Page 107 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
In that quasi-luxurious family restroom, he and Georgie fell into that very scene. Except, the store didn’t have hardcore techno playing. No, the piped-in background music was…
He could barely believe it!
“Michael Bolton,” Georgie whispered as a lovely instrumental version of “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” played over the market’s sound system.
He caught Georgie’s eye, and she nodded. A tiny move that would have gone unrecognized by most, but not him.
This song had been with them from the beginning. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it was playing now.
Table down.
Wipes deployed.
Jordan Marks was a man on a disinfecting mission. He raised his hands, then stepped back and allowed Georgie to move in.
Gently, she laid the baby on the changing table, then proceeded to remove his little baby shoes and his little baby jeans, which were, honestly, damn cute.
“Mr. Ollie, that is quite a smell,” Georgie said, adding apee-ewsound that had the boy laughing a toothless baby giggle that was also cute as hell.
But the smell!
“You want me to do it?” he asked, eyeing the bulging diaper.
“No, I’m going in. Baby wipe,” she said, holding out her hand like a surgeon requesting a scalpel.
Wipe in hand, she removed the diaper, and, while the VR simulation wasn’t completely accurate, it was still freaky how much poop a tiny person could produce in real life. Still, at least this stuff wasn’t erupting out of him like Mount Saint Diarrhea.
It took a good ten or eleven wipes, but together—no, mostly Georgie with him earning a solid assist—they’d cleaned up the boy, disposed of the diaper, and had those baby jeans and shoes on before that Michael Bolton song even ended.
Things moved quickly after their diaper change win.
They’d washed their hands, left the bathroom oasis, and paid for their items.
And just like that, they’d mastered the real grocery store challenge.
He carried the groceries and Faby while Georgie lifted the boy out of the cart.
“Let’s wait on the bench,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Ah, the very bench where you cracked open a tube of—”
“Don’t say it. We will not be speaking the name of my former favorite snack,” she replied, giving him a warning glance. “It’s one thing for me to be able to wear my bracelet with the cookie charm. It’s another tube of cookie dough to bring it up in conversation.”
He chuckled, remembering the moment he happened upon her on this very bench, squeezing the raw vegan cookie dough straight into her mouth like a modern-day female cookie monster.
“Hello, there! You must be Georgie and Jordan,” a woman said, waving as she walked toward them.
Ollie clapped his hands and reached for the woman.
“You must be Brice and Briana’s mom,” Georgie said, handing the boy over.
“I’m Louise Casey. It’s so nice to meet you both. Thank you for taking care of our little Ollie. You two were in the right place at the right time when Ollie and Briana needed you.”
Georgie parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out.
“We’re glad we could help,” he said, handing Louise the diaper bag, then wrapping his arm around his wife.
“Here’s Ollie’s formula,” Georgie said, finding her voice as she removed the can from their grocery bag and slid it into Ollie’s diaper bag.
