Page 8 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

Wes

B y the time I step back into the house, I’m drenched in sweat and grease, and I’m perfectly aware that I need a shower.

Lena will be happy to know that I have some good news about Ruby. She’s old and cranky, but she’s not actively trying to murder anyone on the road.

I toe off my boots and run a hand through my hair before I pause, nostrils flaring, because what the hell is that smell?

Something rich wafts through the hallway.

The kind of home-cooked aroma that makes your stomach clench.

I might not be proud of it, but I’ve been relying on jars of baby food for Rosie more than I’d like to admit.

After a long day at the shop, I sometimes don’t have the energy or time to whip up fresh meals.

Rosie never complains. She’s a champ who’ll eat anything.

But this is different. This is damn near magical.

Following my nose to the kitchen, I find Lena at the stove, scooping something onto two plates. She glances over, gives me an easy smile, then blows a thick strand of her dark hair off her face.

She sets another plate down on the counter beside Rosie, who is in her highchair, devouring the food like it’s the greatest thing she’s ever eaten.

I freeze mid-step because Rosie just picked up a piece of broccoli and shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

“What are you doing?” I ask, more out of shock than anything else.

Lena looks around, confused by the question. “Cooking?”

“Yeah, I got that. I meant, what’s with the second plate?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “I made you dinner for looking at the car.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugs. “It’s just a thank you, is all. Sit.”

I do as I’m told and take a seat.

“You made this?” I ask, staring at the plate of food in front of me.

“Mmhmm.”

Never one to say no to food, I pick up my fork and dig in.

The first bite is fucking heaven. It’s the kind of home-cooked meal I haven’t had in…hell, I don’t even know. Years? Maybe ever .

“You’re not going to eat?” I ask, glancing up.

She shrugs. “I ate earlier.”

“You’ve gotta try this, Lena,” I say, already taking another bite. “It’s really good.”

She smiles, pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’ve got leftover Chinese takeout from yesterday that I’m dying to get into.”

Fair enough.

Leaning her hip against the counter, she dries a pot while humming a low tune under her breath.

I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. I know that song. “ A Case of You . Joni Mitchell.”

Lena’s eyes snap to mine. “Impressive and also correct. I might’ve raided your vinyl collection earlier.”

“It’s all yours. Rosie loves music.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” She sets the pot down and rests her arms on the counter. “I always wanted my own vinyls growing up. Thought they were the coolest thing. My mom used to have this amazing collection.”

I nod, encouraging her to go on as I eat.

“She’d play them every Saturday. Full-blast. We had these dance parties in the living room. Barefoot on the carpet, spinning and falling all over the place.”

Her voice goes soft near the end, but she smiles. There’s something wistful behind her eyes. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, and a loose wave of brown hair falls forward until she tucks it behind her ear.

“I think she did it to tire all of us out so we’d go to bed early.”

I chuckle. “Smart woman.”

I study her for a second longer. There’s a quiet there that feels loaded, but I don’t pry.

“What was your favorite?” I ask .

“There were so many, but if I had to name three…” She leans back and blows out a thoughtful breath before her eyes light up. “Oh man, definitely Rumours by Fleetwood Mac. I loved Tapestry by Carole King, too. And The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill . I played that one to death.”

I nod, pointing my fork at her. “ Rumours was recorded over a year because half the band hated each other. Tapestry ? Still one of the best-selling albums of all time. And Lauryn Hill? One studio album, but five Grammys. And the only one you mentioned that I don’t have.”

Big brown eyes light with amusement. “Okay, music encyclopedia. I see you.”

For fuck’s sake, Wes, you’re letting your nerd show.

She tilts her head. “What got you into collecting?”

I lean back and glance at the overstuffed shelves. “Amber went through a phase when we were teenagers. Got really into it for, like, six months. I got interested and didn’t stop.”

She straightens a little. “Amber? That’s your sister’s name?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, is all. And her husband?”

“Mike.”

She nods, like she’s filing it away. “Got it.”

I look at the shelves again. “It got a little out of control.”

She tilts her head and shrugs. “I’d say it got a lot out of control, but it could be worse. It could be a cocaine addiction.”

I gawk at her.

This woman says the strangest fucking things.

“True,” I say slowly, eyeing her as her face flushes a pale pink.

“So, what’s the damage? With Ruby?” she finally asks.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “A few things need tightening up. Some minor adjustments. If you’re comfortable with it, I can drop you home and pick you up in the morning if you leave the car with me overnight.”

Lena chews her lip between her teeth. “How much is all this going to cost?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s payment enough knowing my niece will be safe.”

She stares at me, like she’s trying to decide whether to argue or take the win. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Sure you can.”

She glances around, then meets my eyes with quiet resolve. “You’re right. I totally can.”

For a second there, I thought she was gearing up to argue. It would be an argument she’d lose.

A small crease forms between her brows as she studies me. “You really like fixing things, huh?”

“I guess so.”

∞∞∞

By five o’clock, we’re loading a fed, cleaned, and half-asleep Rosie into my truck.

Lena, on the other hand, is standing at her car, patting the hood and whispering something under her breath.

The fuck?

Did she just—“Did you just say goodbye to your car?”

She stiffens, whipping open the passenger door like I didn’t just catch her mid-farewell. “Absolutely not.”

Who the hell did I hire? She talks to the damn car.

I bite back a smirk as I round the front and climb in.

Sliding into the passenger seat, her eyes sweep across the dashboard before she runs a finger along the edge of the vent. “This truck is nice. Has it always been like this?”

I start the engine and pull out of the driveway. “Not even close.”

She glances over, interest sparking. “What was it like before?”

“Rough. The guy I bought it from was practically giving it away.”

“Why?”

I ease out of the neighborhood and onto the main road. “Because it barely ran.”

“So you fixed it up?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Great. She’s a talker.

I keep my eyes on the road, hands loose on the wheel. “Had to tear it down to the frame. Swapped the engine, new transmission, rebuilt the suspension, fresh paint job.”

Lena’s gaze lingers on the interior. “What color was it before?”

“Rust.”

That pulls a full, surprised laugh out of her. “Seriously?”

I nod. “It was supposed to be red, I think.”

She’s quiet for a second, still smiling. “You built it from scratch?”

“Pretty much.”

“You do that a lot? Rebuild cars?”

“I used to,” I say. “Had a couple of projects going at one point.”

Her voice softens. “Before?”

I don’t answer right away.

“Yeah. Before.”

Her fingers lace in her lap. “And now?”

“Now the shop keeps me busy. Rosie takes the rest.”

She looks over at Rosie, who is curled against the car seat with a thumb in her mouth.

“She’s worth it,” Lena says quietly.

“Yeah,” I agree, trying not to get lost in my head. “She is.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. She gives me directions to her apartment, which is a clean two-story complex with matching balconies and trimmed hedges. I pull into a visitor’s space.

“That’s me,” she says. “It’s not fancy, but it’s home.”

“Any homicidal neighbors?”

She pulls a face that makes her nose scrunch. “No murderers, but there’s a DJ upstairs who thinks bass is a personality.” Her eyes meet mine, and the faintest blush tints her cheeks. “Thanks again for the ride. And for Ruby.”

“Don’t get too attached to that rust bucket. I can’t keep saving it forever.”

She flashes me a smile. “Blasphemy.” Reaching back, she gives Rosie’s foot a gentle squeeze, then glances at me. “See you tomorrow.”

I nod, tapping the steering wheel. “See you, Lena. ”

She slips out, waving once before disappearing inside.

I don’t know why, but I stare at the closed door for a beat longer than I should.