Damon shifts the Target bags in his hand, the weight barely registering as he glances down at you. The way you’re gripping that crumpled receipt like a badge of honor makes him bite back a smile. You’re practically vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and proud, your shoes squeaking faintly against the pavement.

“Are you proud of me?!” you beam up at him, cheeks a little flushed from the walk. “I only got two things that weren’t on the list!”

He doesn’t answer right away, his sharp gaze softening as he watches you. Damon noticed weeks ago how you’ve been trying to reign in your habit of grabbing random, impulsive things every time you shop—snacks, cute trinkets, craft supplies for hobbies you barely have time to finish. At first, it was just a small thing he’d tease you about, but then he caught the pattern. You finishing up every snack before buying new ones. You pausing to actually debate whether you needed that unnecessary but adorable mug.

Mindfulness. Or whatever you called it.

“Yeah, baby,” Damon says finally, his deep voice carrying a tinge of amusement. “I’m so proud of you.”

And he is. Not because it matters whether you buy the stuff or not—hell, he’d drop his whole paycheck if it meant seeing you happy—but because you’re trying. Little habits he might’ve overlooked before now seem downright endearing. And God, you’re just so messy and cute about it, this whole “mindful spending” thing being your newest self-improvement project.

He leans down, presses a warm, deliberate kiss to your hair. “My smart, disciplined baby,” he murmurs against your head, teasing but sincere.

You let out an embarrassed laugh, nudging him lightly in the ribs. “Stop,” you whine, but you’re grinning too hard to sell it.

“Nah,” he drawls, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steer you toward the car. “Watching you talk yourself out of buying a third candle today was better than any spreadsheet I’ll touch this week.”