Page 17 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Wes

When the door swings open and Lena walks in from the hallway, I’m sure the kitchen smells like it’s on fire.

She takes one look around. “Oh, good. The house is still standing. Minor miracles.”

I blow out a frustrated breath as I try to wipe Rosie’s mashed banana off the counter. And my forearm. And my soul.

When Rosie sees Lena, she immediately shrieks, “ Na-na-na-na!”

“Traitor,” I mumble.

Lena scoops her up, and Rosie instantly goes limp like she’s been drugged with affection.

Great.

Apparently, she can regulate her emotions, just not with me.

“Rough morning?” Lena asks, casually handing Rosie a teething biscuit from her magic nanny bag of wonders.

I stare at her, dead-eyed. “Don’t ask.”

She hums and turns toward the sink to clean up Rosie, who is now babbling and chewing contentedly on her biscuit. Meanwhile, I look like a man who’s been personally victimized by a toddler.

Lena is wearing this baggy gray sweatshirt today, because yes, apparently, I’m mentally cataloging her outfit choices now.

The sweatshirt is the kind you throw on when you don’t want anyone to look at you.

Except for her, it does the opposite. It’s soft and slouchy, hanging just right, and when she reaches up to open a cabinet, it lifts and reveals a flash of skin above the waistband of her leggings.

It’s the kind of glimpse that turns your whole morning into a crisis.

Then she shifts Rosie on her hip, and her breasts bounce. Just a little. Just enough.

What the fuck is wrong with me lately?

I don’t know what kind of dreams I’m having, but I wake up tense most mornings. Now I’m wound up so tight I could turn coal into diamonds. I don’t even want to think about the last time I had sex. My right hand and I are in a committed relationship, and it’s starting to judge me.

I need to get laid .

With someone.

Anyone.

Just not the damn nanny.

“Rosie,” Lena coos, “Guess where we’re going today? We’re going to feed the ducks, and then we need to go to the grocery store.”

Rosie claps, delighted with their plans.

“You’re going to the store?”

“Yup. We’re low on everything. And you’re out of coffee. Which, frankly, explains a lot.”

I’ve been meaning to go with them anyway, to see what she actually buys. Lena shops like someone who cares. Fresh produce, organic this, whole grain that. On her days off, I don’t want Rosie eating microwave chicken nuggets and whatever random crap I throw in the cart.

“Text me what store when you get there.”

Why is she looking at me like I’m sick? “You want to go shopping with us?”

“Yes,” I bite out. Someone needs to stop her from buying more Brussels sprouts.

A slow grin spreads across her face. “How very domesticated of you, Wesley.”

I’m not fucking touching that.

Grabbing my keys, I try to escape before I do something like offer to help with the dishes just to see her bend over.

I turn back toward the hallway just as my speakers cut off and the music stops playing, only to be replaced with some high-pitched jingle.

Confused, I peer back into the kitchen.

Lena’s holding her phone as a voice announces, “Welcome back to Skeptically In Love , the podcast where we dissect modern dating, one red flag at a time. ”

Rosie starts clapping, and God help me, dancing. It’s a full-body bounce right there on Lena’s hip like the intro music is her personal club anthem. She’s heard this before.

I point to the phone, eyebrows raised. “What do you have my niece listening to?”

“It’s a podcast,” she says slowly.

“I gathered that.”

“It’s good for her language development,” she adds, adjusting Rosie’s onesie. “We do music after her morning nap. Right now, we’re making our way through your vinyl collection alphabetically.”

I blink. “Alphabetically?”

“Teaching her letters.”

“Could you have her listen to a podcast about…” I wave a hand. “I don’t know. Anything else?”

“What?” she asks, looking genuinely confused. “There are a ton of strong women on this. Doctors, psychologists, therapists. It’s educational.”

“It’s about dating.”

“Exactly. Dating is a crazy world. I’m preparing her. And let’s be honest here, it’s not like she understands what they’re saying.”

My jaw locks. “She won’t be dating.”

Lena snorts a laugh under her breath. “Right.”

“I’m serious. Not until she’s twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?”

“Minimum.”

“Wes.” She actually laughs. “She tried to eat a dryer sheet yesterday. You think you can control her teenage years?”

“I’ll do what I have to.” I grab my hoodie from the chair. “Alright. I’ve gotta get to the shop.”

“See you later,” Lena says before she turns to Rosie. “ Let’s get you dressed, huh?”

For fuck’s sake. At this rate, I’m never going to get to work.

Spinning around on my heel, I tell her, “She is dressed.” I gesture to Rosie’s orange onesie with a giraffe on it. “I did that myself.”

She turns and gives me a look. The kind that says I’m not mad, just disappointed… and a little impressed you’ve survived this long on your own.

“It’s Tuesday,” she tells me, like that explains everything.

“And?”

“She needs her duck dress.”

“Her what?”

“The duck dress. She wears it on Tuesdays.”

I don’t even know what to say to her anymore. “That’s a thing now?”

“We feed the ducks on Tuesdays. She needs to wear her duck dress. It’s tradition.”

“She’s eighteen months old.”

Her eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out of her head.

Strolling into the hallway, she shields Rosie’s face as she passes me like she’s trying to protect her from my foul mood. “No offense here, Wes, but you obviously woke up on the wrong side this morning, and you’re killing our vibe. Go to work.”

“Are you throwing me out of my own house?”

“Yes.”

I stare at the ceiling. Maybe there’s patience up there. “Sweet Jesus.”

Lena sighs and walks away like I’m the one being unreasonable.

I don’t know how this woman hijacked my house, my routines, and now my niece’s closet, but I do know that when I walk out the door and hear Rosie giggle at some insane dating advice, and Lena sing-songing, “Duck dress, duck dress,” I find myself smiling.

God help me.