Page 55 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

M orning light streams across the lawn, wrapping everything in the kind of softness that feels safe.

My bare feet sink into the cool grass as I sit cross-legged, and the breeze teases strands of hair across my face.

I can still see the ladder and paint cans we abandoned yesterday—our chaotic attempt at adulting that ended in laughter, in paint-streaked kisses and declarations I’m not ready to think about too hard yet.

Because thinking too hard feels dangerous.

Right now, I’m focused on Rosie.

She toddles around me in lopsided circles, giggling like the world is a game she’s just learned how to win. Milo trails behind her, looking very much like he’s on patrol.

When Rosie stumbles, he gently nudges her upright.

She plants both hands on her sides, glaring. “Milo! No!”

Yep, with all those words came independence, and I swear, Milo looks like he’s trying to apologize.

“Good boy,” I praise him with a smile, digging a treat from my pocket.

“This kid’s been holding out on us. She’s all about the words now.”

It’s true. Once she said “Dada,” it was like someone opened the floodgates.

I credit Wes. He talks to her like she’s in a board meeting half the time, and she soaks it up.

I glance at the house, where Wes is probably finishing the trim we forgot last night. Not that either of us cared when things turned into tangled limbs and whispered confessions. My stomach flips remembering it. The way he looked at me. The way he said he loved me.

I roll onto my stomach, chin resting in my hands. “Rosie Posie, your dad told me something last night.”

She pauses mid-spin, squinting at me like she knows what’s coming.

“He told me he loves me.”

Her nose scrunches. “Wove you?”

I nod solemnly. “Yup. Wove me.”

She points at herself, then at me. “I wove you.”

My heart swells. “I love you, too, baby girl.”

“Dada wove you?”

“Yep.”

She considers this, then nods once. Very official.

A giggle escapes me, and I roll onto my back, staring up at the cloud-dusted sky. “And here’s the thing, kiddo. I love him too.”

And that’s the part that terrifies me.

Not loving him. That part feels inevitable, like gravity. It’s the part where he loves me back. The part where he keeps saying all the right things and never pulls away.

What if I wake up one morning and he’s decided I’m too much? What if he gets tired of my panicked spirals? What if this perfect, maddening, wonderful man wants forever, but then decides I’m not built for it?

I’m not used to this kind of love. The kind that waits. That listens. That doesn’t make me earn every scrap of safety with silence or apology. I’ve never known how to just ask for what I want and believe I’ll get an honest answer.

Rosie’s tiny hand finds mine, dragging me out of my thoughts. “You wove Dada?” she says again, more confident this time.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I wove Dada.”

“Is that so?”

Well, that deep rasp of a voice wasn’t Rosie.

My stomach does a swan dive as I jerk upright, turning around to see Wes standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s giving me that lopsided smirk I’ve been powerless against since the day I met him.

“And when were you planning on telling Dada this bit of information?”

I flush because I’ve been caught red-handed. “Uh… tonight?” I offer lamely, struggling for composure.

His smirk deepens, eyes glinting with obvious satisfaction. “That so?”

Scrambling to my feet, I wipe nonexistent grass off my jeans, then stride over. My hands latch onto his T-shirt, yanking him down into a kiss. He chuckles against my mouth but doesn’t resist, arms sliding around my waist to haul me close.

When I pull back, I’m left breathless.

He’s smiling in that soft way that undoes me. Then he takes my hand. “Come here,” he says, leading me to the grass. He sits first, tugging me between his legs so I’m leaning back against his chest.

I settle into him, sighing as Rosie wobbles up to us with curiosity bright in her big brown eyes. She stares at the two of us like she’s trying to figure out if she wants to join. Then, with a squeal, she toddles off with Milo bounding after her.

We bask in the warmth of the sun and the hush of a stolen moment. My eyes drift shut as I soak up the easy comfort of being wrapped in Wes’s arms. Everything is so simple here, so peaceful.

Eventually, I tilt my head back to peer at him. “So, are you going to help me with something important?”

“Yeah? What?”

I gesture toward Rosie. “Getting that one to say my name.”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and vibrates against my back. “She’s just taking it slow, building on her vocabulary.”

I huff indignantly. “Slow, my ass. She says ‘Milo,’ she says ‘Dada,’ she says ‘cracker,’ she even says ‘no’ like fifty times a day.” I shoot him a mock glare. “You and your no-baby-talk method are turning her into a chatterbox.”

He bends to kiss the side of my neck lightly, softening the bite of his teasing. “Alright, alright. Go for it.”

Scooting forward, I tap the ground to get Rosie’s attention. She turns, eyes alight, dribbling some new gibberish as she wanders closer.

