Page 110 of If Love Had A Manual

Pop?

Grandpa glances up, delight written all over his face. “Ah, she’s talking.”

“Hey, Rosie,” I say, slightly offended. “Remember me? Lena? It’s not that difficult.” I’ve been trying to get her to say it all morning, but all she did was stare at me like I was stupid. “Leeeee-naaaaa.” I sound out.

I swear she just gave me a side-eye.

“Don’t rush her,” Grandpa tells me. “Told you she’d get there in her own time.”

Wes throws me a confused look.

Yeah, I talk about her all the time.

A proud smile curls on the corner of his mouth. If it’s pride for me or Rosie, I’m not sure, but now is not the time.

“Guess we’re tight enough to get nicknames,” Grandpa jokes.

Wes shifts on his feet. “I didn’t realize you two gotso close.”

Grandpa lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “We both love the Jell-O here,” he says, bouncing Rosie gently with his good side.

The momentary warmth fizzles when I look at Tess again. Right, we still have a conversation to finish. No matter how cute Rosie is, no matter how relieved I am that Tess is safe, we have to figure out why she’s here without giving my father a heads-up, and how to stop it from happening again.

Wes clears his throat, offering Grandpa a handshake. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Frank,” he corrects, waving a dismissive hand. Then, with a sly edge, “Have a seat, Turner. I want a quick chat with you while the ladies sort themselves out.”

Oh God.

“Grandpa?”

“Don’t Grandpa me, baby girl. I’m only going to scare him a little.”

I don’t have the energy for this, so I turn my gaze to Wes. “You’re on your own.”

He flashes me a reassuring wink, and I melt all the way to my feet. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Wordless, I catch Tess’s eye and jerk my head toward the door.

By the time we get outside and into the parking lot, she’s bristling again. “Go ahead. Yell at me.”

This fucking attitude is giving me crow’s feet.

“God, Tess. Why? Why do you keep running away from little fights? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

She sets her jaw. “It’s not just a little fight. He’s controlling. He never listens.” She stops, glancing awayas tears threaten to spill. “I expected you, of all people, to understand. You hated it at home, too.”

My chest aches because she’s not wrong.

“You’re fourteen. Dad is protective. Maybe too protective. I get it, but that doesn’t mean you can vanish anytime you’re pissed.”

She huffs, turning away like she might stomp off again, but I catch her wrist. “No. We’re not done. Dad’s frantic. He’s worried sick. You owe him a phone call.”

She’s got my father’s eyes, that’s for sure. That glare she’s casting my way is all him.

I watch as she chews the inside of her cheek, obviously battling with what she really wants to say. No doubt, it won’t be pleasant.

I nudge the phone towards her, eyes wide.

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