Cole had agreed before you even finished the sentence. “Your nephew? Yeah, of course I’ll help. He likes me, right?” he’d grinned, all confident — until the moment the baby actually arrived.

Now the living room looked like a battlefield of toys, blankets, and one very confused NHL player sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a chubby eight-month-old like he was a priceless artifact.

Cole stared down at the baby, wide-eyed. “Uh… he’s looking at me. Why’s he looking at me like that?”

The baby giggled. Drooled. Reached for Cole’s cheek.

Cole melted immediately.

An hour later, he was fully invested — sprawled on the rug, holding the baby above his head like he was bench-pressing a marshmallow. “Look at him! He’s so strong. Future Hab right here,” he whispered, beaming, as if the baby could understand.

You watched him bounce your nephew gently, whispering nonsense just to keep him giggling. Every time the baby laughed, Cole’s face lit up like he’d just scored in overtime.

At one point, the baby crawled straight toward his hair. Cole froze. “Oh no. Oh no, he’s going for it— yep. That’s my hair. Okay, buddy, we don’t pull—” But he didn’t move, didn’t complain, just let the baby cling to him like an adorable barnacle.

When the baby finally got sleepy, Cole sat on the couch with him nestled against his chest. The baby’s tiny fist clutched the fabric of Cole’s hoodie as he drifted off.

Cole looked at you over the top of the baby’s head — soft, quiet, a little in awe. “…He trusts me,” he said in this hushed, almost disbelieving voice.

He rested his cheek on the baby’s hair, the gentleness of the moment sinking into him. “You know… I always wondered what it’d be like one day.” His thumb brushed the baby’s back. “Doing this with you. A whole little family thing.”

He didn’t look at you right away, too focused on the tiny heartbeat against his chest.

When he finally lifted his gaze, there was something shy, warm, and completely genuine in it.

“I think I’d like it,” he murmured. “A lot.”

And then he pulled you closer with one arm — careful, mindful — until the three of you fit together perfectly on the couch, like a future he wasn’t afraid to imagine anymore.