Ah, Joyce! The answer to the question, name something that doesn’t grow sweeter over time.
“I think it’s over,” she said, relaxing into the chair.
“Are you sure you want to walk to the shop today?”
She nodded. “It’s not that far, and I’d like some air.”
“All right, team! We’re walking!” he announced to their dog and fake baby.
He helped his wife to her feet, corralled and leashed the dog who had started running insane loops around his legs at the mention of a walk, then scooped up their baby doll.
Perhaps Georgie was right. They really were a bunch of freaks.
“Oh, Birkenstocks! You’ve never failed me,” she said on a dreamy exhale as she slid on her sandals, and they headed out the door.
He took her hand as they strolled at a pregnant snail’s pace down the street toward the shop.
“Do you remember chasing Mr. Tuesday when he snagged Faby and made a break for it?” he asked.
“Do I remember? That was the fastest I’ve ever run. And I was eight weeks pregnant at the time.”
He glanced at her. “Back then, it seemed like we had all this time before we were going to become parents, and now, here we are.”
“Here we are,” she repeated with a pat to her belly.
They turned the corner, and Georgie hummed a sweet sound.
“What?”
“The park,” she answered.
The location of their not-so-cute meet-cute when he was all about being a perfect ten asshat.
“I can picture you in that awful cardigan, chasing Mr. Tuesday and calling after him like a lunatic,” he said, egging her on a touch.
“Oh, come on. You know that’s when you fell in love with me,” she teased, but she wasn’t far off the mark.
From the moment this sassy woman anointed him the Emperor of Asshattery, he was a goner.
“I think that’s when you fell in love with me,” he said, making sure to sound as asshattish as possible.
She barked out a laugh.
“Maybe not at that exact moment,” he conceded.
She glanced up and caught his eye. “But it wasn’t too long after.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they continued down the street in silence, Mr. Tuesday padding along beside them. The memories of their relationship flashed through his mind like one of those old slide projectors.
Click.
First image: Georgie staring him down with those flashing, blue-green eyes, demanding he help her catch her dog.
Click.
Georgie standing in the produce aisle, ruining cucumbers for Save the Whales Steve.
Click.
Georgie staying by his side, smiling up at him as he overcame his baby goat phobia.
Click.
Georgie in her wedding dress.
Click.
Georgie rocking baby Ollie to sleep.
Click.
Georgie with sex hair, pressing her hands to his chest and riding his hard length as their souls intertwined.
“Hey? Earth to Jordan. Come in, Jordan?” she said, gazing up at him with a creased brow.
“Slide projector sex hair,” he blurted, for what reason, he didn’t know. He was pretty damn sure slide projector sex hair never was, nor would it ever be, the response to any reasonable question.
She gestured with her chin. “We’re here.”
He blinked a few times and focused on the bookshop entrance.
“Were you having a man-pregnancy delusion?” she asked.
“More like a man-pregnancy delusion oasis filled with a bunch of hot Georgies.”
“That’s a new one! I was thinking about you in your cowboy chaps,” she confessed with a devious grin.
“At least we’re on the same creepy wavelength for thoughts one has before a baby shower.”
He opened the door to the shop, smelling the familiar sweet scent of hardback books and freshly baked muffins, then spied Talya and Simon at the register, making googly eyes at each other.
Despite being head over heels and epically into one another, they were hardworking kids, and Georgie had hired them on for the summer.
“How are sales?” he asked as the teens blushed and straightened up.
“Epic sales,” Talya answered as Mr. Tuesday ran behind the counter to curl up in his dog bed.
Simon nodded. “Totally epic! This is the first lull we’ve had all morning.”
Talya pointed toward the children’s area. “Becca said to send you back when you got here. We can keep Mr. Tuesday with us.”
“But first, we had something made for the baby,” Simon added.
“You didn’t have to get us anything,” Georgie said, but Simon’s grin only got bigger.
“We wanted to, and it’s also from my grandma. She actually came up with the idea.”
“Here,” Talya said, passing a small gift bag across the counter.
“We hope you think it’s epic,” Simon added, sharing a look with Talya, as Georgie pulled a tiny baby onesie from the bag, then pressed the small garment to her heart.
“Epic, right?” Simon said, almost laughing.
Okay, he’d gotten used to the epic talk, but today they seemed to be pouring on the epic sauce a little heavier than usual. Simon was still his best high school student, knocking out daily early morning workouts at his gym. From all the time he’d spent with him, he knew the kid could come up with at least a few other adjectives.
“Totally epic! You two are so thoughtful,” Georgie answered, flipping the shirt so he could see it, then pointed to the letters E-P-I-C embroidered across the front.
Now he was the one pressing his hand to his heart. Dammit, he was a brick house of a guy. Brick houses did not cry over sentimental gifts.
He sniffled but pulled it together. “It’s an epically thoughtful gift. Thank you.”
Georgie brushed a tear from her cheek. “And please, tell your grandmother we love it,” she said when Talya gasped.
“What is it?” Georgie asked.
“Becca said not to make you cry. She wants that to be her job,” Talya replied, worry marring the poor kid’s features.
Georgie laughed. “It sounds like her.”
