Oops?

Emily reached for a box of penne, fingers brushing over the different brands without really focusing. Chloe was quiet in the stroller, pacifier bobbing gently, the only sound the soft creak of the basket shifting as she moved.

“Excuse me?”

She turned.

A man stood beside her—mid-thirties, good hair, clean button-up that was a little too crisp for a grocery store. He held two boxes of pasta in either hand and smiled like it was a casual coincidence, not a practiced setup.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked. “Elbows or shells?”

Emily blinked.

“I—um—depends what you're making?” she offered, polite.

He chuckled like that was charming. “Mac and cheese.”

She smiled faintly. “Then shells. They hold the sauce better.”

He nodded slowly, not moving. “Good to know.”

And still… he didn’t leave.

Emily rocked the stroller forward an inch. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He lingered another second, then finally walked off.

She watched him go, brow tightening slightly. That was… odd. Not awful. But off.

She shook it off and moved on.

Three aisles later—green beans. Fresh or canned, that was the question. She glanced once at Chloe, then reached for a bundle of fresh haricots verts wrapped in twine.

Another voice—closer this time, low and almost too casual.

“Those the good ones?”

Emily looked up, startled. A man—older, maybe early fifties, square build, tucked-in polo—stood beside her with a can in one hand and a slow smile on his face.

She gave a neutral nod. “I like fresh, yeah.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t look at the beans. His eyes flicked just low enough.

And again.

Then higher.

And suddenly she felt the cold all over again—but this time, not from the air.

She looked down.

And saw it.

Her shirt. The soft white cotton, pulled slightly open at the chest. And beneath it, her nursing bra… still unclipped. Both cups folded low, forgotten. Her nipples—hardened from the cold—pressed stiff and unmistakable through the thin fabric. Bare.

Exposed.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough that every man she’d passed had seen exactly what she hadn’t realized she was showing.

Her breath hitched.

And the man in front of her raised his brows slightly, almost like he wanted to say something else—something knowing—but she was already pushing the stroller forward, fast.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. Her heart raced. Her chest tingled with leftover cold and sudden, electric embarrassment.

She hadn’t just felt stared at.

She had been.