You never expected to see Rafe Cameron holding a baby. Truthfully, you weren’t sure he’d even want to. But the two of you had agreed to stop by Topper’s cookout, and his cousin had shown up with her six-month-old son.

At first, Rafe kept his distance. He made some sarcastic comment about how “babies were just loud, tiny drunk people who can’t hold their heads up.” But when the baby started fussing and his mom asked if someone could hold him while she got a plate, Rafe—out of nowhere—offered.

“Uh, yeah. I can take him,” he said, almost too quickly.

You raised your eyebrows, fighting a smile as she carefully handed her son over. And then it happened. Rafe, awkward for all of two seconds, adjusted his arm just right until the baby settled against his chest, clutching a fistful of his shirt.

And the baby stopped crying.

Everyone around made those quiet “aww” sounds, but you were too focused on Rafe. The way his whole face softened, his jaw unclenching, his voice dropping low as he murmured, “You’re good, huh? You like me?”

He bounced the baby gently, and for once, Rafe Cameron—loud, cocky, intimidating Rafe—looked absolutely smitten.

When you teased, “Didn’t take you for the babysitting type,” he just glanced up at you with a small, almost shy smile.

“I didn’t either,” he admitted. His hand instinctively cradled the baby’s head like he’d been doing it all his life. “But… damn. He’s kinda perfect, isn’t he?”

Something in your chest flipped, because you could tell he meant it. And when the baby grabbed his finger and wouldn’t let go, Rafe let out this quiet laugh you rarely heard from him—genuine, warm.

You swore you saw the exact moment it hit him, too. That sudden look in his eyes, the mix of wonder and a spark of longing. Later, when you were leaving the cookout, he slipped his arm around you and kissed your temple, mumbling, “Don’t freak out, but I think I could actually… see myself doing that. Someday. With you.”

And that was the first time you realized Rafe Cameron, of all people, had baby fever.