She didn’t want to prick his grief by asking about his late uncle. She ran her finger over the photo of Samson and a handsome young couple. Samson held a baby in his arms. The same baby from his Matchmaker profile, the one that had made everyone in the ballroom at CREATE sigh. “This is your goddaughter, right?”
“Yes. My best friend, Dean, and his wife, Josie. Their daughter, Miley.” He walked out from around the granite island and handed her a glass of water. She drank it in a few gulps and handed it back to him. “Thirsty, huh?”
Rage took a lot out of a person. Rhiannon ignored him and touched the last frame. A young Samson, maybe at twelve or thirteen, smiled out at her from a football field.
She could see where he got his size and looks from now. A couple stood behind him, both beaming. The big man’s hand was on Samson’s shoulder, his pride evident. The woman was almost as tall as her husband, statuesque and gorgeous, her hip-length hair in a braid, love radiating off her. Sweet and loyal and kind. This was the type of woman who inspired that kind of description.
“Those are my parents,” he said, and there was an odd tone in his voice. Banked grief and something else.
“I’m sorry. They look lovely.”
“It’s been a while. My dad died right after I was drafted to the Brewers. My mom lasted a couple months after him.”
He’d lost them almost at once? She inched closer to him. “That’s tragic. I didn’t realize your mother died so quick after him.”
“They said it was a heart attack. She was a lawyer, worked a lot. She’d been under a heavy stress load for years.” He grimaced. “But I really think it was losing my dad that did it.”
“My dad died when I was young. I was too small to really know him, but I had my mom.” She might drive Rhiannon crazy, but she loved Sonya.
“What’s your mom like?”
“Guilt trippy, but she loves and supports me in her way. She lives in Chicago, but travels a lot.”
“Do you wish she lived closer?”
Rhiannon grimaced. “I should. But no. We’re both a little too power hungry to live in the same house.”
“You both like to be head of the household?”
“Basically.”
“One brother, right?”
Rhiannon nodded. “Younger, yes.”
“I always wished I had siblings.”
“I don’t know how I would have dealt with being an only child.”
“My parents made sure I was never too lonely.”
“You look like them. Your father, especially.”
“I know.” He picked up the photo and looked down at it. That was when she noted the air of preoccupied sadness clinging to him. Had it been there since she’d walked in? Or was it in response to this conversation?
She stuffed her feelings down for a minute and moved close enough to study the picture with him. “Had you just won some important game?” she asked.
He nodded, still staring at the photo. His finger traced his mother’s face. “Yeah. My dad was really proud I was following in the family footsteps. This was before the Switch.”
“The Switch?”
He blinked at her, and shook his head. “Sorry. That was what my mom called it. A nice euphemism.” His laugh was hard and unexpected.
She hesitated. This was veering fast into personal territory, and she wasn’t sure how personal she should get with this man, when they’d already blurred so many lines, but... “A euphemism for what?”
His lips flattened into a tight line, and she wondered if he would answer her, but he finally did. “Right before I started college, my dad started having issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
