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Chapter Three

Aswan

It was difficult, but I managed to stay away from Hannah’s house until just before noon on Saturday. A full eighteen hours. What, you think you deserve a reward ?

I should have stayed away longer. What kind of male enters a desperate situation like Hannah’s and imagines things that aren’t there? Because that’s surely what had happened.

She’d been ill—maybe not fevered like her son, but she clearly wasn’t feeling great. There was no way she’d been thinking dirty thoughts about me!

Except…there’d been a few times, right on the edge of my senses… Look, orcs have much more acute senses than humans gave us credit for, right? We could hear small movements or even pulses, especially if it’s someone we’re attu ned to. And our sense of smell was legendary, which wasn’t so much of a boon when it came to Joshua’s diapers.

But yesterday?

I could have sworn I smelled Hannah’s arousal.

See? Ridiculous. The poor woman was ill, exhausted, and at her wits’ end when it came to her work and kids. Besides, there’d been that parting handshake: friends . I was her nanny, and she was my friend.

And I told myself that’s why I was standing on her porch at noon on a Saturday—a day the nanny shouldn’t be working—with arm loads of groceries. Because she was sick, and she was my friend.

“Hi, Aswan!” Tova announced as she yanked the door open, a smile—missing two teeth—brightening her face. “I’m going to play at Emmy’s. Mom said it was okay. Did you bring her?”

Since she’d skipped off as she asked this, I took it as an invitation, and stepped into the foyer, carefully nudging the door closed with my heel. “I didn’t. Do you walk to Emmy’s house?” I told myself I was only asking because nannies needed to know these things.

“Our backyards connect, silly!” Tova was shoving things—were those dolls?—into a backpack. “Well, almost. The Stevensons and Mrs. Mallak don’t mind if we cut across their woods to play. I have to cross the creek, but I can just hop across it, easy peasy. Wanna see?”

It sounded like the two little girls were used to going back and forth, so I wouldn’t concern myself. Instead, I arranged my bags on the counter. “Maybe some other time. Is your mom around? ”

“ Mom !” Tova bellowed up the stairs. “I’m going to Emmy’s! Aswan is here!”

I winced, hoping for a more subtle introduction.

Because the Hannah who came shuffling to the top of the stairs, her expression incredulous, was not who I was expecting. Her hair—which yesterday had hung about her cheeks and shoulders in glorious waves—was tied up in a messy bun. She wore silk pajamas and was struggling to carry a squirming Joshua.

And the poor woman had two pieces of tissues shoved up her nostrils.

I knew the moment she remembered, because she whirled around and bent over—I was a horrible male for admiring her ass—to plop Joshua on the ground, snatch the tissues, shove them in her pockets, and pick him back up again before he could make an escape.

“Down, Mama!” he yelled, wriggling furiously.

In an effort to distract her from her embarrassment—she was adorable when she blushed—I tried a chuckle. “My little buddy’s feeling better, huh?”

“Um…” Swallowing, clearly uncertain, Hannah began to pick her way down the steps. “I gave him another dose of fever reducer this morning, although I’m trying to keep him low-key today.”

Wincing in sympathy, I met her halfway up the stairs to take the squirming toddler from her so she could focus on not tripping. “And you’re not feeling any better?”

“A little,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s a major cold, but they always hit me hard. ”

“Because you don’t take time to care for yourself,” I half-scolded over my shoulder as I carried her son toward the kitchen.

I don’t think I imagined her quiet, “I don’t have time to take care of myself.”

I stood Joshua on the tile. The little boy tipped his head back to stare up at me, so much so that he stumbled backward and plopped down on his butt. His blue eyes were wide, reminding me of his mother’s surprise.

“We’re going to warm up some soup for your mom,” I told him. “I need your help, okay?”

His solemn little nod was pretty damn cute. I handed him a wooden spoon and placed one of the dirty bowls from the sink in front of him. “Can you show me how to mix soup?”

As Joshua began to happily smack the bowl—and the tile, and himself—with the wooden spoon, I frowned at the sink. “And we’ll have to teach your siblings how to load their cereal bowls into the dishwasher,” I muttered.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” Hannah blurted, and I glanced up, surprised to still see her here.

“It’s not messy.” I made a shooing motion with my free hand. “Go lie down. I mean it. I’ll put away the groceries.”

“Aswan, I don’t work on the weekend. I need a nanny during the week.”

Something deep in my chest tightened, and I think my smile was overly bright to hide that fact. “Yeah, but you do need a friend. Seriously, I’ll work on lunch, and pick up in here, and I’ll keep the kids busy. ”

“I—”

“I’ll bet another nap would do you good.” I was already focused on finding a place for the mozzarella cheese in the fridge. “And if it makes you feel less weird about accepting help from a friend, you could pay me for an extra day.”

“ Fine .” It wasn’t until I heard her acquiescence that I realized how much I was hoping for it. “But save your receipts. Today’s and yesterday’s, and the brownies. I’m adding them into your paycheck.”

