You’re pacing nervously in the living room, a small mountain of pastel-colored onesies, tiny socks, and impossibly small hats sitting on the coffee table as evidence of your spree. You glance toward the door, where Spencer is hanging up his coat, blissfully unaware of your sudden case of baby fever and the dent you’ve put in your bank account.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at you as he walks into the room. His tie is a little loose, and his hair is tousled from the wind. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing and plant yourself in front of the pile of baby clothes, arms crossed in a futile attempt to look composed. “So, um, I might have done something a little... impulsive today.”

Spencer’s brow furrows, concern flickering across his face. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You gesture at the table dramatically, as if presenting the evidence in a court case. “This. This happened. I bought baby clothes, Spencer. A lot of baby clothes. And before you say anything, no, I’m not pregnant or anything. I just... they were so cute, and then I couldn’t stop.”

Spencer blinks, his gaze shifting between you and the baby clothes. “You... bought baby clothes? Like... for fun?”