Page 28 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Lena

I ’m halfway into my coat, already mentally plotting my weekend plans.

Step One: Lie face down on the couch and don’t move for forty-eight hours.

Step Two: Repeat step one.

Wes and Rosie recovered from the flu a couple of weeks ago, but the aftermath hit harder than the actual virus.

Rosie’s routine fell apart. Bedtimes turned into battlegrounds.

Foods she used to devour now caused theatrical gagging.

I’m not sure if it was lingering toddler dramatics or some sleep regression, but she resisted everything—naps, baths, peas—with the endurance of a triathlete.

This week, we finally clawed our way back to something resembling a routine, but it’s clear she’s taken both of us down in the process. Wes looks like he hasn’t slept since Christmas. I’m not far behind.

I’m reaching for my bag and fighting another yawn when someone pounds on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” I call toward the kitchen, already moving toward the door.

The second I swing it open, there’s a grin waiting for me.

“Hello there, gorgeous,” Julian says, dimples on full display like he knows they’re his greatest weapon. “Said I’d knock this time. I value my life.”

“You.” I glance back into the house. “Wes! The strange man is here again.”

Julian clutches his chest in mock offense.

I’m sticking my tongue out like a child when I catch movement behind him.

A couple is strolling up the path with arms full of pizza boxes and beer.

The woman’s blonde hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, her oversized hoodie half-swallowed by the stack of food she balances like a pro.

She’s all long legs and easy confidence, calling something over her shoulder as she climbs the steps.

The man beside her has the same build as Wes, but where Wes is all quiet scowl and tight control in jeans and a t-shirt, this guy does it in suit pants and a shirt.

Wes peeks his head out of the kitchen with a towel slung over his shoulder, confusion plastered across his face. “What the hell?”

“Happy birthday!” the three of them shout in unison.

My head snaps toward him so fast I almost give myself whiplash. “It’s your birthday?”

He rubs the back of his neck, already annoyed by the attention. “It’s just another day.”

Just another day. Right.

I shoot him a glare that could boil water because I would’ve had Rosie draw him something, or scribble on a card, or at the very least, hand him a cupcake with one of those sparkler candles. But he didn’t say a word.

“Don’t worry, Lena,” Julian says, breezing past me with his usual lack of boundaries. “It’s not just you. Wes doesn’t do birthdays. Or joy. Or any emotion that isn’t mild irritation.”

I snort despite myself, even though I’m still mentally stabbing Wes with a plastic fork.

That’s when he gestures toward the couple. “This is Nathan and Sienna.”

Sienna gives me a warm grin. “I’ve heard lots about you. Mostly, how you nearly murdered Julian with a frying pan. I already like you.”

Heat floods my face. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

They all pile into the kitchen while I hover by the door, still mentally clocking out.

Wes slips past me.

“Happy birthday,” I say quietly.

He squeezes my shoulder, saying Thanks in that silent way of his.

I reach for my bag again when Sienna notices and steps into my path like a very polite wall.

“Where are you going?”

I hook a thumb over my shoulder, but I’m suddenly not sure where I was going because she’s very close. “I was heading out.”

“Have you got plans?”

“No,” I answer slowly, glancing around the kitchen where Julian’s already helping himself to pizza and Nathan’s got Rosie on his hip like she’s been his for years.

“Great,” Sienna says, beaming. “Then you’re staying.”

“I—wait, what?”

She leans in, lowering her voice and giving me a pleading look.

It’s that face we made as teenage girls to alert our friends that their crush was close by.

“Please don’t leave me here with these men.

I’m begging you. They’re going to start talking about car engines and the stock market and all the things that make my brain go to sleep. ”

I look around like I’ve just walked into a trap I didn’t agree to.

Julian doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re staying. Wes needs his nanny.”

“For Rosie?” I ask.

“For him.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Wes snaps, grabbing a beer from the fridge without looking at either of us.

I should say something. I should set a boundary, politely decline, reclaim my plan for face-planting into the couch, and pretending I don’t exist. But nothing comes out.

Wes caps a beer, tosses a slice of pizza on a plate, and walks it over to me. No fanfare. No pressure. Just tired eyes and a quiet nod.

“We’re both exhausted.” Ain’t that the truth. “If I have to suffer, then you do too.” I crane my neck back to look at him as he takes another step with that crooked grin curling at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, it’s my birthday. I insist.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes .

My bag slides off my shoulder with a soft thunk onto the floor.