They were skimming the surface of the deep lake of emotion and past history between them. Every encounter with Cole was an emotional wringer. You’d think she’d be used to it by now or at least expecting it.
Cole shrugged. “Hockey is a job.”
“So is teaching.”
“It’s the reason you made your way back to Pershing.”
“The school was good to me.” She shifted and then picked up her handbag.
Cole didn’t move. “I’ll bet. How long have you been teaching there?”
“I started right after college, so not quite ten years.” She took a step toward the door and then paused. “It took me more than five years and several part-time jobs to get my degree and provisional teaching certificate at U. Mass. Amherst.”
She could see she’d surprised him. She’d gone to a state school, where the tuition had been lower and she’d qualified for a scholarship. Even then, though, because she’d been more or less self-supporting, it had taken a while to get her degree. She’d worked an odd and endless assortment of jobs: telemarketer, door-to-door sales rep, supermarket checkout clerk and receptionist.
She knew Cole had gone on to Boston College, which was a powerhouse in college hockey. She was sure he hadn’t had to hold down two part-time jobs in order to graduate, but she gave him credit if he continued to work in the family construction business, as he’d done at Pershing.
“I remember you didn’t have much money in high school,” he said.
“I was a scholarship student. I worked summers and sometimes weekends scooping ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s on Sycamore St.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
She remembered, too. Oh, did she remember. Cole and the rest of his jock posse had hardly ever set foot in the store, but it had been a favorite of teenage girls. She’d waited on her classmates, and usually it had worked out okay, but a few stuck-up types had enjoyed queening it over her. Cole had stopped in during the brief time they’d been study buddies...
“And you worked summers at Serenghetti Construction,” she said unnecessarily, suddenly nervous because they weren’t squabbling anymore.
“All the way through college.”
“But you didn’t have to do it for the money.”
“No, not for the money,” he responded, “but there are different shades of have to. There’s the have to that comes with family obligation.”
“Is that why you’re back and running Serenghetti Construction?”
He nodded curtly. “At least temporarily. I’ve got other opportunities on the back burner.”
She tried to hide her surprise. “You’re planning to play hockey again?”
“No, but there are other options. Coaching, for instance.”
Her heart fell, but Marisa told herself not to be ridiculous even as she fidgeted with her handbag strap. She didn’t care what Cole Serenghetti’s plans were, and she shouldn’t be surprised they didn’t involve staying in Welsdale and heading Serenghetti Construction.
“How is your father doing?” she asked, trying to bring the conversation back to safer ground. News of Serg’s stroke was public knowledge around Welsdale.
“He’s doing therapy to regain some motor function.”
Marisa didn’t say anything, sensing that Cole might continue if she remained silent.
“It’s doubtful he’ll be able to run Serenghetti Construction again.”
“That must be tough.” If Serg didn’t recover more, and Cole had no plans to head the family business on a permanent basis, Marisa wondered what would happen. Would one of Cole’s brothers step in to head the company? But Jordan was having an impressive run with the Razors... She contained her curiosity, because Cole had been a closed door to her for fifteen years—and she liked it that way, she told herself.
“Dad’s a fighter. We’ll see what happens,” Cole said, seeming like a man who rarely, if ever, invited sympathy. “He’s joked about the lengths he’ll go to retire and hand over the reins to one of his kids.”
She smiled, and Cole’s expression relaxed.
“How’s your mother?” he asked, appearing okay with chitchat about their families.