by Anna DePalo
“Thank you, Vinny.” Sera tossed the Razors’ goalie an encouraging smile because he seemed the most nervous of the contestants.
Jordan’s brows drew into a straight line. “That’s Vince.”
“She can call me whatever she wants,” Jordan’s teammate responded with an easy grin.
Sera tossed him a beatific smile. “I’m a fan of turf and surf.”
“It’s surf and turf, not turf and surf,” Jordan said.
Sera ignored him. “Apparently, the only one who is allowed to make up names is Jordan himself.”
“Oh, yeah?” Marc asked interestedly. “What does he call you?”
Sera and Jordan stared at each other for a moment, their gazes clashing.
The entire studio audience—including, heaven help her, Marisa, Cole and Camilla Serenghetti—seemed to lean in for the answer.
“Angel,” she and Jordan said in unison to much laughter.
“Hey, I think this contest is rigged,” Vince protested.
“Yes, but not in the way you think,” Sera cooed. “I don’t like the name.”
“Great, we’ve neutralized the famous Serenghetti charm,” Marc put in.
“We’ll see,” Jordan remarked drily.
Camilla Serenghetti hurried forward. “Let’s get down to cooking.”
“Before this show degenerates into slapstick comedy,” Sera added.
When Vince groaned, Jordan arched a brow. “Don’t you mean hockey stick?”
“There’s no puck,” Sera replied crisply.
“We’re slapping the joke into the goal for the winning shot.”
“Hmm. The only thing you should be slapping is the fish for the entrée you’re making.”
The show proceeded smoothly after that. And Sera had to give Jordan points for trying. But at the end, after sampling all three dishes, she had to go with Vince’s pollo alla cacciatore because it was simply superb. For the audience’s benefit, she explained, “While I chose Vince’s recipe, Marc Bellitti also gets points for a professional-quality family sauce. And Jordan’s dish is original. They were all close...”
“I’ve always said Marc has the secret sauce,” Vince joked. “On and off the ice.”
“Hey, I thought that was me,” Jordan chimed in.
Camilla clapped her hands. “Well, we have a winner—” she fixed her gaze on her son “—and a loser.”
“So Jordan is hopeless?” Vince asked jokingly.
Camilla clasped her hands together. “Perhaps Sera would like to give my son a cooking lesson?”
Sera’s eyes widened. No way was she signing up for more. “Signora Serenghetti, I—”
Camilla’s request was a tall order. And she’d already told Jordan she wasn’t into reforming bad boys. But they were on TV with a live audience—and Jordan was contemplating her expectantly. Looking around for a lifeline, her gaze came to rest on Serg Serenghetti in the audience, and an idea struck. “Serg, would you like to come up here and suggest a wine that I could pair with Vince’s winning dish?”
She tossed a significant glance at Jordan and Camilla. “After all, if the loser might get a cooking lesson, the winner should receive some recognition, too.”
Serg’s face brightened.
“Well, pollo alla cacciatore is an interesting dish,” Serg said, though he was already slowly standing. “It’s got many blended flavors that you don’t want to overwhelm. You still want to taste the tomatoes and mushrooms.”
Cole got up to help him, but the older man batted away his hand.
“Oh, come on, Signor Serenghetti, I’m sure you can suggest something,” Sera prompted.
Serg chuckled. “Well, sure, if you insist.”
“Oh, I do.” Sera was enjoying herself. Beside her, Camilla and Jordan had gone still. Priceless. She bit back a laugh as Serg stole everyone’s thunder. Jordan was probably wondering whether she’d gone nuts and why she was disregarding his warning from earlier. But she had a plan.
Serg accepted help from a producer who gave him a hand getting on stage and led him to where Sera was standing. “Now, traditional chicken cacciatore is made with red wine—”
Sera furrowed her brow at the camera for effect.
“—but Vince went with white instead.”
Sera widened her eyes to underscore the point.
“Obviously, he would not have won if the dish wasn’t creative and delicious,” Serg added.
“Of course.”
“Now a Chianti classico is a good red wine to pair with traditional pollo alla cacciatore.” Serg paused. “But even a white zinfandel would be good paired with Vince’s version.”
“A Serenghetti who knows his wine,” Sera offered approvingly.
“My son—” Serg jerked his thumb at Jordan “—never offered you a glass of wine?”
Sera heated, and Jordan cleared his throat.
“Well, uh—”
“As a matter of fact—”
The older Serenghetti cut them both off. “A travesty.”
“We’ve had catering at family events. I’ve never had to bartend,” Jordan offered by way of explanation to the audience.
“And I like to pour my own wine,” Serafina added quickly, trying to cut off the line of conversation, which could end up...who knew where.
Serg just shook his head in disappointment.
Steering the conversation to safer ground, Sera said, “You’re a natural at this.”
Serg beamed, while Jordan tossed her a questioning look that said You’re creating a monster.
Ignoring Jordan’s expression, Sera went on. “You should have your own gig, Mr. Serenghetti, not minutes snatched from another show. You could tape commercial-length wine segments.” She smiled brightly. “I’ve even got a name. Wine Breaks with Serg!”
The audience clapped in approval.
