Page 25 of If Love Had A Manual

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 yourcar?”

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 itfrom scratch?”

“Pretty much.”

“You do that a lot? Rebuild cars?”

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