“Rosie,” I say gently, tapping my chest. “Can you say ‘Lena’? Leee-nah.” I draw it out.

Rosie blinks. “Milo?”

I groan, ignoring Wes’s muffled laughter behind me. “No, not the dog. Me. Lena.”

She grins wider, pointing an excited finger. “Dada!”

I throw my hands up, exasperated. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Wes is shaking with silent laughter, so I glower at him over my shoulder. “You’re no help.”

He’s too busy stifling his amusement to respond.

Suddenly, Rosie stops mid-spin, pointing a triumphant finger at me. Her face lights up with a new word: “Mama?” she says, uncertain like she’s testing it out. “Mama.” She repeats it, a bit firmer now.

My entire body seizes while Wes’s arms go rigid around me.

Rosie says it again, question turning into certainty, “Mama!” She’s confident, like she’s finally solved an impossible puzzle.

Panicking, I scramble to my knees, stammering at Wes in a rush. “It’s nothing! I swear, kids do that, right? She’ll grow out of it. It’s not—”

He cuts me off with a gentle tug on my arm, half-laugh, half-choke. “Lena—”

“She can’t call me Mama, Wes,” I say, voice dropping. “I’m not her real mom. I’m just—”

“Just what?”

My mouth opens for words that won’t come.

“Because if you’re about to say, ‘Just a nanny,’ I will put you over my knee.”

My mouth cracks the smallest smile.

I’m not just the nanny. Wes made sure I knew that, and honestly, I haven’t felt like just a nanny in a very long time.

I’ve felt…well, I’ve felt like a mother.

“What did you expect her to call you, baby? She sees you all day, every day. You feed her, bathe her, play with her. She’s a toddler. She’s just picking the word that makes the most sense.”

“I just… I don’t want to replace anyone,” I force out, tears threatening. “She has a mother, even if she’s not around.”

He brushes a paint-stained thumb over my cheek. “You’re not replacing anyone. You’re just you.”

Just me.

And being me is enough.

Enough to be her mama.

I bite my lip, tears slipping free. “But what if—?” I start, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.

He slides an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “My sister would’ve adored you,” he says quietly, each word laced with conviction. “She’d have thanked you for loving Rosie the way you do. I thank you for it.”

A broken laugh escapes me, tears still rolling. I can’t help it. “I just… I love her so much, Wes,” I whisper, heart thumping in my ears.

He smiles, a faint crinkle at the corner of his eye. “We can teach her your name if that’s what you want. But you might have to accept that you’re a mother to her in every way that matters. She’s decided it.”

My eyes track to Rosie, who’s waddling toward Milo again, apparently bored with our drama.

I take a shuddery breath, then catch Wes’s gaze once more. “She called me Mama.”

“You made a good impression.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a sob.

My eyes find the grass as I urge my mind to stop spiraling.

Sensing it, Wes tucks his fingers under my chin and tilts it back up. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Well, here goes nothing. “People change their minds. What if you wake up one day and realize this isn’t what you want?”

He searches my face through narrowed eyes. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I’ll stop wanting you?”

“Yes. That or you’ll want me less. Once things settle, or get hard, or feel too real.”

“What do you want, Lena? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

I do know, I just don’t want to say it out loud, and I don’t need to because he’s going to do it for me.

“You want a home that’s more than just walls. You want to walk into a room and not have to brace for silence. You want someone who sees the worst parts of you and doesn’t flinch. Who notices when you’re spiraling and doesn’t pull away. You want to feel safe, not just loved. Safe.”

My throat locks.

“You want someone who will answer every question, every real one, not just the ones you’re brave enough to say out loud.

Someone who’ll hold your hand when you’re scared and not ask you to smile through it.

You want soft places to land. You want mornings like this and nights that don’t end in doubt.

You want Rosie. And you want to be wanted back. ”

I can’t breathe.

“You want someone who stays, even when you’re scared. Especially then. You want someone to call home,” he says quietly. “And you’ve already got him.”

That’s it. The final acceptance I needed. The last piece slots into place. My heart soars, even as tears linger on my lashes .

We’re a family.

The idea is terrifying and so right that it almost steals my breath again.

Sniffling, I turn back to Rosie with fresh eyes. “Rosie Posie,” I call softly, beckoning her. She glances up, a bright grin lighting her face as she charges forward. I kneel, arms open and ready. She totters right into me, giggling as I pull her close, pressing kisses to her curly hair.

Thank you for choosing me.

Milo ambles over too, nudging my shoulder as if checking if I’m okay. I grin and rub his ears, my heart brimming with so much warmth I’m sure it’ll burst.

This is home. They’re home. And there’s no place in the world I’d rather be.