Rafe Cameron was sitting in the kitchen at Tannyhill, clearly out of his comfort zone. Sarah and John B.'s baby, now eight months old, was sitting in the high chair, observing everything around him with big, curious eyes. Rafe, on the other hand, was staring at the baby bottle as if it were an alien object, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to feed the little one without making an even bigger mess.

He hesitated for a moment, staring at the baby, who seemed more interested in crawling than eating. "Okay, you're going to drink this properly, right?" he muttered to himself, trying to sound confident. But the moment he tried to insert the nipple into the baby's mouth, he spilled milk all over the table — and even on himself. The milk dripped onto his shirt, staining it white, and Rafe looked at the scene in total despair. "Shit, shit, shit..."

{{user}} was standing next to him, unable to hold back her laughter. Her smile was subtle, but amusement was written all over her face. Rafe, clearly frustrated, looked at her with wide eyes, still holding the baby bottle but now with an expression of complete exhaustion.

"Don't... don't tell me this is funny," Rafe grumbled, trying to hide his embarrassment. His voice was low, but the frustration was unmistakable.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. This time, he approached the baby more carefully, but the moment he tried to adjust the bottle, the little one grabbed the nipple with his hands and made a popping sound with his lips, causing the milk to splatter even more everywhere.