Page 31 of If Love Had A Manual

“Nope,” I say quickly, intercepting her hand. “Shelikes you. She only steals from people she’s fond of.”

Grandpa laughs, tapping Rosie lightly on her nose. “Let her take them. I’ve got backups.”

Rosie accepts the challenge and shifts targets, grabbing Grandpa’s watch strap with alarming strength.

I gently pry her fingers loose. “You’re assaulting an old man here.”

“Strong little thing, isn’t she?” Grandpa chuckles, rubbing his wrist. “Mark my words, this one’s going to raise hell.”

“She’s way ahead of you.”

Sitting Rosie on the edge of Grandpa’s bed, I pull out my phone and quickly snap a photo of her smiling. It’s so perfectly adorable that I send it to Wes without second-guessing myself.

He replies moments later:

Wes:Looks like she found a friend. Give my best to your grandfather.

A weird little flutter warms my chest. Wes Turner voluntarily sending a friendly greeting? I’m sure pigs are flying somewhere.

Grandpa clears his throat, snapping me back to reality. “That Rosie’s uncle?” he asks, all casual innocence and subtle mischief.

Not this again. He’s been asking more and more questions about Wes. “Don’t start.”

He eyes me. “You talk about him an awful lot.”

I’m suddenly very interested in smoothing Rosie’s flyaway curls. “Because he’s my boss. I watch his kid all day.”

“Sure, sure,” Grandpa says, pretending he’s not seeing straight through me.

“Eat your lunch, old man,” I grumble, passing himthe sandwich I smuggled in. I refuse to dignify his nonsense with any further response. Because it is nonsense, and he’s reading way too much into things.

So, I might have a teeny tiny little crush on my boss. Who wouldn’t?

“Oh, I will,” he says, eyeing the sandwich. “But don’t think I won’t be watching this little situation closely.”

“There’s no situation to watch.”

He tuts, deciding his sandwich is far more important than our conversation…at least for now.

He’s mid-bite when his nurse, Doris, strolls in.

“Good afternoon, Doris.” Grandpa straightens so fast, I hear his spine crack. And with a speed I haven’t witnessed from him in years, he shoves the contraband sandwich under the blanket, right beneath Rosie’s curious hands.

My jaw drops. “Grandpa—”

He shoots me a glare. “Don’t betray me now, child.”

Doris freezes mid-step. “What’ve you got there, Frank?”

“Nothing at all. Just quality time with my favorite girls.”

She hums and taps her clipboard with a pink feathered pen. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He clutches at his chest, feigning offense. “Doris, that hurts.”

“You know what else hurts?” she fires back. “Your cholesterol levels when you have your granddaughter smuggle in bacon sandwiches.”

“Bacon?” Grandpa’s voice squeaks an octave higher than usual. “Where?”

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