Page 61 of If Love Had A Manual

“What is?”

“That dads who grumble at cute baby milestones instantly lose ten hotness points.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re making that up.”

“Google it,” I say. “I don’t make the rules.”

Before he can respond, the front door suddenly swings open, startling both of us. A tall figure strides inside like he owns the place, utterly oblivious to the fact that he is, in fact, very much not invited.

He’s dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit, tie perfectly knotted with shoes polished enough to blind an unsuspecting pedestrian.

Without breaking stride, he reaches straight into Rosie’s playpen and hoists her up. “Hello, baby girl.”

She squeals with delight, apparently thrilled by this random stranger.

My heart leaps into my throat, and instinct takes over. Before I can even process my panic, I grab the nearest object—a cast-iron frying pan—and raise it.

“Put down the baby!” I shout, wielding my cookware weapon of choice.

The stranger freezes mid-bounce, eyes widening asRosie giggles in his arms.

He still isn’t putting her down, and all I can think about is how this will someday become an episode of a true-crime podcast because my feet are moving, and I’m striding toward him in the next breath.

“Put. Her. Down.”

Wes shoots off the stool, rushing over and grabbing me firmly around the waist, hauling me backward. “Whoa. Calm down. No murder in my kitchen.”

What the hell?

“I’m defending your offspring. Rosie’s being kidnapped by Armani!”

Wes laughs, but his arm is still around my waist, and God, it feels solid. I’d enjoy it more if I weren’t currently in the midst of an assault.

“Relax, Lena. He’s not a kidnapper.”

“Then who the hell is he?” I demand, pan still raised.

“Julian.” Wes laughs. “He’s, unfortunately, a friend.”

Armani… I mean, Julian adjusts his hold on Rosie. It’s only then that I notice how natural he looks holding her. He’s done this before. Many times.

“You must be the nanny?” he says, eyeing me.

I finally lower the frying pan. “I don’t know who you think you are, Julian, but next time, try knocking. I almost pancaked your pretty-boy face.”

He blinks. “Pretty-boy?”

Wes snorts, but steps away to let me deal with it.

“You heard me.” I finally relinquish the pan to Wes. “Breaking and entering plus unauthorized baby snuggling equals a wallop of a frying pan. Simple math.”

Julian glances over at Wes. “You never mentionedshe was violent.”

“It’s part of her charm.”

I scowl at both of them before whipping out my phone and snapping Julian’s picture.

The instant the flash goes off, Rosie smiles. It’s pure reflex. I’ve taken so many pictures of her at this point she probably thinks it’s a required part of breathing.

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