Page 4 of If Love Had A Manual

I’m already rummaging through my oversized tote for a contraband bacon-and-egg bagel from his favorite café.

His eyes widen with the same unfiltered delight a kid gets on Christmas morning. “That’s real food.” He pounces on the bag and pulls out the bagel before sniffing it. This is a dangerous addiction.

“It’s your once-a-week treat,” I remind him, settling into the chair and crossing my legs. “Don’t push it.”

He hums and takes a hearty bite that seems to transport him to another dimension of bliss. “I’ll domy best not to keel over with happiness,” he says between bites.

“You’d better not. I’m way too busy to plan a funeral.”

“Baby girl, I almost died last year. I’ve earned all the indulgences I can get.” He finishes chewing and gives me a sideways glance. “You know, I bet if you smiled more, you’d finally land yourself a boyfriend.”

“Not this again.”

He holds up his hands, although he struggles with his left side. “What? I’m just stating facts. I might die without ever seeing my favorite granddaughter settle down.”

“I don’t have time for men. I’m too busy raising an eighty-five-year-old toddler.”

Chuckling, he leans back against his pillows. “Yeah, keep making jokes.” He finishes his bite, then peers at me, eyes narrowing. “Well, you do look a little spiffier than usual. What’s the occasion?”

I glance down at my navy wrap dress and tug on the belt at my waist. “I have an interview.”

“An interview?” His eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you were doing that part-time nanny gig for the Mitchells.”

I run a hand through my hair in my best attempts to tame the half-wave, half-frizz thing it’s got going on this morning. “That ended. They moved away.”

“So this new interview is…?”

“Another nannying job. Full time. It’s for a one-year-old.” I pause, swirling the memory of yesterday’s phone call around in my head. “The dad sounded kind of desperate.”

He gives me a look that’s equal parts suspicion and fatherly concern. “You got your pepper spray?”

“Oh, for the love of—Grandpa, he’s not going to kidnap me.”

“You never know. Crazy world out there,” he says with a shrug, then finishes another big bite of bagel. “Although he’ll probably give you back once he realizes you talk more than the morning news.”

I give his knee a gentle smack. “Rude.”

“That’s my numb side. Didn’t even feel it.”

Rolling my eyes, I decide it’s best to ignore him. “This is a legitimate listing on a reputable site. The worst that’ll happen is that I’ll meet parents who haven’t slept in weeks because their baby won’t stop crying.” I hesitate, remembering the clipped voice of the man on the call yesterday. Damn it, it won’t stop niggling at me. “He really rushed me for this interview. I mean, he called just two hours after I sent my application. Barely asked for references.”

“That’s a bad sign if I ever saw one.”

“Or,” I say, leaning forward, “it’s a sign they need help. Which is perfect, because I need a job that doesn’t involve wearing an apron and smiling at customers who can’t remember to say please.”

I used to think that once I graduated, I’d have it all figured out with a perfect job at a daycare or maybe teaching preschool, but real life had other plans. I bounced between short daycare stints, part-time nanny gigs, and way too many shifts waiting tables just to pay the bills.

Serving coffee to cranky adults taught me one thing: I like kids a whole lot more than grown-ups.

I’ve always loved music, too. For a while, I thought maybe I’d go into music therapy for kids. But grad school takes time and money, and I had neither.

Most of my college friends treated nannyingas a pit stop or something to tide them over. But somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t passing through. Being around kids and helping them grow is the work that lights me up.

Grandpa eyes me skeptically. “Is that your way of saying your only friends are still in diapers?”

I laugh despite myself. “Hey, that’s not fair. I do have friends.”

“Yeah? Who?” he teases, his grey eyebrows arching over his silver rimmed glasses.

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