by Joan Kilby
“I understand Luke was really good when he played professionally,” Tina said, then shamefacedly admitted, “I Googled him.”
“He was MVP five years running and captain for six years,” Stella said proudly. “Last year he was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame. He could have gotten a job coaching any top professional hockey team. Instead he chose to work with disabled kids, all because of Timmy. I’m a single mom, and he’s like a surrogate dad to my boy. When Timmy’s dad left us, I was working two jobs but Luke said, no, Timmy needed me. He helps me out so now I only have to work one job, during school hours.”
“That’s awesome.” Family was of paramount importance to Italians, and Tina liked that Luke felt the same way. So it didn’t make sense that he would neglect his mother. What was going on there? Not that it was any of her business…
Between periods Stella went off to talk to her son and pass around orange quarters for the kids to eat. Luke came up to sit beside Tina. He sat close and slipped an arm around her in a casual display of affection that was starting to feel normal and very welcome. “Enjoying the game?”
“Sì, I love the excitement. Stella is explaining all the plays. She says your team is behind. Do you still have a chance to win?”
“It’s going to be close. We’re only down by one point, but there’s another period to go.”
Luke hadn’t repeated his demands to know her last name or where she lived lately. She should be glad he wasn’t pressuring her, but for some perverse reason, she didn’t like that he’d given up. Had he decided that he was fine with not knowing her, after all?
“I like your sister,” Tina said. “She’s lucky to have you for a brother.”
“I go roller skating with her and Timmy in Central Park sometimes. You could come with us. If you wanted to, that is.”
“I would love to.” Then she remembered her killer schedule and her return flight to Rome. “If I have time. I have so much work to do and I’m not here for very long—”
“I know.”
Her chin came up. “The launch of the boutique is important. I’m proud to be a part of it.” She touched his arm. “But I will make time, I promise.”
“I’d really like that.” He glanced over his shoulder at the referee skating onto the ice. “I should get back to my team.”
“Wait.” She pulled him close for an emphatic kiss. “That’s for being such a good brother.” Kiss. “A good uncle.” Kiss. “Coach.”
He laughed against her lips.
“Luke, you are a very good man.”
He pressed his lips to her brow. When he drew back, his gaze was so intense, so searching and…hopeful, she had to look away.
“I would like to buy the children something after the game,” she said. “Hot chocolate or candy bars. Is that okay or would their parents object?”
“I’m sure the parents wouldn’t refuse their children a treat. The kids would love it. Thanks, that’s very generous of you.”
Crazy loud organ music started up, signaling the game was about to recommence. Luke ran back down the bleachers to his team.
Stella returned to her seat next to Tina. “I hope the kids get a few goals. They win this, they’ll make the quarterfinals. If they can keep playing, that is.”
Tina dragged her gaze away from the rink. “You mean because of the financial problems of the foundation? I’m sure that will turn out okay.”
“I hope so. Luke’s working on fundraising. He’s pretty stressed out about it.”
Tina bit her lip. If she told him a million dollars would be in the bank in a matter of days he could relax. Now that she’d seen the kids play she was invested in their future. They had so little and deserved so much. Then she remembered Fabio and how his demands just kept increasing. She buried her face in her hands. This was nuts. Luke wasn’t like that. She was becoming paranoid, riddled with doubts—about him, about herself, about what they were beginning to mean to each other. She could fall for him—if she let herself. But she couldn’t. This was just a fling. Temporary.
“Hey, are you all right?” Stella asked, a hand on Tina’s shoulder.
“Just…lightheaded. I didn’t eat before I came.”
“I’ll get you a hot dog.”
“No, but thank you. I’ll be fine. I…just need some air.” Fabio’s lawsuit preyed on her mind. If Luke found out who she was, was he capable of blackmailing her for the money? Thank god he hadn’t taken any photos of the two of them in compromising positions. Yet. Maybe that was coming. A man who wouldn’t call his mother on her birthday… What kind of a man was that? Oh God. She’d just finished telling him what a good man he was. Now she could feel herself descending into panic and irrationality. She needed to get away so she could think clearly. “I…I should probably go.”
The blare of a horn made her clap her hands over her ears. A red light flashed over the net and a point went up on the board. All the kids were crowded around Timmy’s wheelchair, hugging him and cheering. Luke’s team had scored. They were tied and now had a real chance to win. Fourteen minutes remaining. She bit a knuckle, so wishing she could see the joy on those kids’ faces when—if—they won.
