“She’s hungry.”
I stepped around him, heading for the kitchen, but he followed, still watching Hazel like she might explode at any second.
“Right. So... what do we do?”
I bit back a sigh. “We feed her.”
He nodded, but the hesitation in his movements was impossible to miss. He was out of his depth. Completely, hopelessly lost.
Not my problem.
Except... it was.
I flicked on the under-cabinet lights, keeping the brightness low, and turned toward Griffin.
“Can you make a bottle?” I asked. “Like I showed you earlier?”
His expression twisted, somewhere between a wince and a scowl. “I screwed it up earlier.”
“And now you know what you did wrong, so?—”
“Can you just?—”
I sighed. “Fine. You’ll need to learn sometime.” I transferred Hazel to his arms, guiding his hands into position. “Support her head. Yes, like that.”
He cradled her with exaggerated care, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body. Hazel’s cries softened slightly, but she still fussed, her little fists waving in protest.
I grabbed the formula tin and a clean bottle, working quickly while keeping an eye on them. Griffin stood frozen, as if afraid the slightest movement might break her.
“You can rock her a bit,” I said. “She likes movement.”
He attempted a slow, awkward sway. It looked less like rocking and more like someone balancing on a tightrope.
“Relax. She can sense your tension.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re not handling a sensitive setup with zero margin for error.”
I rolled my eyes, measuring formula into the bottle. “She’s a baby, Griffin, not a finicky suspension.”
“Same level of unpredictability.”
Despite his complaint, his movements gradually became more natural. Hazel’s cries faded to a grumble, her eyes fixing on his face with surprising focus.
“See?” I said. “You’re getting it.”
A tentative smile played at the corners of his mouth and awe filled his voice. “She’s looking at me.”
“Of course she is. You’re her father.”
The word hung between us, weighty and significant. Griffin’s smile slipped, then returned, a vulnerable look flickering across his face before he masked it.
I finished preparing the bottle, testing the temperature on my wrist. “Perfect. Ready for the next step?”
“There’s more after not dropping her?”
“Several, actually.” I moved closer, holding out the bottle. “Do you want to feed her, or should I?”
Griffin glanced between the bottle and Hazel, uncertainty written across his features. “Maybe you should. I don’t want to mess this up.”
