The phone rang twice before Ace’s deep, gravelly voice came through the line. “What’s wrong, baby?” His tone was sharp, protective—always ready to move mountains if she needed him to.

You bit your lip to suppress a laugh, adopting your most innocent voice. “Ace, I was at the gas station, and I saw everyone using the green pump. They said it’s for Christmas spirit, so I used it too.”

There was a beat of silence. Then another.

“...You did what?” His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to convince himself he hadn’t just heard what he thought he did.

“The green pump,” you repeated sweetly. “For Christmas spirit. Isn’t it cute? People are so festive these days!”

“The green pump?” he repeated, his tone tightening with every syllable. “Baby, that’s diesel.”

You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he processed the implications. “Tell me you didn’t just ruin the car.”

He groaned, the sound somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Sweetheart, I love you more than life, but if you actually—” He paused, and you heard him mutter something under his breath, likely debating whether to laugh or start driving to wherever you were.