I didn’t need a paycheck; I needed to feel useful . But since I was getting my way, I merely grunted and used my knee to block Joshua from climbing into the open fridge. “Buddy, if you want a cheese stick, just ask.”

“Cheese tick! Now!”

“ Now isn’t the magic word.”

“Abba-dabba! Magic cheese stick!”

By the time I quit chuckling and got him his snack, Hannah had snuck away. Hopefully to nap. I made a mental note to try to keep the noise down.

I’d decided to make pizzas for the kids’ lunches, after I’d put the soup on the stove to reheat. I was measuring out the flour when I heard light steps coming down the stairs. I was already turning toward the door when Benny’s voice came through.

“What smells so— Oh .”

Yesterday had been a strange interaction with the boy. He was clearly on the cusp of puberty, and I’d learned enough about humans in the last decade—and I’ll admit, some late- night reading last night on physiology—to know the poor kid’s brain and hormones were being pulled in all directions.

“Hello,” I offered neutrually. “I’m reheating your mom’s soup. Did you want any?”

Watching me a little warily, he edged around his brother to sniff at the stove. “It smells spicy. What is it?”

I hesitated, then decided to tell him the truth. “I call it my Kickass Chicken Soup. I used to make it for my brother whenever he got sick.”

Abydos was sick a lot when we first found safety in Colorado, but he preferred the soup about eight times spicier than this.

Benny had whirled on me, brows raised. “Did you tell my mom that? Is it kickass because it’s good?”

My twin had been the one to name it. Gods below, at times like this, I missed him. I missed the peace we’d found in Bramblewood. I wished he hadn’t gone back to the mainland—to handle his business, he’d claimed—but I knew it was because he couldn’t handle being around this many humans.

But Benny was still staring at me eagerly, waiting for me to say the bad word again.

“It’s kickass because I used to make it strong enough to kick your ass.” I held up my hand, palm out. “And I think that’s the last time we’re going to say that word around your brother, okay?”

The boy flushed guiltily and glanced at Joshua. “Why are you on the floor eating? That’s gross,” he muttered as he struggled to lift up the toddler and carry him to his highchair.

I cocked my head to one side and watched him strap the little one in. It was clear Joshua loved his big brother, from the chortling…but Benny was frowning in concentration. He hadn’t been looking out for Joshua because he was necessarily worried, but out of…obligation?

“I’ll find you some crackers, Joshy,” he muttered, turning away.

But I was already there, holding out the box. “I got it, Benny. Or do you prefer Benjamin?”

He’d done a double take when I started to feed his little brother and now frowned thoughtfully. “My mom calls me Benny. My teacher calls me— called me Benjamin.”

“Did you like your teacher?”

“Ms. Young? Yeah, she was cool.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared down at his bare feet. “When school’s back in, I’ll be in fifth grade. That’s the year before middle school.”

Ah. “Big changes, huh?” I said nonchalantly as I went back to measuring dry ingredients. “I’ll bet it feels a little weird to think about moving schools.”

The boy shrugged, not looking at me. “The upper school is right next door. Besides, I’m ready.” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I’m the man of the house, after all.”

I kept my gaze on the bowl, trying not to let him see the way my chest had tightened at that innocent comment. Obligation . That’s what this was. Where was his father? Where was Hannah’s Mate?

“You know,” I began carefully, spooning in the Greek yogurt that gave my pizza crust its tang, “orcs change our names frequently. We’re born with one name, and we get another right around the age you are, when we start to become adults. Our clans give us new names—or we choose them—with each milestone, like Mating or a battle or a particular achievement.”

“So your real name isn’t Aswan?”

“It is,” I corrected, turning out the dough to the floured counter. “I was given the name Aswan by human scientists when I crossed into the human world, and it is what your government calls me. Maybe one day I’ll choose a new name, but for now, Aswan is my real name.”

“Not a great name,” the boy muttered. “Sounds like ass-one.”

When I twisted my head to raise a brow at him, he flushed and looked away. “Let’s not use that language,” I gently chided. “Although to be fair, my brother used to say the same thing.”

“The brother who you made the soup for?” he blurted, moving over to the counter to watch me.

“Yes, that one. I have many brothers. Three of them came to the human world with me, ten years ago. My younger brothers are living here in Eastshore—Simbel works at your schools, and Memnon and his Mate run the garden shop. Go wash your hands, so you can help.”

As he followed my instruction, I carried on with the explanation. “My twin brother is Abydos, and he’s appointed himself head of our little group. I don’t think he needed to, but he felt obligated. It is a heavy responsibility, and I think it has made him…” I frowned thoughtfully at the dough I was shaping. “Hard. Bitter.”

The boy’s only response was a little snort as he dried his hands, and I wondered if he got my point.