Before Serg could respond, a producer signaled Camilla, who stepped forward.
“Alla prossima volta,” Camilla said, giving her signature closing line. “Till next time, buon appetito.”
Seconds later, the cameras switched off, and Sera’s gaze tangled with Jordan’s.
He gave a relieved and appreciative grin. “Nice moves. Thanks for giving Dad his cameo and for suggesting something else for him to do. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went straight home to build his business plan.”
“No trouble,” Sera mumbled before looking away in confusion. She had the warm fuzzies from his compliment, and she so didn’t want that feeling where Jordan was concerned. Even mindless sexual attraction to a marquee brand, a celebrity face and a bad-boy body was preferable. Because emotion meant wading into dangerous, deeper waters.
“If Dad has his own project, it’ll take the heat off Mom.” Jordan shrugged. “And who knows? In the future, she might feel comfortable enough to partner with him on air, once he’s got his own audience. Good going.”
Sera blew some wisps of hair away from her face. Why hadn’t she noticed how hot it was under the studio lights when they’d been taping? “I like my entertainment with unexpected plot twists.”
Jordan laughed. “What a coincidence. So do I.”
His siblings came up on stage then, and Jordan turned away to deal with his family.
Sera found herself at momentary loose ends, until her cousin Marisa stepped close, a teasing expression on her face. “You know you’re in trouble, right?”
“I was hoping the trouble was over.”
Her cousin shook her head. “Nope. Every woman who has been on this show to cook alongside a Serenghetti has wound up married to him.”
Sera felt her stomach somersault, but she strove not to show emotion. “Don’t worry. There’s no chance of that in this case.”
She’d sworn Jordan to secrecy, and in any case, their one recent encounter was eons away fr
om a march down the aisle. Marisa angled her head, scanning her expression. “Are you sure there’s nothing more between you and Jordan?”
Sera scoffed. “Of course. Positive.”
“Well, I’ll just repeat what you said to me,” Marisa said, and she mimicked Sera’s voice. “‘He wants you to appear on his mother’s cooking show? That’s serious.’”
“That’s some memory you have,” Sera grumbled.
Her cousin just smiled.
Sera bit back a groan. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
* * *
Sera hurried out the front doors of St. Vincent’s Hospital to greet the sunny afternoon outside. She’d just visited one of her patients who’d had to have additional surgery.
She was back to business as usual—or so she told herself—after taping Camilla’s show two days ago. She hadn’t heard from Jordan but she was scheduled to see him again soon for their weekly therapy session. Anticipation shivered over her skin.
She’d known her family would eventually see or hear about her appearance on Camilla’s show, so she’d played it off as doing a favor for Jordan and the rest of the Serenghettis. Dante had been thrilled.
Head bowed, she dropped her cell phone into her handbag as she blinked against the bright sunshine, and then collided with a rock-solid chest. “Oomph!”
Strong hands grasped her arms and steadied her. “Easy.”
She looked up and locked gazes with the last person she expected to see right now. Jordan.
“I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he said, dropping his arms and stepping aside.
She followed suit so she wasn’t standing in the way of pedestrian traffic. “I just finished visiting an elderly patient of mine who needed surgery.” Sera searched her brain for pleasantries even as she drank him in—he looked sinfully good. “What are you doing here?”
“I work with the Once upon a Dream Foundation. I’m visiting the pediatric floor.”
She couldn’t keep the surprised look from her face.
“Want to join me?” Jordan asked.
Sera looked around and noticed he was alone.
Jordan’s eyes crinkled. “I don’t normally bring a camera crew with me on these visits.” He shrugged. “I prefer not to make it a media event. Sometimes the kids like it when they’re on the news, but other times it freaks them out.”
“I’d think a kid would freak out just because Jordan Serenghetti showed up in his hospital room.”
Jordan grinned and nodded toward the entrance. “Then, come inside with me and calm things down. You’re good at puncturing my ego.”
Sera flushed. “Yup, you’re right.”
He was easy on the eyes and, now that she didn’t have quite as many of her negative conceptions of him, dangerous. Today was another blow to her armor—he did charity work with sick kids?
“So what do you say, Angel? Ready to head back in?”
She couldn’t even get annoyed about his use of the pet name at the moment. She was a sucker for people in need—and those who helped them. It was why she’d become a physical therapist. “Another appearance with you in front of a live audience? How could I refuse?”
Jordan gave her a lopsided grin. “Before long, you’ll be a pro.”
That was what she was afraid of. Nevertheless, she turned to follow him into the main hospital building. He placed a guiding hand at the small of her back, and she felt his touch radiate out from her center, heating her.
Upstairs, the nurses broke into smiles when Jordan appeared. As brief greetings were exchanged, Sera wondered how many other sick kids Jordan had visited in the past.
A portly middle-aged woman in scrubs pulled a hockey stick out of a closet next to the nurse’s station.
“Thanks, Elsie,” Jordan said, flashing a killer smile as he took the equipment from her.
“Anything for you, honey,” Elsie teased. “My husband knows I’m a fan.”
Catching Sera’s expression, Jordan looked sheepish. “I came by yesterday, but it was the wrong moment for a visit. Elsie was kind enough to hold on to the hockey stick until I came back.”
