Page 11 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

R osie and I wind our way through the assisted living facility with her little hand gripping mine. It’s quiet today, peaceful even, the residents mostly lounging in the common room. Nurses glide past, smiling at Rosie in a way that makes her giggle and wave with her free hand.

We reach Grandpa’s door, and the moment I push it open, I know he’s been sitting there all morning just waiting.

“Well, well, well,” he announces, tossing aside his newspaper. “If it isn’t my favorite granddaughter and…who’s this little thing?”

I scoop Rosie into my arms. “Thought you might appreciate a little excitement around here.”

Grandpa holds out his hands. “Bring her here. Let’s get a proper look at this little troublemaker.”

Rosie, always game for adventure, leans forward without hesitation. She immediately zeroes in on his glasses.

“Nope,” I say quickly, intercepting her hand. “She likes you. She only steals from people she’s fond of.”

Grandpa laughs, tapping Rosie lightly on her nose. “Let her take them. I’ve got backups.”

Rosie accepts the challenge and shifts targets, grabbing Grandpa’s watch strap with alarming strength.

I gently pry her fingers loose. “You’re assaulting an old man here.”

“Strong little thing, isn’t she?” Grandpa chuckles, rubbing his wrist. “Mark my words, this one’s going to raise hell.”

“She’s way ahead of you.”

Sitting Rosie on the edge of Grandpa’s bed, I pull out my phone and quickly snap a photo of her smiling. It’s so perfectly adorable that I send it to Wes without second-guessing myself.

He replies moments later:

Wes: Looks like she found a friend. Give my best to your grandfather.

A weird little flutter warms my chest. Wes Turner voluntarily sending a friendly greeting? I’m sure pigs are flying somewhere.

Grandpa clears his throat, snapping me back to reality. “That Rosie’s uncle?” he asks, all casual innocence and subtle mischief.

Not this again. He’s been asking more and more questions about Wes. “Don’t start.”

He eyes me. “You talk about him an awful lot.”

I’m suddenly very interested in smoothing Rosie’s flyaway curls. “Because he’s my boss. I watch his kid all day.”

“Sure, sure,” Grandpa says, pretending he’s not seeing straight through me.

“Eat your lunch, old man,” I grumble, passing him the sandwich I smuggled in. I refuse to dignify his nonsense with any further response. Because it is nonsense, and he’s reading way too much into things.

So, I might have a teeny tiny little crush on my boss. Who wouldn’t?

“Oh, I will,” he says, eyeing the sandwich. “But don’t think I won’t be watching this little situation closely.”

“There’s no situation to watch.”

He tuts, deciding his sandwich is far more important than our conversation…at least for now.

He’s mid-bite when his nurse, Doris, strolls in.

“Good afternoon, Doris.” Grandpa straightens so fast, I hear his spine crack. And with a speed I haven’t witnessed from him in years, he shoves the contraband sandwich under the blanket, right beneath Rosie’s curious hands.

My jaw drops. “Grandpa—”

He shoots me a glare. “Don’t betray me now, child.”

Doris freezes mid-step. “What’ve you got there, Frank?”

“Nothing at all. Just quality time with my favorite girls.”

She hums and taps her clipboard with a pink feathered pen. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He clutches at his chest, feigning offense. “Doris, that hurts.”

“You know what else hurts?” she fires back. “Your cholesterol levels when you have your granddaughter smuggle in bacon sandwiches.”

“Bacon?” Grandpa’s voice squeaks an octave higher than usual. “Where?”

I keep myself busy playing with Rosie. I don’t want to get in trouble, too, and Doris looks like she’s about to give a scolding. Grandpa is the grown-up. Let him deal with it.

“What’s that grease spot doing on your pajamas?” Doris asks, arching a skeptical brow.

Grandpa looks down. Sure enough, there’s an incriminating oil stain blooming on the fabric.

“Uh, that—” He scrambles for an explanation while looking to me for help. I keep my eyes cast downward. “That’s just my body’s natural shine. You should be grateful. Most men my age are dusty and dull.”

I choke on the laugh threatening to bubble out of my chest.

“Frank,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Hand it over.”

“Hand what over?” He adjusts the blanket, trapping the sandwich beneath Rosie, who’s now giggling hysterically at this new game.

“Don’t play coy. I can smell the bacon from the hallway.”

“You should get your ventilation checked then. Imagine how many innocent people might be accused of bacon crimes due to your faulty sniffers.”

“Grandpa,” I plead. “Just give up.”

He raises his chin. “Never.”

Doris marches closer, staring over her red-rimmed glasses at him. “Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

He squints. “Depends. Is the hard way you wrestling me to the ground? Because I might enjoy—”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” She stifles a laugh behind the clipboard. “Frank, stop corrupting the youth.”

“Too late for this one.” Grandpa jerks his thumb at me .

“I don’t know this man,” I announce to the room. “Rosie, let’s pack up and leave before we become accessories.”

“Fine,” Grandpa huffs, lifting Rosie to retrieve the now slightly flattened sandwich from beneath her legs. “Here. Take it. You’ve crushed an old man’s spirit.”

“Your spirit will survive without bacon.”

“You’re wrong, Doris. My soul is bacon-shaped.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see her shoulders drop in defeat before she leans closer to whisper, “If Dr. Stevenson asks, we confiscated this immediately.”

“I won’t squeal.”

Poor Doris.

She blows out a breath and hands the sandwich back.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite nurse here?”

The corners of her lips tilt. “You tell me every day, Frank.”

Now that Grandpa is sorted, her attention turns to Rosie, and with the sight of her, she melts. “Look at this little cutie. Who’s this gorgeous girl?”

“That,” Grandpa proclaims, patting Rosie’s back gently, “is my new partner in crime.”

Doris spends a few indulgent minutes fussing over Rosie, making silly faces and funny sounds that draw delighted squeals from her.

Eventually, she glances my way, her smile softening. “We haven’t seen you in a while, Lena. Has work been keeping you busy?”

“Busy is an understatement,” I say, watching Rosie tug Grandpa’s watch once again. “But good. It’s been really good.”

“Still singing? ”

I tense, my fingers gripping the armchair just a little tighter. I don’t talk about my singing. Ever. “That’s more of a hobby.”

“Your grandpa brags about your voice like he’s your talent manager.”

I shoot him a narrow-eyed glare. “You’ve been running your mouth again?”

He shrugs his frail shoulders, mumbling over a mouthful of sandwich. “Why have a talented granddaughter if I can’t shamelessly exploit her?”

Doris laughs. “He’s got a point. Give us a little concert sometime?”

Grandpa scoffs. “Good luck with that. Lena’s too shy.”

“I am not shy,” I protest weakly, heat creeping up my neck.

“Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

The truth is far more complicated. It’s easier to sing in front of strangers because singing isn’t just a casual pastime for me. It’s always been my escape. When Mom died, my dad emotionally checked out and piled adult responsibilities onto my teenage shoulders. Music became my safe haven.

“Lena?” Grandpa’s gentle voice interrupts my thoughts.

I smile, forcing back the old ache. “I should probably rescue your watch.”

As the nurse leaves, Grandpa watches Rosie nestle comfortably in my arms, his eyes soft. “She’s a heartbreaker already. You should bring her when you visit next. She’s lifted an old man’s spirits.”

I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be here.”