“I only mentioned all this to share that to me, at least, it’s normal to choose a new name when we make changes. So that’s why I asked you what you wanted me to call you. Benny? Benjamin? Ben?”

“Ben,” he blurted, then looked a little embarrassed. “I mean, I like Ben. Maybe next year the teacher can call me Ben.”

“Ben,” I agreed, shifting out of the way, welcoming him at the counter. “I’m making pizza. If you don’t want the spicy soup, would you prefer to help me?”

“I love pizza!” Ben’s face lit with a childlike sort of joy as he took the rolling pin I offered. “Pepperoni is the best.”

I was just digging out the pepperoni when Joshua threw his crackers on the floor. “Uh-oh!” he laughed. “Uh-oh! Uh-oh!”

Ben looked up from his work, and his expression fell again into disappointment. “Oh, Joshy,” he sighed, placing the rolling pin down.

“Uh-oh, Doshy!” the toddler laughed, kicking his feet. “Mo’ cackers!”

I watched Ben’s joy fade as he surveyed the mess, and realized he was mentally preparing for the responsibility of cleaning up the mess .

“It’s okay, Ben,” I was quick to offer. “I’ve got this. You keep?—”

“I know where the broom is,” he interrupted with a sigh, heading for the pantry.

And I followed him, to gently take the implement from his hand. He glanced up at me in surprise, and I laid a palm on his shoulder as his little brother laughed at his own cleverness at knocking more crackers onto the floor.

“It’s okay, Ben,” I repeated quietly. “I got this . You go back to working on your pizza.”

But he frowned up at me. “It’s my job to take care of him.”

“No, it’s not.” I tried to be gentle, but firm. “It’s your job to be a kid, Ben. It’s my job to feed Joshua and clean up his messes.”

His frown deepened. “You’re not our dad. Or a real nanny. Dudes can’t be nannies.”

“Really?” My brows rose. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. You can explain your insights into gender roles as you make the pizza?—”

“I just mean…” Flustered, Ben slipped away from my hold and flapped his hands. “Real men don’t care about taking care of kids or cooking or cleaning up messes or whatever.”

And he’d still been willing to do all those things, albeit reluctantly? I shook my head. “ Real males do whatever their friends and family need them to do, Ben. That is why I’m here. Because your mother is now my friend, and she trusts me to take care of all of you. You are not yet an adult, and thus you don’t need to worry about…” I shook my head again and spat out the words, “what real men do. Who taught you such things?”

I could read from Ben’s body language, and the sour smell of his embarrassment, that he didn’t love the question. So I was surprised, as I swept up the broken crackers, to hear him mutter, “My dad was kinda a jerk.”

I didn’t respond, but the answer gave me plenty to think about as I finished cleaning and brought Joshua a banana. “What eats bananas, Joshua?” I asked him seriously.

The boy was reaching happily. “Monkey!”

“Here you go, little monkey.” I opened the peel just slightly and handed it over, watching in case I needed to peel it more. But the toddler happily attacked the fruit, peeling it himself.

I stepped back to see Ben watching me. He quickly shifted his attention to the dough on the counter. “Is this thin enough?”

I hummed, pretending to study the dough. “It could be thinner here and here.” As Ben bent back over the rolling pin, I cleared my throat.

“Your father isn’t here, Ben, but that doesn’t mean you have to be the man of the house.” I could see his ears reddening. “But that being said, and I know I just gave you a whole speech on allowing me to take over responsibility…”

I trailed off enough to give him time to glance at me. When he did, I grinned.

“Could you tell me where the crayons and paper are? Or something I could give your little brother to do while we make lunch? Because once we start saucing this thing, I don’t want to have to stop to entertain him.”

His grin seemed a little relieved. “How about you finish rolling the crust, and I’ll get the crayons? I can get the mozzarella cheese too.”

“Oh no, mister,” I told his back as he rummaged through what was clearly the junk drawer. “We’re grating our own. When I make pizza, I make it from scratch. Is there any kind of organization here? What is this thing?” I asked as I held up what looked like a medieval torture implement.

“It’s a thingy to take the pits out of olives, I think,” Ben offered with a smirk, reaching around me to pluck two crayons from the mess. “I’ve seen Mom use it exactly once.”

I surveyed the drawer in confusion. “You’re going to help me organize this while the pizza bakes.”

“Oh joy.” But Ben didn’t sound particularly unhappy, and I turned to see him arranging the coloring supplies in front of his brother. He cocked a brow at me. “You make your own pizza often?”

“I used to have my own restaurant. Come over here and grate this cheese—wait, no, wash your hands again first—and I’ll tell you about it.”

The ten-year-old’s grin seemed natural, at ease, as he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll do just about anything for pizza.”

And I felt like…I dunno. Like maybe I’d done something right ? Maybe, with me in his life, in his family’s life, Ben could spend the summer…just being a kid? He deserved that .

If I could make his life, and his mother’s life, easier…I would.

That’s what friends were for, after all.