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“Publix on Butler and 8th.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there in ten.”
Without so much as a goodbye, the call drops.
This is awkward. I turn back to the aisle to retrieve my buggy, Belle lost in her own universe of song and dance every step of the way. “Kid, can you chill for five minutes please?” I ask, grabbing the buggy and wandering aimlessly through the store.
“I thought we were going home!” Belle whines.
“Not yet, kid. We gotta tough this out together.”
“Uuuggghh, why?”
Here we go—twenty questions.
“Because my friend is gonna come help us shop. She’ll be here
in a few minutes. Wanna play I Spy?”
She flips her thumb down and shakes her head.
Just as we cut down an aisle, I hear my name called out, “Madden!” I turn back at the sound of Jordan’s voice. Thank fuck. Maybe we can get this shit done.
“Hey, Jordan.”
“Who are you?” Belle asks.
Jordan crouches down at Belle’s level and introduces herself. “You must be Belle. I’m Jordan, your daddy’s fitness trainer. You’re a very pr—”
“Fitness trainer? What the… You’re the lady who said I can’t have cupcakes?” Belle demands, stomping her foot.
Jordan looks from Belle to me then back at Belle. “Well … I…” Belle huffs and rolls her eyes. Jordan stands and turns toward me, her expression troubled. “Fed me to the wolves, I see.” She laughs and peers into the buggy. “You’re kidding me, Madden. How long have you been here?”
“FOREEEEEEVVVVVVEEEEERRR,” Belle groans. “And I’m hungry!”
Jordan tweaks her nose and says, “Then let’s get down to it, sass. Hop onto the buggy and hold on tight. We’ll make this fun.” Jordan turns to me and whispers, “Sometimes you have to work out when you can while compromising with the kid. Consider this extra cardio.” She winks as she pulls her phone from her back pocket. She pulls up the app and scrolls through her lists of clients until she finds my name. “Okay, crew. To aisle five!”
CHAPTER SIX
JORDAN
How in the hell did I end up here?
Why am I here?
I take all of my clients’ health seriously, but shopping with them? This is new to me. The look on Madden’s face when I advised him to go to the grocery and basically start over with the filling of his refrigerator lingered in my mind long after he left the gym. He looked like I knocked him down after he had just gotten up. I couldn’t get the defeated look out of my mind, which is why I wanted to check on him; at least that is what I keep telling myself.
The sound of his voice, combined with the image I seared into my brain had me on autopilot. When I found them in Publix, the sight was comical. Here stood this large man being led around by the nose by this tiny little fireball.
As we race her around the store, going from aisle to aisle doing our best version of a NASCAR racer, grabbing all the necessary items, it isn’t long before we return to the scene of the crime to grab the quinoa. Just as the cupcakes come into the peripheral vision of the sassy five-year-old, her bottom lip juts out. Lord have mercy, he is going to have his hands full with this one.
“Wasn’t that fun Belle?” I ask, trying to distract her.
Without skipping a beat she says, “Would have been a lot funner with cupcakes.” Cue turning to her dad and batting her eyelashes. Jesus, I love this kid already. She’s me at five.
“Belly”—Madden somewhat scolds her as we make our way to the checkout— “you’re bein
g rude to Jordan, while she’s only trying to help Daddy.”
