Page 28 of Nanny for the Demon's Twins

Nova giggles. "You sound the same." She takes a careful spoonful of soup, then beams. "Mmm. Good, Mama."

The kitchen goes silent. Mira freezes, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her green eyes fill with tears, and she sets the spoon down with trembling fingers.

It's shocking how quickly Nova sees what she's done. "I'm sorry," Nova whispers, looking between us. "I didn't mean?—"

"It's okay, sweetheart." Mira's voice breaks slightly. She reaches across to squeeze Nova's hand. "You can call me whatever makes you want."

I watch a tear slip down Mira's cheek. She wipes it away quickly, but not before I see the mix of joy and fear in her expression. The twins have never called anyone but Sarah that, and it wasn't for long.

Luna looks at her sister, then declares, "If Nova says it, I want to too."

Mira presses a hand to her mouth. More tears fall, but she's smiling now. I want to pull her close, to tell her she deserves this - deserves them, deserves everything.

Instead, I clear my throat. "Eat your soup before it gets cold."

But I can't take my eyes off her face, memorizing the moment my family felt complete.

Eventually, I glance over at the twins, now both hunched over their coloring pages while they take small bites of soup. Mira's clever idea is most definitely working. The scratching of their crayons fills the comfortable silence.

Luna's tongue pokes out in concentration as she scribbles, her copper curls falling in her face. Nova meticulously stays within the lines, carefully selecting each color before using it. Complete opposites, even in how they draw.

"Look what I made!" Luna holds up her paper, nearly knocking over her soup bowl in her excitement.

My breath catches. There we all are - stick figures with wild red hair for the twins, a tall figure that must be me with exaggerated pointed ears, and Mira with long brown lines for hair. But what makes my chest tight is how she's drawn Mira's hand linked with mine, little hearts floating around us.

"That's beautiful, starlight." Mira's voice is still rough from crying, but her smile is genuine. "I love how you drew everyone's hair."

"See? That's you and Uncle Karn." Luna points proudly. "And me and Nova playing with magic in the garden."

Nova peers at her sister's drawing. "The hearts need to be purple like Uncle Karn's eyes." She reaches for the purple wax but Luna snatches the paper away.

"No, they're perfect like this!"

The longing hits me like a physical blow. The simple innocence of a child's drawing showing what I want but can't have. Mira belonging here, her hand in mine, our family complete. The way she fits so naturally into our chaos.

I grip my spoon tighter, the metal warping slightly under my fingers. Mira notices - she always notices - and gives me a questioning look. I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

"I should get to the shop." I push back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. My hands still tingle from the warped spoon. "Got orders backed up."

"You barely slept." Mira's concern hits like a physical touch. "The commissions can wait a day. Don't you want to stay and get some rest?"

My mind latches onto her words in the wrong way, thinking only if Mira and my bed and the things I could do that wouldn't be resting… "No, I need—" I clear my throat. "Work has to get done."

Luna pouts. "But we're drawing family pictures!"

"Save them for me." I drop a kiss on her hair, then Nova's. "I'll look at them tonight."

I practically flee downstairs. The workshop's familiar scents of metal and smoke wrap around me as I descend the stairs. I grab my leather apron, trying to focus on the day's tasks instead of Mira's soft eyes or how natural that word - family - felt on Luna's lips.

The forge roars to life under my hands. I feed it metal, watching it glow and bend. Hours pass in a blur of hammering and shaping, but every strike echoes with memories. All I can think of is how Mira looked as she slept earlier, of the way her body felt pressed into mine in that sweet hug I wouldn't let her out of, how I am dying for just one fucking taste-

"Dammit." I've hammered this piece too thin, distracted by thoughts of her. It seems to be happening more and more.

The metal screams as I crush it in my fist. My violet eyes reflect in the warped surface, accusatory. When did she become so essential? When did my chest start aching at the thought of her leaving?

I grab fresh metal, determined to focus. But my hands move with purpose now, shaping something different than planned. Something worthy of her. Something to show what I can't say with words.

The twins' laughter drifts down from upstairs, followed by Mira's warm voice. The sound settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like she belongs there.

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