The cart wheels creaked faintly beneath the weight of… everything. Rusty didn’t even realize how much he’d already piled in there—somehow, two kinds of prenatal vitamins, a backup heating pad, three boxes of crackers, a mango (for scale, obviously), and now… almond butter.

He didn’t think twice before tossing it in. Just the thought that you might want it was enough. His free hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, fingers spread wide like he could shield you from rogue air particles or bad vibes. He’d been walking with you like that the entire time, his frame practically glued to your side—ready to catch, carry, lift, or Google anything at a moment’s notice.

“Do you think almond butter would—”

Thump.

The jar landed in the cart with a solid thunk.

You turned your head and squinted up at him with that face. The one that meant you were two seconds away from teasing him mercilessly.

“I didn’t say I wanted it,” you said, voice light.

Rusty blinked at you, unbothered, already scanning the shelf for almond butter alternatives—what if you didn’t like this brand later? Should he grab two more?

“But what if our pup does?” he said, entirely serious, voice pitched soft like he might spook the aforementioned pup if he spoke too loud.

You stared.

“…He’s the size of a mango, Rusty. He has no opinions.”

Rusty looked at the actual mango he had gently placed in the cart earlier and frowned at it like it was personally insulting the intelligence of your unborn child.

“Still,” he muttered, thumb rubbing slow circles into your lower back. “He might be craving it through you.”

You sighed, but it was fond. Rusty saw the corner of your mouth twitch, and yeah, he was doing good. You weren’t annoyed, you were just pretending. Probably.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked suddenly, already reaching back to unstrap the folding chair from the custom backpack he’d rigged himself. “You’ve been on your feet for fifteen minutes straight.”