?" You ask.
"More than, thank you for being such a big help."
"Of course."
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
Tom nods, "tomorrow."
You give a small wave before backing up, turning on your heel, and walking out of the room. By the time you're in your car you can't help but feel that you walked away from something much more. Once again you shove that thought away and start the drive home.