“To the office, or to see Samson?” Katrina asked astutely.
Hopefully the latter, but Samson needed to text her back to confirm that. In the meantime, she’d start driving down to L.A. She grunted.
“Rhi, be—”
“Careful. I know. I will be, I promise. I . . . I can’t let Peter have this. If anyone buys Matchmaker, it has to be me.”
Katrina was quiet for a second and then nodded. “Okay. Go. Let me know what you need from me.”
This. This acceptance calmed her down more than breathing exercises ever could. “I will.” She reached out and squeezed Katrina’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you updated.”
If there was anything to update. Worry and fear had her walking at a fast clip, and she kept glancing at her silent phone. She’d been so preoccupied with this little project with Samson and their canoodling, she couldn’t believe she’d taken her eye off the prize, the prize she’d already gone to great lengths to attempt to secure. She couldn’t lose this.
Not to him.
Chapter Fourteen
SAMSON’S PHONE vibrated in his pocket, and he almost reached for it, a Pavlovian response he had to consciously beat back. He’d never been tied to his cell as much as he had for the past couple weeks. The hit of dopamine to his brain every time it was Rhi on the other end of the line had become addictive.
This time, though, his hands were full, so he did his best to ignore it, even when it buzzed a second time. He’d check it after lunch.
Samson kept a gentle hold of Miley’s fists while she stood and balanced on his thighs, her tiny feet encased in trendy white sneakers that matched her dad’s. She beamed at him, her fat cheeks creasing, and took a wobbly step.
“. . . anyway, that’s why sometimes it’s that greenish-brown color.” Dean looked at Samson expectantly.
Oh, thank God. His friend was done. “I never knew there was so much variation in baby poops,” Samson managed to say. Miley babbled, as if to agree, and plopped down like her legs had gone suddenly boneless. Samson grasped her around her waist and secured her. A few visits with his goddaughter, and he was feeling ten times more at ease with her size. Infants were like a ball of cheeks and rolls held together with drool, but they were surprisingly sturdy.
Dean paused with his water glass halfway to his mouth. “Oh no. I did it again, didn’t I? I overdadded.”
Yes. “Not at all.”
“You’re being too nice to me. Harris would have stopped me the second I started talking about diapers.”
“No, I don’t—” Samson rethought that. “Yeah, he would have. To be fair, I probably should have.”
They’d met up at a popular Irish pub that was owned by a well-known retired basketball player. It had been a trek to get here, but Samson was glad they’d come. It was busy, and they were relatively anonymous.
More people than usual had started recognizing him since the Matchmaker/Crush collaboration had hit the digital airwaves. He’d stayed off the internet and out of the comments. He didn’t want to really know what people were reminiscing about him or what the campaign had stirred up.
The Lima Curse.
He’d known, going into this gig, people would talk about his retirement. So long as he wasn’t slapped in the face with it, he was fine. If he could go the rest of his life without hearing about the Curse, he’d be better.
“Do you want me to take Miley back?” Dean wiped his hands on his napkin.
Samson wrapped his arms around the child protectively. So long as she was happy, holding a baby was rather soothing. Like having a therapy animal. “No. Finish your burger.”
The new dad took another bite, but Samson noticed that he kept an anxious eye on his daughter. “Have you asked Harris why he ribs you so much about Miley?”
“He says I’m going overboard.” And then, surprising Samson, Dean continued, “I think he’s right.”
“Do you?”
Dean took another bite of his grilled portabella burger. His friend wasn’t eating at a breakneck pace today, Samson was happy to notice. “I’m working with Josie to dial it back. Miley’s my world, but I don’t want our marriage to get lost in being parents. Josie’s mom’s gonna come stay in our guesthouse for a while. Give me a break.” Dean’s face brightened. “So when my best friend’s in town, I can actually see him without toting a diaper bag along.”
Samson smiled, and nodded, relieved. “All that sounds good. Bonus: you’ll get Harris off your back for a while.”
“Godsend. Can you imagine growing up with that ass—” Dean stopped, gestured, and waited until Samson cupped his palms over the oblivious baby’s ears. “Asshole,” he whispered.
Samson smoothed Miley’s fuzzy hair. “I don’t have to imagine it. I basically grew up with both of you.”
“So you did.” A half-reminiscing, half-regretful smile played over Dean’s face. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, man, retiring so early. After I retired, I felt . . . I don’t know if I can describe it.”
Samson could describe it. “Aimless and trapped?”
Dean snapped his fingers. “Yes! Exactly that. I didn’t know you could feel both those things at once.”
Joe had been the one to guide Samson out of his immediate post-retirement funk. Son, I know what it’s like to go from being a part of a pack to being alone. His uncle had coaxed him out of the house, gone on runs with him, had helped ease him from that regimented life to solitary retirement. “Neither did I, until it happened.”
Dean nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah. At least I was somewhat prepared. You got shoved into retirement.”
Samson hated the tinge of guilt in Dean’s voice. “I’m fine with my decisions. And yeah, it was tough for a time, but I had you and Harris and most importantly, I had Uncle Joe. Not long after, he got sick.” Samson shrugged. “I didn’t have much time to worry about anything else then.”
Dean’s gaze was 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.