Page 12 of If Love Had A Manual

I gently rock her. “Have you tried warm olive oil? My little sister had chronic earaches, and that always helped.”

“Warm…olive oil?” He says it like I’ve just recommended chicken soup for a busted transmission. “Never heard of that.”

“It works wonders,” I promise. “Just a drop or two, warm it up and let it settle in.”

Without another word, he turns and disappears down the hall.

Less than thirty seconds later, he’s back with a full basket overflowing with medicine, wipes, thermometers, baby teething gels, creams, and ointments I don’t even recognize.

I blink at it. “Um—”

“After Rosie was first put in my care,” Wes tells me, setting the basket down on the dresser, “I went to the pharmacy. I had no idea what to get, so I told the lady to give me everything and anything I would possibly need.”

I lift a bottle of cream and squint at the label. “This is for—” I snort, turning the label toward him. “I don’t think she’s going to get athlete’s foot.”

“You can never be too careful,” he says, completely serious.

I fight a smile, shaking my head as I rummage through the basket. Sure enough, at the very bottom, I find a small bottle of olive oil.

“You just put it in her ear?” he repeats, unsure.

“I can show you if you’d like?”

A crease forms between his brow, but he agrees.

We head back downstairs, and I warm the oil in a little dropper.

“We’re going to get rid of that bad pain, sweetheart,” I murmur. “And then you’re going to feel so much better.”

Behind me, Wes lets out a breath, shifting from foot to foot. I glance over my shoulder to find him studying my every move.

Not just watching either. He’s memorizing. Likehe’s mentally filing away everything I do in case he ever has to do it himself.

His hands flex at his sides, resisting the urge to reach out. I don’t comment on it because this seems difficult for him, this handing over control. Instead, I carry Rosie back to the couch and settle her on my lap, tilting her head slightly against me. She whimpers in protest, but I shush her, rubbing small circles into her back.

“I know, sweet girl. Just a little longer.”

Wes crouches beside us, so close I can feel his body heat.

“Okay,” I tell him, gently parting Rosie’s dark curls. “Just a couple drops.”

I squeeze the dropper once, then twice, letting the warm oil settle into her ear before massaging just behind it, gently coaxing the liquid deeper.

Rosie hiccups then sniffles.

Her face is still flushed from sleep, and her little fist is curled around my dress, but after a long minute, she relaxes.

And then, for the first time since I walked into this house, she smiles. Small at first. Sleepy and uncertain, but there.

Wes exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“She might still need antibiotics. Definitely have the doctor check, but this should help the pain in the meantime.”

He nods, his gaze locked on Rosie like she might disappear if he blinks.

Then she giggles.

It’s enough to light something behind Wes’s tired eyes.

---