I hear his chuckle from behind me and let my own amusement break free.
Then my gaze lands on a display of dried mango slices. My mouth starts to water, and I pick up a package, only to put it back down. I pick it up again, sorely tempted to toss it in the cart, then with a sigh, put it down again. I'll be damned if I let Brady think he's right about the pregnancy cravings.
I'll come back and get some tomorrow if I'm still wanting them.
After grabbing a few more things from the produce section, we turn the corner into the cereal aisle. Brady comes to a stop in front of a display of colourful sugar-filled boxes.
“I haven't had this stuff in years,” he says wistfully. “After my parents died, I had to be so careful with our budget. Fancy cereal was out and plain Cheerios were in. Except for one year at Christmas.”
He gets a far-off look in his eyes. “I surprised the twins with jumbo boxes of their favourites. It was ridiculous how excited they were over cereal.”
Ridiculous and heartbreaking, I think to myself. The sacrifices they had to make, and the grief they all experienced at such young ages. I know it all too well.
“What would you have gotten? If you had the choice,” I ask, and he points to one that just so happens to be my favourite as well. Reaching in front of him, I grab a box and toss it in the cart.
“Cereal sounds like a good idea for dinner tonight, doesn't it?” I ask casually.
Brady's laugh is light. “Yeah, it does.”
We carry on down the aisle, and I'm grateful that I'm in front of him so he can't see the smile on my face. How does this man make something as simple as grocery shopping feel so intimate and special?
Turning another corner, we grab a few things that were actually on our list. Then, as Brady detours to get some milk out of the coolers, I turn down the next aisle. And immediately come to a stop.
The shelf in front of me is full of so many childhood throwbacks, so many treats that remind me of happier times when my mom was alive. I search the shelves, looking for one particular package. I haven't seen them in years, but as my gaze lands on the familiar bright blue box, a pang of grief mixed with nostalgic joy hits me square in the chest.
“What the hell are Dunkaroos?”
I startle, not realizing Brady had returned with the milk and a carton of eggs. He places them in the cart before coming to stand beside me, one hand going to the small of my back as he peeks over my shoulder.
I twist my head to the side, my mouth falling open in surprise. “You're joking. You don't know what Dunkaroos are?”
Brady's eyeing the box like it might bite him. “Definitely not. Sounds like a cartoon, not a snack.”
“Oh my God, you poor, deprived child,” I tease. “These were like…legendary when I was growing up. They’re cookies you dip in frosting. I used to beg my mom to put them in the loot bags for my birthday parties, and once in a while she would surprise me with one in my lunch.”
Brady's brow furrows but the corners of his mouth tip up.
“So you’re telling me people paid real money for sugar cookies, that I assume are shaped like kangaroos, and little things of chemical-filled frosting?”
I slowly placed the box back on the shelf, then fold my arms over my chest above my baby bump and shake my head as if I'm really disappointed.
“Wow. Okay. Way to insult my favourite childhood treat. Besides, they weren't only kangaroo-shaped cookies, some of them were shaped like the logo.”
Brady busts out a loud laugh. “Oh sorry, that changes everything.”
I narrow my eyes, even as I'm fighting back a grin of my own. “Careful, Dixon, you’re dangerously close to being banned from co-parenting rights.”
“Over cookies? Wow, Sage, that's harsh.” His face is full of mirth, and I’m secretly proud I was able to lighten the mood after the cereal aisle.
I pick the box up again and toss it in the cart. “I’m going to make you try one later. Then I'll consider accepting your apology.”
We carry on around the store, focusing on our list. But the laughter is coming easier, and when he brushes against me, it feels natural. Everything about being with Brady feels natural. Easy. Which is scaring me less and less.
We approach the checkout, and Brady pushes me gently to the side so he can unload our cart.
“I can help, you know. I'm pregnant, not broken,” I mutter with a huff.
“Oh honey, let your man help. I think it's nice to see a fella doting over his wife.”
