Page 44 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

I unlock the shop door, and the familiar chime overhead announces my arrival like a sarcastic reminder that my life isn’t as normal as I pretend it is.

Usually, stepping into this place helps.

The sharp scent of oil, grease, and metal grounds me and pulls me back from whatever ledge I’ve been pacing.

But today, my mind’s stuck on repeat, fixated on Lena in my bed.

How soft she looked this morning, tangled in my sheets with her hair spread out across the pillow.

How she rolled over, murmuring something unclear before sinking deeper into sleep.

She was so comfortable, so natural, and it scared the absolute shit out of me.

I drag a rough hand through my hair and shake my head, attempting to clear the image from my mind.

Work. Tools. Routine. That’s my life. Stick to it.

But the crunch of tires outside kills that brief illusion of control. Truck doors slam, and the voices approaching aren’t subtle.

Ryan barrels through, grinning like he’s solved some great mystery. “You fucked the nanny.”

I freeze mid-step, keys dangling uselessly from my fingers.

Kate strolls in behind him and tosses her bag onto the bench. “I specifically told him not to open with that.”

Usually, my glare sends people scrambling.

Not Ryan.

Kate raises her palms. “In my defense, Wes, you showed up at my house at one in the morning on Friday with Lena. You both looked flushed as shit. You two had either just had sex or were about to.”

I toss my keys onto the counter with a sigh and rub the tension at the back of my neck. They know. Of course they fucking know.

Ryan elbows Kate. “See? Told you.”

She lifts her shoulders with an unapologetic shrug. “No judgment here. You might still be wound tight, but you’re less broody these days. Even approachable.”

“I’m not talking about—” I start, but Kate waves me off.

“You spent months glaring at me. I know the difference.”

I let out a low growl of annoyance, refusing to engage as I move toward the workbench.

“Ah,” she says knowingly. “There’s classic Wes. Silent panic.”

Ryan leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest with a seriousness that doesn’t fit him. “Listen, boss, whatever this is, don’t screw it up. You deserve to be happy.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I grab a wrench and lean over the half-built engine, pretending bolts and parts hold more interest than Lena’s breathy laugh when I kissed her against the wall last night.

Pretending my heart doesn’t jolt every time I think about her waking up in my house, wearing my shirt like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The problem is, they’re right.

Lena isn’t casual. She isn’t something temporary, or something I can keep at a safe distance. I’ve had plenty of casual before—quick flings, meaningless hookups that barely made a dent. But Lena feels permanent, like the kind of story you tell people years from now.

It’s more than just incredible sex, though God knows that’s part of it.

It’s the little things: the way she hums softly while cooking, the quiet warmth in her eyes when Rosie toddles toward her, and how she touches me as if she sees through every wall I’ve built and isn’t scared of what lies beneath.

Last night, when the dog ran off with Rosie’s favorite stuffed elephant, Lena laughed until tears streamed down her face. When she looked at me, breathless, with bright, hopeful eyes...fuck, something cracked open inside my chest.

I thought my life was simple: work, Rosie, sleep, repeat. Stay detached, avoid complications. But suddenly, my life has morphed into bedtime stories, rescue dogs, and a woman whose kisses feel dangerously close to salvation.

The scary part isn’t just how much I want her. It’s realizing I can’t even picture my life without her in it. Whatever’s happening between us isn’t fleeting or casual. It’s starting to feel like home.

And that’s fucking terrifying.

Because I’ve never had one before, and I have no clue how to keep it.