Marisa had done hard things in her life. Growing up, she’d sometimes been two short steps from foraging in a trash bin for food. But meeting Cole’s family on the set of his mother’s show, amid swirling rumors of their new status as a couple, trumped stealing away with a supermarket’s barely expired eggs, in her opinion.
She hoped Cole had a good story to tell everybody about how they’d started dating.
“Relax,” Cole said, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as she stepped onto the set. “It’s fine.”
“Then why is Jordan giving me a knowing look?” she responded sotto voce, nodding to where Jordan occupied an empty seat where the audience normally sat.
Cole caught his brother’s bemused expression. “This situation is rife for humor, and he knows it.” He frowned at Jordan, who gave a jaunty little wave in response. “Don’t worry, I’ll pound the jokes out of him in the ring next week.”
Marisa turned away. “I’m going home. I can’t do this.”
Cole took hold of her arm. “Oh yes, you can.”
“Cole, introduce me, please!”
Marisa swung back in time to see Camilla Serenghetti approaching them.
Too late.
Anyone could have guessed this was Cole’s mother. Mother and son shared similar coloring and had the same eyes. Marisa had never had an opportunity to meet Cole’s parents while she’d been at Pershing, but she’d glimpsed them in the stands at hockey games.
“Either she’s the forgive-and-forget kind,” she murmured to Cole, “or she’s so thankful to see you in a relationship, she’s willing to overlook anything.”
Cole grinned. “Draw your own conclusions, sweet pea.”
“Let’s see, Italian mother, no grandkids...” Marisa was too familiar with the dynamics from her own family. “I choose the latter.”
“She doesn’t know about your part in my suspensi
on,” Cole replied in a low voice. “I did a good job of keeping her in the dark about my inner life as a teenager.”
Marisa cast him a sidelong look. “So she doesn’t know we—”
“—tested out the therapeutic properties of the theater department’s couch?”
Cole arched a brow, and she flushed.
Cole shook his head. “No.”
“Still,” Marisa whispered back, “I know, and it’s enough.”
Cole’s poor mother. First, Marisa had gotten her son suspended. And now she’d drafted him to star in a faux relationship. She could barely keep herself from cringing.
“Watch this,” Cole said.
Marisa looked at him questioningly as he bestowed a broad smile on his mother.
“Mom, meet Marisa. She makes an eggplant parmigiana that rivals yours.”
Marisa took a deep breath. Well. “I learned everything from my mother.”
Camilla clapped. “Wonderful. I’m so glad she’s comin’ on my program, too.”
“She should be here any minute. And my mother has seen your show, Mrs. Serenghetti. In fact, both she and I have watched numerous episodes.”
She was a glutton for punishment. She avoided Cole’s eyes, but heat stained her cheeks. She was a pushover for cooking shows. The fact that the host of this one was Cole Serenghetti’s mother was beside the point. At least that was her story, and she was sticking to it. She purposely hadn’t sought out news of Cole over the years, but when she’d stumbled upon an episode of Flavors of Italy more than a year ago, she’d been hooked.
“Please, call me Camilla. I’ve been trying to get Cole and Jordan to come back on the show for a long time.”