Moments later, another nurse directed them down the hall. When they stopped at an open patient-room door, Sera waited for Jordan to enter first.
He rapped on the door and then stepped inside. Immediately, there was whooping and hollering from a handful of adults in addition to a boy who was sitting up in his hospital bed.
Sera paused on the threshold. Of course she knew Jordan had a fan base, but seeing his effect on people in person was another thing. At the Puck & Shoot, he was surrounded by regulars who weren’t surprised when he showed up. And Sera had always dismissed a lot of the rest as just the adulation of adoring, unthinking women. But now, when she saw the frail and bald boy sitting up in his bed—he couldn’t be more than ten or twelve—and how his eyes lit up at the sight of Jordan, emotion welled up inside her.
Stepping over the threshold, Sera scanned the crowd. An assortment of adults continued to laugh and smile.
“Hey, Brian. What’s going on?” Jordan said casually.
Brian broke into a grin. “Number Twenty-six. I can’t believe you’re here.”
Sera recognized the number as the one that Jordan wore. The local shops in Welsdale sold that jersey more than any other.
“Hey, you invited me,” Jordan joked. “Of course I’d show up.”
“Yeah, but you’re busy.”
“Not too busy to visit one of my best fans.”
Brian looked uncertain. “I am?”
“You used your wish on me.”
A grin appeared again. “Yeah, I did. I just can’t believe it worked.”
Brian’s assorted visitors laughed—including two who, from the resemblance, could be Brian’s parents.
Sera felt her smile become tremulous. Damn Jordan Serenghetti. He made her mad, sad and bad by turns—she was always riding a roller coaster in his company.
As the adults talked, Sera learned that Brian’s prognosis was good. His leukemia was responding to treatment.
“I brought you something,” Jordan said to Brian.
“The hockey stick is for me?”
“Of course. What would a visit be without memorabilia? And I’m going to sign it, too.” Jordan fished a marker out of his pocket and placed his signature on the widest part. Then he handed the stick to Brian.
“Wow! Thanks.”
“I hope you enjoy it.”
Brian looked up from his gift. “Do you think you’ll be playing again soon?”
“I hope so.” Then Jordan turned to nod in the direction of the doorway. “Sera’s the one who’s making sure I’ll be back on the ice.”
“She’s your doctor?”
Sera flushed. Such an innocent question, and such a complicated answer. Hired professional, in-law and...
Jordan chuckled. “She’s medical. Definitely one of the scrubs.”
She cleared her throat as everyone’s gaze swung to her. “I’m his physical therapist. We, um, crossed paths downstairs after I saw another patient, and Jordan was kind enough to invite me along on this visit. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her voice trailed off as she finished her lame and rambling explanation. Not a girlfriend, not a girlfriend, not a girlfriend. Thank goodness there were no television cameras in the room.
“Hey, Brian, let’s get some pictures of you with Jordan,” someone piped up after a moment.
Sera was glad for the change of topic.
Obligingly, Jordan stepped forward and leaned in so that someone could snap a photo. Afterward, Jordan lingered for another quarter of an hour, talking with Brian and the others.
Sera chatted with a woman who introduced herself as Brian’s mother and also with a nurse who stopped in. A half hour later, as Brian yawned a couple
of times, Jordan took his cue, and Sera followed his lead in saying goodbye.
As she and Jordan made their way toward the elevator bank, she remarked, “You were the highlight of his day.”
Jordan sighed, suddenly serious. “It’s tough sometimes. Not all of the kids get better, but their courage is inspiring.”
“You lift their spirits.”
His lips quirked. “It’s the least I can do if I’m not going to heal their bodies with physical therapy.”
Sera flushed as she stepped into an empty elevator, and he followed. “Do you volunteer here because you were a sick kid yourself?”
“Going all pop psychology on me again, Angel?”
“Just an observation based on the evidence,” she remarked as the doors closed.
“Okay, yeah.”
“So I was wrong,” she joked. “You don’t have a fetish for Florence Nightingale types.”
Jordan quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t? What a relief.”
Sera shook her head as the elevator opened again on the ground-floor lobby. “No, my new theory is that you want to be Florence.”
Jordan stifled a laugh as they crossed the lobby to the exit. “Great. I guess I have my costume for next Halloween.”
When they emerged from the building, she turned to face him. “Would you be serious?”
“Would you?”
“Your visit today was a nice thing to do.”
He flashed a boyish grin. “See, I’m not all bad.”
“No, no, you’re not.”
“So I’m making progress?”
“Of sorts.”
“Good enough.”
“I can’t fault a guy who visits sick kids.” She cleared her throat. “I had an older sister who died as a baby.”
Jordan sobered.
She adjusted her handbag. “She died from a congenital defect.” She wasn’t sure why she was volunteering the information. “Your family may have hovered because you were always sick. Mine did, too, but for different reasons.”
“They were protective because they knew what it meant to lose a child,” he guessed.
“Exactly, though it was hard for me to appreciate at the time.” She didn’t want to understand Jordan Serenghetti, but she did—more and more. It was much easier to label him as just another player.