Page 23 of If Love Had A Manual

By 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.

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