sympathetic. “Big Joe was kind of like your Miley, huh?”
Samson almost jerked back, but then he remembered the baby in his arms. “What do you mean?”
“He gave you a purpose. Distracted you from your own feelings.” Dean’s expression turned contemplative.
“My uncle wasn’t a distraction.” His words were sharper than he intended, but he’d be damned if anyone considered his uncle anything but a whole human in his own right, sickness or no.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you had someone other than yourself and your feelings to think about. It’s not a bad thing. People like you and I, we function better when we can focus on a team objective over a solo one.” Dean leaned over and pulled out a round blue plastic snack container from his daughter’s diaper bag. At the sight of it, Miley bounced in Samson’s lap. “Do you want some cereal, angel?” Dean crooned, and opened the container, setting it next to Samson’s empty plate. “Check out that pincer grip, will you? She’s so advanced. Gonna be a surgeon, this one.”
Samson pretended to admire whatever a pincer grip was, but his brain was occupied. When Uncle Joe had gotten sick, he’d sat Samson down on the deck of his home. Your aunt badgered me into going to the doctor, and it’s not good.
Almost a decade later, he could vividly recall the bolt of fear that had run through him at the news, the trauma of his father’s decline far too fresh. It had been Joe who had consoled Samson. Joe who had suggested Samson come live with him and take care of him. At the time, Samson hadn’t questioned it, they were each other’s closest living relatives, it made sense.
But now, he wondered if it was because Uncle Joe, even in the midst of his own fear and uncertainty, had known what Samson needed even if he didn’t.
A lump of quiet grief rose up in his throat. “You’re right.” He moved his fork out of the baby’s range. “I didn’t feel so aimless so long as it was me and Uncle Joe against the illness. When he passed away, I guess it was like I was lost all over again.”
“I’m glad you got the Matchmaker gig.”
“Me too.” He could help Annabelle. Be a part of another team.
Dean’s voice was gentle and compassionate. “What are you going to do when it’s over?”
When he stopped seeing Rhi. When he had no one to help and nothing to show up for. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Dean immediately backed off. “I gotcha. Sorry, man.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Their waitress popped up, and Samson was so relieved at the interruption, his smile might have been larger than it would have otherwise been.
“Gentlemen, how’s everything going?”
“Everything’s great, thanks,” Dean said, but the waitress didn’t look at him.
She beamed at Samson. “You’re that guy from those Crush ads, aren’t you?”
“The Matchmaker ads,” he corrected her.
She waved her hand. “Yeah. Your videos are so cute.”
Samson picked a piece of cereal off Miley’s shirt and placed it on his empty plate. “Thanks.”
The waitress’s blue eyes slid over him and she placed her hand on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He glanced at Dean, who was waggling his eyebrows like mad while he slowly ate a french fry. “Will do.”
When she left, Dean stretched over and snatched the napkin she’d left behind before Samson could hide it. “I remember those days,” he said, with nostalgia. “The days women flung their numbers at me, before a baby ruined my figure.”
With Miley in his lap, Samson couldn’t retrieve the napkin from Dean. “Your figure’s fine and if any woman had even looked at you after Josie locked you down, they would have lost at least an eye.”
“No joke.” Dean grinned, clearly delighted with his wife. He waved the napkin. “Is this happening often?”
“More often than I thought it would.”
“You can’t go around being a halfway decent guy and holding a criminally cute baby and not expect women to throw their numbers slash panties at you.” Dean lowered his voice. “My sister tells me stories of the guys out there, man. The bar is, like, set at a negative level for decency.”
“I’m learning that. No reason for us to go negative, though.”
Dean tossed the number to him. “No lies detected. Have fun with that.”
Samson tucked the napkin into his pocket. He’d do with it what he’d done with all the other napkins he’d received over the last couple weeks. He’d