No, she had to go. Now while Luke was distracted by the commotion. Quickly she said good-bye to a bewildered Stella and made her way along the middle row of the bleachers, weaving in and out of parents on their feet cheering. She stopped at the concession stand and ordered hot dogs, hot chocolate and candy bars to be delivered to both teams after the game. Win or lose, all the kids deserved a treat.
Then she headed for the exit, texting Frank to come get her. She’d just slipped through the double doors to the unloading zone when Luke burst through after her.
“Tina, where are you going?” His puzzled gaze searched her face.
“I just remembered. I have a…meeting for the fashion show. Go back. You can’t leave your team.”
“The ref called a time out.” He grabbed her hand, and she could feel the urgent tremor in his fingers. “You didn’t mention a meeting before. You’re running away again. Why?”
She shook her head, mute. There was no plausible excuse without going into detail about herself and her fears. The more she felt for him, the darker and scarier the fears became.
“I was hoping…” He paused and took a breath. “You would spend the night with me. No role playing—although I love that, don’t get me wrong. But tonight I’d like it to be just about us, Tina and Luke. Could you do that? Is that possible?”
His words went straight to her heart. She wavered. Maybe he really did want her for herself. When he was standing right in front of her, so handsome and strong and yet in a way, also vulnerable, she wanted badly to give him the benefit of the doubt. Wanted to believe in him. In them. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I can do that.”
“Awesome.” He pulled her into a huge hug and lifted her off her feet. “Now come back, please. Watch my team win.”
“Okay.” Out of the corner of her eye Tina saw the white limo turn into the driveway. Over Luke’s shoulder she frantically waved Frank away.
Luke set her back on her feet and put his arm around her waist. As they turned to go he spotted the limo. “Wonder who that belongs to?”
“I wouldn’t have a clue.” Tina linked arms with him. “Come on. Your team will be wondering where you are.”
They re-entered the arena as play was about to resume. Luke ran to rejoin his team. Tina followed at a jog, arriving in time to hear him say, “Okay, gang, we’re going to pull the goalie and put six guys on. We need to score in these last few minutes. Timmy, Michael, Nathan, you know what to do. Get out there. Go, go, go!”
High over center ice, the clock counted down the final three minutes. To Tina it seemed impossible that the team would score a goal. There was so much fumbling of the puck and then the opposition got control and was heading down the ice toward the empty goal…
“Per tutti i santi!” Tina swore and prayed in Italian, jumping up to wave her arms. “F
orza ragazzi!” Go children!
A shot went wide. Michael scooped it up behind the net and passed to Nathan who skated it up the rink. Timmy pushed his chair faster than anyone else could skate and was waiting near the goal. Stella was on her feet, yelling at the top of her lungs. Ten seconds. Tom shot it across the ice to Michael who passed it to Timmy. Timmy stopped it dead, did a quick spin of his chair and raised his stick. With a slicing motion, he slammed the puck toward the net. The red light went on a split second before the horn sounded the end of the game.
“He scored!” Tina jumped up and down, hugging Stella. “We won! We won!”
Luke ran up the bleachers to kiss her soundly. “You’re our good luck charm.”
Then she had to let him go congratulate his team. From the moment he returned to the kids, they crowded around him, clamoring and cheering. The parents came streaming down from the bleachers and joined the fun. Amidst all that, the concession delivered the food and drinks, and there was more cheering.
Luke smiled at her over the kids’ heads, his gaze warm and loving. No role playing. Pretending to be someone else had been oddly liberating. Stripping aside her public persona had left her free her to connect with Luke on a physical and emotional level outside the “real” world. Now he wanted her to be just her. And yet he had no idea just who the real Tina was. Just as she certainly didn’t know everything about him.
Pushing her lingering doubts aside, Tina met Luke’s gaze and beamed back. He was worth taking a risk for. She wanted to trust him. Tonight maybe they would find out what they really felt about each other.
Chapter Nine
“There’s a Thai restaurant around the corner,” Luke said, surveying the meager contents of his fridge. The hot dogs and hot chocolate had gone down well with the kids, and Tina had been game to join in but he’d wanted to wait and give her something nicer.
“I’ve been eating out so much lately.” Tina peered under his arm holding the fridge door open. “You have eggs, butter, cheese…” As she spoke she edged him aside and gathered the items. “I will cook for you. Where is your pantry?”
He slid out a tall thin door with narrow shelves containing jars of everything from anchovies to za’atar. He didn’t even remember buying half of it. “You don’t have to. Anyway, how can you make anything edible with what I’ve got?”
