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“So what is it?” Jordan kept the smile on his face.
For once his mother looked hesitant. “I think—”
“Your star is outshining his?”
Camilla nodded. “He suggested a regular segment about wine on my show. Starring him.”
Jordan bit back a laugh. “Delusions of grandeur.”
“He built Serenghetti Construction,” his mother pointed out.
“Right.” Frankly, the wine-segment scheme seemed right in line with his father’s outsize personality. “Rope him in, Mom, before he can get away and strike a deal with bigger fish. Cole can get you a lawyer. Tie him up with an exclusive arrangement.” He was joking—sort of.
Camilla looked heavenward as if asking for divine intervention. “We already have a long deal. We’re married.”
Jordan shifted on the sofa, masking a grin.
When his mother’s gaze came back to him, she swept him with a sudden, appraising look. “You seem better. More robust. Sera is doing therapy for you.”
It was a statement, not a question. His mother was more in the know than he’d realized.
“Yes, what a coincidence,” he said cautiously as he straightened, slowly and deliberately.
“Such a lovely woman.”
Here we go. But he refused to rise to the bait. “Yup, Cole inherited a great set of in-laws.”
“She could have provided rehabilitation for your father.”
“Too late. Besides, Dad’s stroke happened before Marisa reconnected with Cole.” Grimacing, he started to rise, and as he expected, his mother transitioned from hovering in front of him to moving forward, filled with concern.
“Careful, don’t hurt yourself. You still need to finish healing.”
He waited while she placed a helping hand under his elbow before he stood fully. “Thanks, Mom.”
Rick might be the Hollywood stuntman and his new sister-in-law Chiara an actress, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t call upon his own acting powers when necessary—like diverting his mother from a topic full of pitfalls.
Stepping back, his mother said, “Come and eat.”
Mission accomplished.
* * *
Why was she here tonight? Her days moonlighting at the Puck & Shoot were supposed to have ended long ago when she’d become a physical therapist. But she was still being roped into helping out from time to time when the bar was short-staffed. She just couldn’t say no to the extra cash.
Balancing a tray of beers, she kept sight of Jordan out of the corner of her eye.
Angus, the bar’s owner, had called in desperation because they were down two waitresses, and it was going to be a busy Saturday night. The Puck & Shoot was the type of place where the saltshaker was either nearly empty or ready to shower your fries in an unexpected deluge. Still, the regulars loved it.
The part-time gig had helped pay for her education, but at some point, the tables had flipped so that the job was what was holding her back from starting her new life—one which she’d thought involved not seeing certain regulars. But she felt she owed Angus.
Jordan sat at the bar, as usual, and held court with a couple of Razors teammates who happened to be around even though hockey season had ended. Sera recognized Marc Bellitti and Vince Tedeschi.
Since Jordan had a habit of not taking a table, she’d almost never had to serve him. It had been years since their brief encounter during spring break in college, and when she’d first started working at the Puck & Shoot, it had become clear that Jordan hadn’t recognized or remembered her. She’d been angry and annoyed and then somewhat relieved—especially after Neil had confirmed her opinion about certain types of men. They were players who moved from one woman on to the next, juggling them like so many balls in the air.
Now that Jordan knew who she was, though—Marisa’s cousin and his new therapist—even the little bit of distance afforded by his customary seat at the bar seemed woefully small. As she served the beers to a table of patrons, she was aware of Jordan filling the room with his presence. He had that high-wattage magnetism that celebrities possessed. With his dark green gaze, square jaw and six-foot-plus muscled frame, he could make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Damn it.
And Sera knew she wasn’t imagining things. More than once, she caught his gaze following her back and forth across the crowded bar. It made her aware of her snug-fitting T-shirt and short skirt only partially hidden by an apron. Even though she wasn’t dressed up or showing much skin, she wasn’t in the shapeless light blue scrubs she wore at Astra Therapeutics, either. And her hair caught back in a ponytail for convenience just meant that she couldn’t hide her expression from Jordan.
