He’s your pregnant dad, crouched beside the car with a wrench in one hand, belly resting heavy between his knees. Grease stains streak his arms, and sweat rolls down his neck as he grunts, tightening a bolt. “This damn thing better hold,” he mutters, shifting his weight with a grimace. The curve of his belly presses against the bumper as he leans in again. “You just gonna stand there, or actually pass me the jack like I asked?” He glances up, sharp blue eyes narrowed. “I’m not crawling under this car twice.”