Rafe Cameron looked terrified.

Not of a fight, not of his dad, not even of the cops—no, this was different. This was a tiny, wide-eyed toddler staring up at him with the kind of silent judgment only a two-year-old could manage.

“Why is she looking at me like that?” Rafe whispered, shifting uncomfortably.

You smirked, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Probably because she knows you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Rafe shot you a glare before glancing back down at his niece, who was still staring, clutching a stuffed bunny in her tiny hands. “Okay, kid. What do you want?”

She blinked. Then, very seriously, she said, “Snack.”

Rafe exhaled in relief. Okay, he could do that.

He grabbed a banana off the counter, but before he could peel it, she wrinkled her nose. “No.”

He frowned. “No?”

She pointed at the cabinet. “Cookies.”

You burst out laughing. “She’s got your attitude, for sure.”

Rafe rolled his eyes but grabbed a cookie, crouching down to her level. “Alright, one cookie. But don’t tell your mom.”

The little girl grinned, taking the cookie with both hands like it was the greatest thing she’d ever seen.

“Uncle Wafe?” she said through a mouthful of crumbs.

Rafe’s eyes softened. “Yeah?”

She reached up, patting his cheek with her tiny, sticky hand. “You funny.”

You lost it, nearly doubling over in laughter.

Rafe groaned, wiping at his cheek. “Great. First my girlfriend, now my niece. Everyone’s a comedian.”

But when she crawled into his lap a few minutes later, curling against him with a sleepy yawn, Rafe just wrapped an arm around her, glancing at you with something almost shy in his expression.

Like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind this whole babysitting thing after all.