“They’re all set up in the children’s story time area,” Simon said.
“There aren’t any toddlers in there, are there?” Jordan asked.
Talya chuckled. “No, not today. We promise.”
He mimed wiping his brow. “Thanks for holding down the fort during the shower and keeping an eye on Mr. Tuesday.”
“Have fun,” Talya called as Georgie took his hand, and they wove their way to the children’s story time area.
She held up the little shirt and admired it as they walked. “I did not expect to be so emotional today.”
“Just remember to cry for Becca,” he teased as the story time room came into view and…
“Wow!” Georgie said, taking the words right out of his mouth.
“It’s something else in here, isn’t it?” Barry called from the far side of the room with his camera trained on them.
That’s right! They’d agreed to provide baby shower footage for the Battle of the Births. But the man wasn’t wrong about the décor.
The children’s area had been transformed into a baby wonderland.
Braided streamers in cream, a soft shade of yellow and light green crisscrossed the ceiling while matching crisp tablecloths lined a buffet table dotted with delicate flower arrangements made of tulips and other flowers. He didn’t know the names of the other flowers because he was a dude. But it looked fantastic.
Becca groaned. “I know! It’s awful. I’d planned a whole creepy baby doll theme to pay homage to Faby, but the party store sent the wrong stuff. By the time I got back here to check on the setup, they were done. I hope you don’t mind.”
He glanced around the space, and while anything sounded better than a creepy fake baby shower, this looked like a baby shower right
out of a magazine.
“I’m sure your idea would have been…fun, but this is very nice,” Georgie said, glancing around the room and doing her best not to look too pleased when Brice joined them.
“I told Becca I could run out and buy a bunch of dolls, and we could pop off their heads for decorations.”
“But there was no time,” Becca lamented with an irritated harrumph.
Thank the universe for that!
“Yeah, too bad. A creepy baby shower would have been unique,” he added, sharing a relieved glance with Georgie.
“My goodness! It’s lovely back here!” Marjory Gilbert said as she and the blue-haired knitting brigade made their way into the room with Gene close behind.
“This may be the most gender-neutral I’ve ever felt,” Hector added as he and Bobby trailed in behind the octogenarians.
Becca stood in the center of the room, and Barry maneuvered to get everyone in view.
“Hello, everyone and our CityBeat friends at home,” Becca began, glancing over at Barry. “Welcome to Georgie and Jordan’s baby shower. Please, get something to eat! It’s a complete pineapple spread in honor of Georgie. Pineapple dream cake, pineapple crisps, pineapple cheesecake from that little shop she loves. And pineapple mimosas—but not for you, Ms. Preggo,” Becca added. “I’ve got a pineapple sherbet seltzer concoction for our soon-to-be new mom and those unable to partake in alcohol,” Becca finished, then directed the group toward a table lined with treats.
“Do you want me to make you a plate?” he asked, but Georgie shook her head.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not hungry?” he asked, eyeing her carefully when a thunderous pounding boomed through the shop.
“Jordan! Jordan! We have a gift for you and Georgie,” Mia and Mya, Maureen’s girls, called, charging into the room like twin bulls.
He handed Faby to his wife as the girls wrapped their arms around his waist, nearly knocking him over.
He looked up to see his father and Maureen enter the room. They waved, then beamed at each other—the lovebirds.
It was like the roles were reversed. Here he was, married and about to become a father. And there was his dad, making goo-goo eyes with his girlfriend. Still, it did his heart good to see his father and Maureen so happy. If two people deserved it, it was the two of them.
“Here’s the present,” Mya said, giggling, as she and Mia exchanged a knowing glance.
“Something is up with you two. Is this a trick present? Will confetti explode into my face when I open it?” he joked, taking the slim rectangular package.
But his teasing expression disappeared when he’d read what they’d written on the gift card.
To our brother and sister-in-law
Georgie glanced at it. “Are you sure this gift is for us, girls?”
“You’re married to Jordan, right?” Mia said, like the cat who ate the canary.
“Yes,” Georgie answered with a dubious lilt.
“Girls, you know I love you like a brother, but I’m not officially your brother,” he said, trying to work this out without hurting their feelings.
Maureen raised her left hand, revealing quite a sparkler on her ring finger. “You’ll be their brother soon,” she said, grinning as the room broke out in applause and congratulations for the newly engaged couple.
“Barry, are you getting this?” Hector called to the CityBeat producer.
“Every last bit,” the man replied.
Jordan had almost forgotten they were recording. But what a great thing to capture!
“When did this happen?” he asked, shaking his father’s hand as Georgie hugged Maureen, Mya, and Mia.
The twins bolted over to his dad, and the man wrapped an arm around each girl.
“Well—” he began, but the twins were faster.
“Denny took us all to the botanic gardens last night,” Mia began.
Mya hopped from foot to foot. “You know, where you and Georgie got married.”
He barely had time to nod in agreement before Mia took over.
“And then, he told me and Mya that he loved our mom and wanted to marry her, but only if it was okay with us,” Mia continued, their twin-speak shifting into warp speed.
“Yeah, and then we said yes and asked if that meant you would be our brother.”
