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“Well, it’s no joke, but someone has made a mistake.” Wanting to spare her cousin any awkwardness with her in-laws, and because, frankly, her first encounter with Jordan had been embarrassing, she’d never mentioned to Marisa that she and Jordan had briefly crossed paths in the past. It was bad enough that others could sense tension between her and the youngest Serenghetti brother.
“If anyone can whip Jordan into shape, it’s you,” Marisa teased.
Sera scowled as she pushed away from the kitchen counter. “This isn’t funny.”
“Of course not, but maybe you’ve met your match.”
Sera shuddered. “Don’t say it.”
The last thing she needed was for anyone to think Jordan was a work challenge that she couldn’t conquer. First off, she didn’t want to conquer anything—especially him. Second, no way was he her match in any other sense of the word—not that Marisa could mean that. The fact that Jordan had found her infinitely forgettable at twenty-one was evidence enough that they weren’t fated in any way.
Her cousin glanced down at some paint chips fanned out on the kitchen counter. “Who knew there were so many shades of beige for a guest bedroom?” she asked absently. “I just want a soothing tone, and Cole is kidding me about using Diaper Brown.”
“Is that the name of a paint color?”
Marisa pinked. “Paint colors are a running joke in this house ever since Cole and I redid the kitchen cabinets in my old apartment.”
Her cousin and her husband had only months ago moved into the new colonial in Welsdale that Cole had built for their growing family. They’d moved in right before Dahlia was born, and Sera knew that the process of decorating weighed on Marisa, especially as a new mom. “Most of us can use a professional. Get a decorator.”
Marisa looked at her thoughtfully. “Isn’t that why Jordan is coming to you? Because you’re a professional?” She tugged on the hem of her top and rubbed at a stain. “Why are you so reluctant to help him?”
Sera opened her mouth and then clamped it shut. Because...because... No way was she getting into any embarrassing past incidents. “He’s obnoxious.”
“I know you two have a testy relationship, but he’ll have to do what you tell him.”
“He’s a smooth operator.” Happy-go-lucky. With a bad memory to boot. And he didn’t know the meaning of struggle.
Marisa glanced at her keenly. “You’re protesting too much.”
“Paraphrasing Shakespeare? Spoken like a true English teacher.”
“Former English teacher. And I’m on maternity leave from the assistant principal position at the Pershing School.” Marisa yawned. “Something to eat?”
“No, thanks. And you’re doing great in your leave as a new mom.”
Her cousin gave a rue
ful laugh. “I know, but family history and all. At least Cole is on board.”
Sera gave her cousin a reassuring pat. Marisa had been raised by a single mom, Sera’s Aunt Donna. Marisa’s father had died before she’d been born—having already made clear that a baby didn’t factor into his plans for pursuing a minor-league baseball career and maybe getting to the majors.
Men. These days, Sera didn’t need more confirmation that they could be fickle and untrustworthy. Her awful experience with Neil had taught her enough. Jordan had just been the start of her bad track record—one she seemed to share with the women in her family. Must be in the genes. “You and Cole have to convince Jordan this is a bad idea.”
“Sera—”
“Please.”
* * *
Jordan shifted in his seat next to his brother and glanced around the crowded bar. Business was humming as usual on a Thursday evening at the Puck & Shoot. None of his teammates from the Razors were around, partly because many had scattered for home or vacation in the postseason.
Sera also no longer moonlighted here as a waitress—and that was a good thing, he told himself. He could still recall his reaction when he’d first discovered, shortly before Cole’s marriage, that the hot blond waitress at his favorite dive was Marisa’s cousin. The fates had a twisted sense of humor.
Still, tonight, even without his teammates and Sera at the Puck & Shoot, it almost felt like old times. He nearly felt like his old self—normal. Not injured and off the ice, with brothers who’d suddenly morphed into fathers—though he was happy for them. It felt good not to be holed up at home, which would have just given him more time to mull his uncertain future and push away his regular companion these days—unease.
If he could only take out his frustration and pent-up energy the way he normally did, things would be better. “Man, I miss our evenings at Jimmy’s Boxing Gym.”
Cole, sitting on the bar stool next to him, smiled. “I’ve got better things to do with my after-work hours these days.”
