Page 19 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Wes

T he second we leave Lyndsey behind, Lena pushes the cart forward. Every time she plucks something off a shelf, she side-eyes me like she’s collecting evidence for a murder trial.

My shoulders deflate with a sigh. “Just ask, Lena.”

She hums under her breath while scanning the shelves. “When were you going to tell me about your ex-girlfriend?”

“Never.”

“All right, that’s fair.” She taps a finger against the cart handle like she’s considering how best to interrogate me. “Why did she look like she just walked into a house fire?”

I grab a loaf of bread and chuck it in. “Maybe because she ran into her ex in a grocery store?”

“Hmm. No, I think it’s because she saw you with me and Rosie and had a whole cinematic moment. You know, like in those movies where the heroine realizes too late that she lost the best thing she ever had, and now she has to live with it.” She snaps her fingers. “Cue dramatic violin solo.”

I grit my teeth. “We’re not talking about this.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, at least, not outright. Instead, she steers the cart into the produce section and picks up a bag of Brussels sprouts.

Now that’s an argument if I’ve ever seen one.

“No.” I shake my head. “Put those back.”

She smirks. “Yes.”

“No, Lena.”

“Yes, Wesley.”

Fucking hell. I hate that she’s started to call me that.

I rub a hand over my face, exasperated. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Her eyebrow arches as she slowly waves the green bag in front of my face like a threat.

“Put those back and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Fine.” She gives in, lowering the bag. “No Brussels sprouts. But in return, I expect full, unfiltered honesty.”

I blow out a breath and take over pushing the cart.

“She couldn’t handle Rosie,” I finally say. Or me , but I don’t say that out loud. She couldn’t handle my grief or how pissed at the universe I was, how lost I felt. A baby didn’t fit the future she’d envisioned, and I wasn’t exactly easy to be around.

Lena’s head tilts in question. “What do you mean? ”

“The teething. The late nights. The sudden routines. We had plans. We wanted to travel. We wanted freedom and a life without midnight wake-up calls.” I pause, jaw ticking. “It was too big a shift.”

Her nose scrunches in that way it does when her thoughts get complicated. “I mean, I get it. That’s a lot. But to leave Rosie? To leave you when you needed her most?” She sighs, then leans down to make Rosie giggle with a silly face. “I don’t know, Wes.”

Rosie promptly whacks her with the soup ladle so hard the clunk echoes in the produce aisle.

A grin tugs at my lips. “Good job, princess,” I tease, winking at Rosie.

“Hey!” Lena rubs her arm. “Whatever. You’re paying for that ladle because we’re never getting that out of her hands.”

“I need a new one.”

I don’t, but Lena’s right. I’ve learned to choose my battles wisely.

When she’s sure she’s out of Rosie’s ladle range, she refocuses on me. “So did Lyndsey stay long after everything?” Her voice softens at the end, not quite sure how to phrase my sister’s accident.

“Three weeks.”

Her head jerks back like I just announced I eat cereal with tap water.

“Three weeks?” She stares, mouth opening and closing, eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

It’s a wonderful fucking mouth, but nothing is coming out of it.

“Spit it out.”

She waves her hands before they flop down at her sides again. I’m not sure if she knows what to do with her limbs anymore .

Covering Rosie’s ears, she stares at me with wide eyes. “Can I go back there and kick her ass?”

“No, Lena.”

“I could take her, you know. She’s got that fancy coat, but I’m scrappy.”

“I have no doubt you’d win,” I say, trying not to smile. “But let’s keep violence to a minimum for Rosie’s sake.”

Lena groans, dropping her hands. “You know, I understand that people aren’t always ready to be parents. But I also don’t understand, you know? If she loved you, how could she walk away? It doesn’t make sense.”

But of course it doesn’t make sense to her. Lena’s entire nature is to nurture. It comes easily to her.

“I figured you’d say that.”

Frowning, she shifts her weight, looking up at me as she rubs a hand over Rosie’s curls like she’s trying to protect her from the hurt she was never exposed to in the first place.

“Do you…forgive her?”

The answer is easy. “Yes”

It’s not until after Lyndsey walked away that I realized I wasn’t heartbroken. Not really. I was relieved.

Was the timing brutal? Sure. No getting around that. But do I ever wonder if we’d still be together if the accident hadn’t happened?

No. Not even a little. It doesn’t cross my mind.

“How? Why?”

“Because I want what’s best for Rosie. I’m glad Lyndsey showed me she wasn’t that three weeks in rather than three years.”

She considers that, then gently leans over and presses a kiss to Rosie’s head. “You know I’m not leaving you, Rosie Posie, right?”

My chest constricts at the unexpected wave of warmth in my gut.

“Jesus, Lena. Don’t threaten us like that.”

She nudges me with her elbow. “Shut up. You two would be vitamin-deficient without me.”

I glare pointedly at the Brussels sprouts that have magically reappeared in the cart. “Unbelievable. Didn’t I tell you no?”

“Oops?”

She just grins, her earlier seriousness replaced by that mischievous spark I know all too well.

When she takes over pushing the cart, I fall into step beside them and wait for the ache in my chest to loosen. I’m glad she’s here, even if that means dealing with Brussels sprouts on my dinner plate.

Still, a part of me wonders: how long will Lena stay? Because God help me, if she goes and leaves us too, I don’t know how many more pieces I’d be able to pick up.