Page 11 of If Love Had A Manual

And then, of course, my pepper spray.

I lunge for it, but instead of grabbing it gracefully,my fingers graze the canister just enough to send it rolling.

It spins, and spins, and spins…

And stops only when it collides with Wes’s boot.

Kill me.

“Shit,” I blurt, then immediately clamp my mouth shut. “I mean, sorry. I won’t curse around Rosie. If I even get the job. Which I probably won’t now because clearly, I’m a total disaster.”

Silence.

Then a slow, arched brow from Wes.

He bends down, picks up the pepper spray, and holds it out to me while I’m still on my knees at his feet like some tragic offering to the gods.

“Cautious,” he muses, still watching me. “I like it, but I’ll be real with you. I barely have the energy to pick up some toys, let alone murder the potential nanny.”

Relief and a weird flutter of laughter flood my chest. “Good to know.”

I snatch the pepper spray and shove it deep into my bag, then flop back onto the couch while blowing a stray curl away from my face with a puff of air.

Wes chuckles. It’s barely there, but it’s the first hint of humor I’ve seen from him since stepping into this house.

“You’ll fit right in with this chaos,” he says, shaking his head.

We exchange a look that feels dangerously close to the beginnings of an inside joke.

I’m just about off the embarrassment train when the baby monitor crackles to life, and Rosie’s pitiful cry drifts into the living room. Wes is instantly on his feet.

I stand with guilt pooling in my stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake her.”

“She’s been fussing all morning,” he says, waving away my apology. “We’ve got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.”

I hesitate for half a second. There might be a chance to redeem myself.

“Can I come with you?” I ask. “To see her, I mean. I might be able to help.”

He studies me for a second and only agrees with a jerk of his chin.

Upstairs, the hallway’s pretty bare, just a few pictures and half-finished paint jobs.

Rosie’s room, on the other hand, is like stepping into a pastel dream. It’s all soft pink walls, white furniture, and a rocking chair in the corner next to a shelf of books. Clearly, this project was finished first.

Priorities.

Rosie is standing in her crib, leaning against the rail with a wobbly pout. She sniffles as she rubs her tiny fist against her ear.

“Can I?” I gesture towards the room.

Wes stands aside so I can go in first.

I don’t care if I get the job right now. I hate seeing a baby in pain.

“Aw, sweet girl,” I coo, stepping forward. I pick her up and cradle her against my chest.

Wes hovers, arms crossed, and the tension radiating from him is enough to make me bristle. “She’s been pulling on that ear all morning.”

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