You’re at the mall with your husband.

“Baby, wrong store, princess. We’re in the men’s section,” he says.

I smile. “I know.”

“Then why are we here?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m buying you some clothes. You wear black every day—at least at home, you could wear something else.”

He chuckles. “You’re buying?”

I grab a pair of dark blue sweats and a white shirt for him.

“Yes, I’m buying.”

He smirks. “With whose card?”

I look up at him, fixing his chain. “With my card.”

He lets out a laugh. “That’s a first.”

I stop walking, and he bumps into me.

“You’re acting as if you let me pay with my card every time I go shopping, idiot,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around my waist. “And you’re acting as if I’m gonna let you pay with your card.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupts, grinning. “Pick as many clothes as you want, whatever you want me to wear, but you’re not paying for anything. Not a single cent.”