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Serg lowered his chin and peered over at him. “Jordan, your sport is hockey, not football.”
“Okay, fair enough. So...back to you and Mom.”
“We’re out of your league. Don’t try to run interference.”
“Right.” The message was clear, but he had one of his own. “But maybe instead of wanting a piece of Mom’s success, you should develop your own game.”
* * *
Every once in a while, Sera thought it was a good idea to have Sunday dinner at her mother’s house. Today was not one of those days.
The simple three-bedroom shingle house with a postage-stamp lawn stood on a tidy side street in East Gannon. Its no-frills white appliances were a world away from the high-end stainless steel in Jordan’s sleek, modern penthouse. Here, it was all open bookshelves displaying books, mementos and family photos—not unobtrusive panels concealing high-end electronics, as well as its owner’s secrets.
And the contrasts didn’t end there. Jordan’s place was forward-looking, with very little evidence of the past, as far as she could tell. Her mother’s place held a hint of nostalgia—now that the kids had grown and flown the coop—and sadness since Sera’s father’s death from a heart attack a few years ago. His passing had been the wake-up call that Sera had needed to get on with her life and go back to school for a physical-therapy degree.
At the dinner table, Sera twirled some spaghetti onto her fork. Her mother was an excellent cook, and tonight’s chicken parmigiana and spaghetti with tomato sauce was no exception. Ever since her mother had been widowed, Sera and Dante had made it a point to visit regularly. They knew their mother appreciated the companionship.
“I heard you had a car accident.” Her mother’s brow was furrowed with worry.
Sera cleared her fork and started twirling it again because she’d accidentally put on too much spaghetti. Good thing she hadn’t had a mouthful already. On the other hand, maybe she should have welcomed an excuse not to talk... “How did you find out?”
“Dante’s friend Jeff happened to be at the auto shop earlier today. He overheard the employee there on the phone with you, taking down your personal information to fix your car.” Her mother tossed her an arch look across the dining-room table. “There aren’t many women running around with the name Serafina Perini.”
For the umpteenth time, Sera rued having a unique name. And she sometimes forgot what a small town Welsdale could be. Still, she was lucky that the most popular local auto body shop had Sunday hours because she’d been able to call and get a status report about when she might get her car back. Unfortunately, the news hadn’t been encouraging, and it looked like she was stuck driving Jordan’s wheels for a while. Too bad every time she climbed into the car, she was unable to shake his scent.
She’d been surprised when the guy at the security desk in Jordan’s building had offered her car keys on Jordan’s instructions, but after hesitating a moment, she’d chosen the path of least resistance—one that would solve her immediate problems, whatever the longer-term consequences. She now owed Jordan a favor when she should have been mad at him—and then there was the little complication about what else had happened that evening at his place...
“I assume you got a rental car until yours is fixed,” her mother observed, “and that’s how you got here today.”
“Yes, I have temporary wheels.” Jordan Serenghetti’s.
“Are you okay?” her mother asked.
She schooled her expression with the help of her reflection in the china closet’s glass door. “Fine, Mom.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your accident?”
“I just did.” Her mother would be even more shocked if she knew how Sera had wound up in Jordan Serenghetti’s arms in the aftermath of her fender bender.
“You know what I mean. The mothers are always the last to know.” Rosana sighed. “I bet your cousin Marisa would have told your aunt right away.”
Her mother knew how to play the guilt card... And if there was one thing that Sera had grown up hearing about ad nauseam, it was the close relationship that Aunt Donna had with her cousin Marisa. Never mind that Aunt Donna had raised her only child as a single mother, making her and Marisa a family of two, relying on each other. Rosana Perini looked up to her older sister, even as she took her sibling’s life as a cautionary tale. Ever since Donna had been left pregnant and alone by a professional minor-league baseball player who’d died unexpectedly soon after, Rosana had worried about her. But she’d been thrilled when her older sister had finally found love again with Ted Casale.
“Do you want me to ask Dante to go down to the auto body shop?”
“No. I’m capable of handling my own car repairs.”
“Do you need some money?”
Sera deployed a tight smile. “No, I can handle it, Mom.”
The last thing Sera wanted was for her family to think they needed to come to her aid. She’d spent most of her twentysomething years trying to shed the image of poor Sera who needed rescuing and protecting.
“Thank goodness you got home okay.” Her mother frowned again. “You should have called me.”
If only her mother knew that she hadn’t gone directly home but had been sidetracked at Jordan’s place. A detour that had risked turning into an all-night change of direction, if she hadn’t put the brakes on their intimate encounter. Then, to cover her bases, she volunteered, “I was lucky that Jordan Serenghetti happened to be driving by. I got a lift.”
Not straight home. But her mother didn’t need to know that. Sera had been offering up information on a strictly as-necessary basis to her family for years. But it wouldn’t do if word somehow got back to her mother that Jordan had been at the scene of the accident and Sera hadn’t mentioned it. Dodging suspicion—that was what she’d been doing ever since she’d been a rebellious teenager cutting the occasional high-school class to hang out with friends.
