Page 48 of If Love Had A Manual

“Alright, Rosie-Posie, what’s next?” I ask, scanning the shelves before tossing a bag of shredded cheese into the cart. “Cheese? Good call.”

Rosie squeals, waving her ladle like a tiny battle axe.

“What’s that? You think we should grab some pasta, too?” I gasp, throwing a hand to my chest.

She babbles something completely unintelligible, but I nod thoughtfully.

“I completely agree.”

Wes does this with her all the time. He talks to her like she’s a forty-year-old bank clerk. He’s worried about her speech. I think she’ll get there in her own time, but I’ve now picked up the habit of speaking to her like she’s my best friend.

God, I think she is.

We turn into the next aisle, where I grab a box of pasta and throw it into the cart. “And that’s dinner secured, folks. Another culinary masterpiece in the making.”

Rosie slams her ladle against the side of the cart, cheering me on.

I laugh under my breath, about to reach for sauce, when something shifts.

That’s when I feel it.

A prickle at the back of my neck.

Like someone’s watching me.

I glance up, expecting to see some elderly woman smiling at Rosie because people do that all the time. Babies are basically tiny celebrities in public.

But instead, I see a woman standing at the end of the aisle, and she’s looking straight at us.

The moment our eyes meet, she looks away, turning on her heel and disappearing behind a shelf.

Weird.

I shake it off and push the cart forward.

But then it happens again.

Two aisles later, I see her peering around a display of granola bars. She’s staring not at me, but at Rosie.

Okay, what the hell?

I keep moving even as my pulse kicks up a notch.

She’s probably just another baby-obsessed stranger, but something about her makes my gut tighten.

By the time I reach the dairy section, I know she’s following us. Not in an accidental way. No, this is intentional. And I don’t like it. At all.

My fingers tighten around the cart handle.

I may not be Rosie’s mom, but something protective surges inside me.

When I turn into the next aisle and feel her presence again, I don’t ignore it this time. I stop the cart, spin around, and look straight at her.

She freezes.

I freeze.

What do I do now?

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