Jordan nodded, then shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Have you signed Oliver up for the baby NFL?”
Thad and Briana stared at her husband.
“There’s a football league for babies?” Thad questioned.
Jordan shook his head. “No, it’s not a baby football league. It’s something I’d heard a few dads talking about.”
The doctors nodded warily, but her husband didn’t seem to notice their perplexed expressions and pressed on.
“Have you looked into trumpet lessons or having your son play the viola?” he continued, and ding, ding, ding! Her little double life outburst was starting to look a lot less crazy.
At least she wasn’t the only one who would make a fool of themselves tonight.
Thad glanced at his son. “Oliver’s not even able to use a spoon. How would he hold a bow or manage a trumpet?”
“Great point!” Jordan replied, clearly going for nonchalance but tanking. “I’d heard a few things, here and there, when it came to raising a well-rounded child.”
“We’re going to let Ollie be a baby,” Thad answered.
Jordan gave an exaggerated nod. “Right! Because he is a baby. He’s a real baby. No offense, Faby,” he added, addressing the fake baby in her arms—as nutjobs do.
“Will Ollie need to be bathed?” she asked Briana, doing her best to change the subject.
It was that or stuff Faby’s head into Jordan’s mouth before he asked another wacky child-rearing question.
Briana shook the bottle, then tested a drop of the liquid on the back of her wrist. “No, Thad bathed him before you got here. It’s getting close to Ollie’s bedtime. All you’ll need to do is give him his bottle and rock him a bit. He’s a good little sleeper. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble. Thad, why don’t you pass Ollie to Georgie and let him get used to her.”
The man, who was not her obstetrician, glanced at his wife.
“Honey, we’re getting a night out,” Briana said, raising an eyebrow.
“Right!” the guy replied, springing into action.
“Are you able to put the doll down?” Briana asked.
Georgie startled. “Sorry! Sometimes, I forget I’m holding it. I’m so used to carrying it everywhere,” she answered, setting Faby on the kitchen table, then swallowed past the lump in her throat.
This was it. No more mannequin infant—at least, for the next few hours. But they were ready. They’d practiced diapering and feeding. Yes, it was on a doll, but it was better than nothing.
“You’re going to spend some time with Georgie and Jordan tonight, big guy,” Thad said to his son before placing the child in her arms.
And…wow!
The little boy looked up at her with twinkling eyes, pursed his real baby lips, then blew another raspberry.
“You’re very good at making that noise,” she said, holding the child’s gaze and swaying side to side.
The motion came naturally as she adjusted the baby in her arms. Not surprising, Ollie weighed a heck of a lot more than Faby. But it wasn’t only his size that had her heart hammering. The warmth of him and the gentle movement of his chest as he breathed sent, not a shiver through her body, but more of a wave—a calming shift, triggering a soothing sensation.
She felt her husband beside her and met his gaze. The mountain of a man patted the baby’s head as a look of wonder overtook his features, and she knew he was thinking the exact same thing as she was.
In a matter of months, this would be their life.
“Here’s the bottle,” Briana said, handing it to Jordan, then retrieving her purse from where it sat on the kitchen island.
Thad’s face lit up. “We don’t have to take the diaper bag with us tonight.”
“Or the stroller or the wearable sling,” Briana listed, grinning ear to ear.
“Or the baby booster seat,” Thad finished.
Georgie glanced between the parents, who’d grown positively giddy.
“We’ve got the emergency numbers tacked to the fridge, and you can’t miss Ollie’s room. It’s the one with the crib. He’s already in his pajamas. So, you should be good to go,” Briana said over her shoulder as she and Thad high-tailed it down the hall and out the door.
And then, it was the three of them.
Georgie glanced around the kitchen, hardly able to believe that she and Jordan were truly tasked with caring for a human baby.
“I think they wanted a night out,” she said, staring at the closed door.
“You’d have to be pretty desperate. I don’t know if I would have left my kid. You accused the dad of leading a double life, and I asked them if they’d enrolled their child in an infant football league,” he replied, running his hand down his face and shaking his head when little Ollie opened his mouth and belted out quite a yawn.
“I think this fellow is ready for bed,” Jordan said softly.
As if on cue, Ollie nuzzled into her and let loose another sleepy yawn.
“He’s awfully relaxed,” she replied, adjusting her hold on his cherub-chub body.
Jordan looked around. “Where do you think we should give him his bottle? Out here or in his room?”
She scanned the kitchen that led into a cozy living room. “Briana said he liked to be rocked, but I don’t see a rocking chair out here.”
“Let’s try his room,” Jordan said, then turned to head toward the other side of the house.
“Wait,” she called.
“What is it?”
She grinned up at him. “Why don’t you carry the baby.”
“Me?” he asked with a stunned expression.
“Yeah, it’s amazing. You’ve got to hold him.”
Jordan brushed his finger over the boy’s tiny knuckles. “He’s so small.”
She gazed down at the baby’s sweet face. “But he’s also a snuggle bug. How about this? I’ll do the bottle part. You do the transport.”
Jordan blew out a tight breath and did a little boxer jog, prancing back and forth.
She frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Loosening up,” he replied, shaking out his arms.
“You’ll be carrying a baby, not a five-hundred-pound tractor tire.”
“You’ve got a point,” he replied, nixing the pre-conditioning moves.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Carefully, as if they were orchestrating the handoff of an extremely volatile object, Jordan moved in a step closer. It was like in the movies, where the hero has retrieved something highly explosive, and then must hand it off to the bomb squad.
With exquisite precision, Jordan cradled his arms below hers as they transferred the baby into his strong embrace.
It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Time stood still.
Okay, time didn’t actually stop. In all fairness, it was probably more like eight seconds. But it was the eight most cautious seconds of their lives.
“I’m doing it, Georgie,” he said, grinning like he’d won the lottery as he stared down at Ollie, cradled in his muscled arms.
“Now, you have to carry him to his room,” she said, still in hazardous bomb diffusing mode.
He frowned. “Not yet. We need a plan. You should scout out the house and find his room first.”