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“Why doesn’t anyone think of sharing those types of details on a date?” Cole quipped to Marisa.
“Maybe because you’re too busy admiring your date’s inner domestic goddess?” she shot back in a low voice before she could stop herself.
Cole gave her a half-lidded look. “Yeah...there’s that distraction.”
“Your mother is hilarious,” she sidestepped.
“Larger than life. It makes her perfect for television.”
As if on cue, his mother interjected, “Marisa, bella, you will come to the party in two weeks, sì?”
What? What party?
“Ah...yes.” She gave the only answer she could with three pairs of Serenghetti eyes on her.
“I ask your mother already, but she’s going to a wedding tha’ day.”
“Ted’s cousin’s daughter is getting married,” Donna explained in response to Marisa’s inquiring look.
“Right.” How could she forget? And now it seemed as if she was going to be flying solo with the Serenghettis.
“Grazie per l’invito, Camilla,” Donna said. “Another time.”
“Your mother speaks Italian?” Cole asked.
“She grew up in an Italian-speaking household,” Marisa responded distractedly because she was still dwelling on the invite to the Serenghettis’ domain.
Camilla perked up. “Cole knows Italian. We did vacanze in Italia when he was young.”
Marisa figured that explained why Cole hadn’t been in her Italian classes at Pershing.
“You speak italiano, Marisa?”
“Abbastanza.”
Camilla clasped her hands together, and shot a glance at her eldest son. “Enough. Wonderful.”
Marisa could swear her expression said she’s perfetto, but Cole just looked droll.
Fortunately for her, the show’s producers interrupted at that point, and the conversation veered in another direction. But once the details of their guest appearance had been hammered out—and the appropriate forms and releases signed for the show’s producers—Marisa moved toward the exit.
Unfortunately, Cole stood between her and the door.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked without preamble.
“Why do you ask?” she hedged, even though they weren’t within earshot of Jordan or their mothers, who remained engrossed in conversation on the studio’s stage.
“This weekend I’m having the first meeting of that hockey clinic that we talked about,” he said. “But I prefer the rest of my time not be spent with a bunch of teenagers.”
“You’d never make it as a teacher.”
“I think we’ve established that,” he responded drily. “But I pegged you for one who’d be teaching economics.”
“After high school, I knew I’d never really understand economics.”
“You seemed to be doing okay to me.”
“Right. As if you were in a good position to judge.”
