Page 22 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Lena

I ’m stirring the sauce on the stove, humming quietly, when the open kitchen window lets in a lazy breeze.

I glance over at Wes, who’s sprawled comfortably at the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching Rosie annihilate a toy guitar.

“You’re staring,” I point out, lips twitching.

He winces when he moves, still a little sore from baby yoga last week. I’ve been warned that if I make him go back, I’m definitely fired.

“Why do you always have to buy her toys that make the most noise?”

Rosie smacks the guitar, proving his point.

“Because clearly,” I say dryly. “She’s the next Hendrix.”

“She’s a future noise complaint,” Wes mutters, though he’s fighting a smile.

“It’s educational. Builds motor skills and promotes language development.” I flick sauce from the spoon at him.

He wipes the sauce splatter off his hand, lifting one skeptical brow. “That’s what we’re calling this? Development?”

I roll my eyes. “You know, it’s scientifically proven.”

“What is?”

“That dads who grumble at cute baby milestones instantly lose ten hotness points.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re making that up.”

“Google it,” I say. “I don’t make the rules.”

Before he can respond, the front door suddenly swings open, startling both of us. A tall figure strides inside like he owns the place, utterly oblivious to the fact that he is, in fact, very much not invited.

He’s dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit, tie perfectly knotted with shoes polished enough to blind an unsuspecting pedestrian.

Without breaking stride, he reaches straight into Rosie’s playpen and hoists her up. “Hello, baby girl.”

She squeals with delight, apparently thrilled by this random stranger.

My heart leaps into my throat, and instinct takes over. Before I can even process my panic, I grab the nearest object—a cast-iron frying pan—and raise it.

“Put down the baby!” I shout, wielding my cookware weapon of choice.

The stranger freezes mid-bounce, eyes widening as Rosie giggles in his arms.

He still isn’t putting her down, and all I can think about is how this will someday become an episode of a true-crime podcast because my feet are moving, and I’m striding toward him in the next breath.

“Put. Her. Down.”

Wes shoots off the stool, rushing over and grabbing me firmly around the waist, hauling me backward. “Whoa. Calm down. No murder in my kitchen.”

What the hell?

“I’m defending your offspring. Rosie’s being kidnapped by Armani!”

Wes laughs, but his arm is still around my waist, and God, it feels solid. I’d enjoy it more if I weren’t currently in the midst of an assault.

“Relax, Lena. He’s not a kidnapper.”

“Then who the hell is he?” I demand, pan still raised.

“Julian.” Wes laughs. “He’s, unfortunately, a friend.”

Armani… I mean, Julian adjusts his hold on Rosie. It’s only then that I notice how natural he looks holding her. He’s done this before. Many times.

“You must be the nanny?” he says, eyeing me.

I finally lower the frying pan. “I don’t know who you think you are, Julian, but next time, try knocking. I almost pancaked your pretty-boy face.”

He blinks. “Pretty-boy?”

Wes snorts, but steps away to let me deal with it.

“You heard me.” I finally relinquish the pan to Wes. “Breaking and entering plus unauthorized baby snuggling equals a wallop of a frying pan. Simple math.”

Julian glances over at Wes. “You never mentioned she was violent.”

“It’s part of her charm.”

I scowl at both of them before whipping out my phone and snapping Julian’s picture.

The instant the flash goes off, Rosie smiles. It’s pure reflex. I’ve taken so many pictures of her at this point she probably thinks it’s a required part of breathing.

“Did…did you just take my mugshot?” Julian asks, almost horrified.

“Obviously.” I open the Notes app on my phone. “You’re officially going in my Stranger Danger Files.”

“She keeps a diary,” Wes explains.

Julian’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head at this point. “She keeps…a diary?”

I hold it up. “Stranger Danger Files. A comprehensive list of people authorized to interact with Rosie without risking head trauma. So far, it’s a very short list.”

Julian steps closer and peers over my shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Am I at least under consideration now?”

“Under probation,” I correct. “But watch yourself, or you’re back on the frying pan hit-list.”

Rosie, clearly sensing the tension, reaches up and tugs Julian’s tie. He glances down as she tries to put it in her mouth.

“Rosie, please,” he drawls. “You need to stop trying to eat me eventually.”

Wes pries her from his arms. “Congratulations. Your tie just became a teething ring.”

Returning to my pot, I scoop pasta, meatballs, and sauce onto a plate before thrusting it toward Julian.

“What’s this?” he asks warily.

“Apology pasta. For almost knocking you unconscious.”

He takes it slowly, inspecting it like it might bite him. “Did you spit in it?”