“We always wanted a brother.”
“And now we have one.”
“Plus, with Denny’s garage, he says that when we can drive, he’ll make our cars go super-fast, right?”
Jordan could barely keep up with the back-and-forth between the tweens.
His father chuckled and gazed lovingly at the girls. “Right to everything but the super-fast cars. That one we’ll have to run by your mother.”
Mya rolled her eyes as only a newly minted twelve-year-old can. “Anyway, Denny got down on one knee and said some super sweet stuff to Mom. Then, Talya and Simon picked us up and babysat us for the rest of the night because Mom and Denny said they were going to go do boring adult stuff.”
“Boring adult stuff, huh?” he repeated, eyeing his father and Maureen as the woman who’d been like a mother to him for the past decade blushed.
“Open the present, Jordan! Open it! Your dad was so excited to get it for your baby,” the girls chimed, pointing to the gift.
He tore the wrapping carefully, then tears blurred his vision.
“Your mother used to read that book to you all the time when you were little,” his father said, growing misty-eyed as well.
Jordan nodded, his throat tightening as he stared at a copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Do you like it?” Mia pressed.
“I do. Thank you,” he said, emotion coating the words as he held his father’s gaze.
“Can we go talk to Simon and Talya now?” Mia asked, injecting a bout of tween humor into the wave of emotion that nearly overtook him.
Maureen nodded. “You may. First, tell Georgie and Jordan congratulations.”
“Congratulations, bro!” the girls chimed, then skipped out of the room toward the front of the shop.
“I know your mother is looking down on you from heaven. She’d be so proud and so happy for you and Georgie,” his father said, blinking back tears.
Jordan looked between his father and Maureen. “I think Mom would be happy for the both of us,” he replied.
He passed the book and Faby to his wife, then embraced his father—so grateful to have the man back in his life. He was beyond excited his dad had proposed to Maureen. If anyone deserved to be loved and cherished, it was her. And he knew his father was the one for the job. All he had to do was watch his dad for a second to see the absolute devotion in his eyes when the big guy caught a glimpse of her.
“You’re familiar with this book, aren’t you? It’s about a mischievous bunny who’d disregarded his mother’s warning to steer clear of Mr. McGregor’s farm, only to go straight there, and barely escape by the skin of his teeth.”
“I—” she began when Gene and Marjory handed her a slim rectangular box.
“We should have checked with Denny and Maureen first,” Gene said with a chuckle.
“Go on and open it, Georgie,” Marjory offered.
Georgie handed him the picture book and their fake baby as she unwrapped the gift, revealing another copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit.
“This book was also one of Georgie’s favorites as a girl,” Gene announced to the group.
She nodded. “My dad introduced me to it.”
“No, he didn’t, dear,” Marjory countered, then shared a look with Gene.
Georgie cocked her head to the side. “Sure, he did. My dad was all about the books—even when I was little.”
Gene shook his head. “No, sweetheart, open it. We added an old photograph to the title page.”
Gently, Georgie lifted the cover to reveal an image of a woman, who looked like the mirror image of his wife, holding a baby in one ar
m and a book, none other than The Tale of Peter Rabbit, in the other.
Georgie stared at the image. “I had no idea.”
“It was almost a running joke with your mom and dad,” Marjory added.
“How so?” Georgie asked.
The man chuckled, then waved them all over to sit as Barry hung back, capturing the moment.
Gene settled into a chair, then met Georgie’s gaze. “Peter Rabbit was all your mother, Georgiana. Your father wasn’t crazy about that book at all. He hated that Peter was such a naughty rabbit and almost got himself caught by not listening to his bunny mother and avoiding the dangerous farm. But not your mom. That’s not how she saw it.”
Georgie’s hand went to her belly. “What did she think?”
“She saw Peter’s day of dodging the farmer and barely making it out alive as a grand adventure. Naughty Peter might not have gotten the reward of eating bread and berries like his siblings did when he finally returned home, but he had something they didn’t.”
“What did she think Peter Rabbit had gotten?” Georgie asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Experiences. Your mother argued that, thanks to his wild day, Peter had encountered the world. And that was worth the risk to her,” Marjory explained.
“I would venture to say all those pageants she’d entered you in was a way to give you a taste of the world—a way to gain new experiences and learn about different places,” Gene added, then paused. “And, if I remember correctly, she was also avoiding carbohydrates, so a dinner of bread sounded ghastly to her.”
Georgie released a teary chuckle. “It does sound like her.”
Jordan reached over and took his wife’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Georgie sucked in a tight breath, then leaned forward, and squeezed his hand.
“Stevie Nicks?” he asked, then shook his head. “Paxton Dicks?”
That wasn’t it either!
Dammit! How could he not remember the name of the practice contractions?
“Oh! I’ve got it! Braxton Hicks!” he called out.
She nodded, giving him a thumbs-up, then exhaled as her body relaxed. “Just a little one, but…” she trailed off.
“Do you want some water?” he offered.
“Or a pineapple sherbet seltzer?” Becca chimed, holding up a pitcher of a godforsaken lumpy mixture.
Own the Eights Maybe Baby Page 25
