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“I heard you outmaneuvered JM to get the contract to build a new gym at the Pershing School.”
Cole figured Serg had been informed about the gym contract on one of his occasional phone calls to Serenghetti Construction’s head offices. His father liked to speak to senior employees and stay clued in on what was going on beyond what Cole had time to tell him. Cole had told no one at the office about his bargain with Marisa beyond the fact that Serenghetti Construction had managed to stay a step ahead of its competitor JM Construction.
“Grow or die!” Serg gestured as if there was an audience aside from Camilla. “This company paid for your college degree and your hockey training. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Serenghetti Construction is not the little train that could, Dad.” The company needed fresh blood at the helm in order to steer it into the future. Serg, like many founders, had taken it as far as he could. And if Cole wasn’t careful, he himself would be captaining the ship for decades ahead.
“So what are you going to do instead that’s more important?” Serg groused, shifting in his chair and nearly knocking over his cane. “Go be a hockey coach?”
Cole wasn’t surprised his father guessed the direction of his thoughts. He’d interviewed for a coaching job with the Madison Rockets last fall, but having heard nothing further, he’d kept the news to himself. If a position materialized, there was no question that his time at the helm of Serenghetti Construction would need to come to an end because he couldn’t keep jobs in different states—not to mention the travel involved in a coaching position.
Serg snapped his brows together. “Coaching is a hard lifestyle if you have a family and a couple of kids.” He glowered. “Or is that something else you’re planning to do differently from the old man? Another part of your heritage that you’re planning to reject?”
“Getting married and having kids is hardly part of my heritage, Dad.” More like a lifestyle choice, but Serg had jumped ahead several steps.
“Well, we damn sure don’t speak the same language anymore! How’s that for losing your heritage?”
“Serg, calm down,” Camilla said, looking worried. “You know what the dottore said.”
Camilla had always been the one to run interference between her husband and children. Cole also had a hunch that his mother had more empathy than his father about lifelong dreams and their postponement. His mother had her own second career as a television chef.
“The blood thinners will take care of me—” Serg harrumphed before shooting Cole a pointed look “—even if my children won’t.”
“I’ll take care of you,” Camilla said firmly.
Cole looked at his parents. “Well, this is a turnaround.”
Serg frowned. “What? Stop speaking in riddles.”
Cole wasn’t sure his pronouncement would be welcome. “Suddenly Mom is the one with a career, and she’s promising to support you.”
“You always were a smart aleck,” his father grumbled. “Maybe even a bigger one than your brother.”
“Which one?” Cole quipped—because both Jordan and Rick qualified—and then stood up. “I’m going to let you continue to rest. I have a couple of calls to return for work.”
“Rest! That’s all anyone wants me to do around here.”
Cole figured if he could rest, he’d be ahead of the game right now. But he had demands on his time, not the least of which was a certain wild-tressed schoolteacher who’d come crashing back into his life...
* * *
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey!” Donna Casale rushed forward, delight stamped on her face as she left her front door wide open behind her.
For Marisa, it was like looking at an older version of herself. Fortunately, the future in that regard didn’t look too shabby. Her mother appeared younger than fifty-four. Donna Casale had maintained the shapely figure that had attracted male interest all her life—leaving her alone and pregnant at twenty-three, but also permitting her to attract a second admiring glance even after age fifty. And
years in the retail trade meant she always looked polished and presentable: hair colored, makeup on and smile beaming. Of course, marriage might also have something to do with it these days. Her mother seemed happy.
Marisa felt a pang at the contrast to her own circumstances as she let herself be enveloped in a hug. Her mother and Ted had bought a tidy three-bedroom wood-frame house at the time of their wedding. Marisa and Sal had begun talking about buying a home themselves during their brief engagement, but those plans had gone nowhere.
When her mother pulled back from their embrace, she said, “Come on in. You’re early, but I couldn’t be happier to see you. You’re so busy these days!”
Marisa tried to keep occupied. She’d plunged back into work after her breakup with Sal, taking on additional roles at Pershing in order to advance her career and keep her mind off depressing thoughts.
Donna closed the front door, and Marisa followed her toward the back of the house.
“I’m so glad you’re staying for dinner,” Donna said over her shoulder, leading the way down the hall.