I stare him down, unblinking. “No, but I can if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Even Wes chokes now. “Jesus Christ, Lena.”

Julian grins, clearly enjoying this. “I like you.”

“I’m still not sure about you.”

He shrugs, already pulling out a stool. He takes a bite, chewing as he leans forward on his elbows. “So, how come Wes never introduced us? You’ve been around a while.”

I shoot Wes a curious look. “Yeah, Wesley. Why haven’t I heard about Julian before?”

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose like we’re giving him a headache. “Trust me, it was for your own good.”

Julian winks at me shamelessly. “I thought I was the only one to call him by his given name.”

“Want a medal?”

He barks a laugh, looking far too pleased. “Keep speaking to me like that, Lena, and I might go and fall in love with you.”

The smile that curves on my mouth is stupidly big.

He’s charming. Dangerous, but charming.

“Truth is,” he says, mouth still half-full, “Wes keeps the pretty boys hidden away. Afraid of competition.”

I glance between them, amused by the sudden tension crackling in the air.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Too long,” Wes answers first.

Julian’s gaze drifts over me briefly. “Long enough to know when he’s hiding something.”

I look down at myself. “Me being the something? ”

“Can’t blame him. Do you attack everyone who walks in here?”

“Violence is my love language.”

Julian chuckles again. “She bites. Wherever did you find her, Wesley?”

“Hell,” Wes mutters under his breath, clearly fighting a smile. “Lena, please don’t break him. He’s fragile.”

Julian nods slowly. “Yes, very fragile. Handle me carefully.”

I laugh despite myself. “Should I bubble-wrap your ego?”

“I’d prefer silk. Bubble wrap chafes.”

Rolling my eyes, I tilt my head toward Wes. “Does he always require this much attention, or is today special?”

Julian leans closer, grinning. “Special. I dressed up just for you.”

“You dressed like you’re attending your own funeral.”

“Nearly was, if you had your way.” He looks at Wes. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Wes scrubs a hand over his face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time.”

“I think she secretly likes me,” Julian says, giving me a sweeping once-over. “Beneath that aggressive shell beats a heart longing for Italian suits and impeccable grooming.”

I much prefer men with a scowl covered in grease, but I don’t say that out loud because I’m not insane.

“The only thing my heart longs for right now is to finish cooking without anyone bleeding.”

“Told you. She’s in love with me already.”

Wes grumbles, looking skyward for patience. “ Julian, remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because your taste in friends is impeccable, much like your taste in nannies.”

The sound that comes from the back of Wes’s throat in response is so primal that my thighs squeeze together.

Good lord.

“Eat your apology pasta, or I swear to God I’ll let her finish what she started.

” He stands and moves to the sink. Brushing past me, his palm lands gently on the small of my back as he reaches over me to grab something.

Don’t ask me what he’s grabbing because I’ve lost the ability to visually process anything.

But even with frazzled thoughts, I know it’s a possessive touch, one that scorches straight through my clothes. My stomach flips, and my heart stutters.

Julian laughs under his breath, clearly noticing my reaction.

Wes notices, too, given how tightly his hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “You’re off the clock, Lena. You should head home.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “There are leftovers if Rosie wants more dinner, but please limit her guitar session.”

Julian tilts his head. “Is that what we’re calling that racket?”

Wes jerks his chin. “Scientific studies say dads lose hotness points if they criticize baby genius. Lena said so.”

I sputter, grabbing my jacket from the chair. “I’m leaving before you both ruin my carefully constructed science.”

His voice drops into that low, teasing register that does unfair things to my heartbeat. “Drive safe, Carter. Try not to assault anyone else tonight.”

Julian lifts his fork. “I’ll knock next time, Warrior Princess.”

“Wise decision, Pretty-Boy.”

I stoop down to give Rosie one more kiss before heading toward the front door.

As I step onto the porch, I catch Wes’s voice drifting out. “I know I don’t have to tell you, but I’m going to say it anyway. She’s off limits.”

My heart is about to beat out of my chest.

Julian tries to say something in his defense, but Wes cuts him off. “Off. Limits.”

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that by the circle you pissed around her.”

“Fuck off, Julian.”

“You messed up. Didn’t I specifically warn you not to hire a hot nanny?”

I stumble slightly, my face instantly heating.

Walk away, Lena. Walk away.

Taking my own advice, I walk away before they find me out here eavesdropping.

Hot nanny, huh?

Well, I suppose there are worse things in life.

I close the door behind me, breathing deeply as laughter bubbles up my chest.