Tina placed the butter and eggs on the counter and picked out anchovies, olives and a package of flour. “My grandmother taught me how to make a tasty meal out of almost nothing. It’s called cucina povera.”
“I’ve heard of that. Peasant food, isn’t it?”
“Sì.” Tina dumped the flour onto the counter, made a hollow in the center and cracked in four eggs. “First, I make the pasta.”
Bemused, Luke leaned against the counter. No one made their own pasta, not when even the corner grocery sold fresh tagliatelli. “I’ll open some wine. Red or white?”
“Red, per favore.” Within minutes she’d mixed up the dough and was putting it in the fridge. “Now we put her to bed for a little rest.”
He drew the cork from a bottle of Trebbiano and poured them each a glass. “While ‘she’s’ resting we could go to bed too.”
She gave him a stern look that reminded him of the librarian with her ruler. “No, now we prepare the sauce. I must feed you before I take you to bed.” She handed him a block of parmagiana. “You can grate the cheese.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Luke grated while Tina chopped garlic, anchovies and chili and dropped them into sizzling olive oil. “When I was a kid we had our own form of peasant food. Packaged mac and cheese with fried bologna. It’s not bad if you don’t know any better.”
“Tell me about your childhood.” Turning the frying pan down low, she took the dough from the fridge and started rolling it out.
“Three kids and three adults in a three bedroom house. You do the math. Stella and my grandmother shared. I bunked with my brother. You don’t know the meaning of stink until you stuck your head into a bedroom shared by two teenage boys.”
Tina wrinkled her nose. “I do know. I have—had—two brothers.”
“Had?”
“My oldest brother died in a car accident in his early twenties.” Her mouth turned down as she pushed the rolling pin across the dough in swift strokes. “My father died the same year from a heart attack.” Abruptly she stopped rolling.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” He pulled her into a hug. She turned her face into his chest and took a deep, shuddery breath. He stroked her back and she relaxed. “Okay?”
“Sì.” She eased away and dabbed at her eyes. “It was years ago, but I miss them so much. If I could go back in time I would take back every harsh word, every fight we had. Life is too short, and family is too important to be apart.”
Luke went back to grating cheese. Her words were too pointed to be anything but deliberately chosen. The silence seemed to stretch. “You overheard my conversation with Stella about our mom.”
“I couldn’t help it. I know it’s none of my business but…” She paused. “Do you have a large pot to boil water?”
He found one in a bottom cupboard, filled it at the sink then put it on the stove to heat. Tina added a can of chopped tomatoes to the frying pan then continued to roll the pasta, pushing it out at the edges.
Finally Luke sighed. “My mother has a gambling problem. When I was a kid she lied constantly to cover up her actions and how much money she spent. Plenty of times we didn’t even have mac and cheese to eat. When I was eight, on the eve of my first hockey playoffs, she pawned my new ice skates to play the slots. I had to call a friend and borrow a pair. It was so embarrassing.” The pain in his chest even after all these years made it hard to speak the next words. “The worst part was, she missed my big game, after promising she’d be there.”
“Oh,” Tina said softly. “That’s bad.”
He’d looked for her in the stands repeatedly through the night. After he made a goal. When his team won. Finally it had dawned on him. She’d never intended to come.
“That’s just one example. I could give you dozens more,” he said bitterly. “It’s a disease, I understand that, but she let the family down over and over with her lies and cover-ups. She would swear to my dad she was getting counselling and then use the money to gamble. Often we didn’t find out the truth until it was too late, and then the electricity would be cut off or we’d go to school without notebooks and pens.”
“I see,” Tina said, even more quietly than before. She took a knife and started cutting the pasta into long thin strips.
“She sold my dad’s prize vintage Mustang convertible that he’d spent years restoring. He went away for the weekend on a fishing trip. When he came back it was gone, sold to some asshole off the street for a fraction of its real value.”
“How could she do that? Cars are registered.”
“Nobody cares about that on the black market. That’s when we realized how low she’d sunk, that she had seedy connections none of us knew about. That’s when I decided the only way to deal with her was tough love. I help her out with living expenses, and she’ll always have a roof over her head, but other than that, she’s not part of my life.”
Tina put down the knife and clasped her arms with her floury hands, shivering as if he’d just said he was cutting her out of his life. “Has it worked?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never know what I can believe. There’s so much dirty water under the bridge, frankly, I don’t care anymore.”
“But she’s your mother, and it’s her birthday.” Tina finished cutting the last few pieces of pasta. “Stella’s right. You should call. Or someday when it’s too late you may regret it.”
Did she think he didn’t regret it now? He missed his mom for all her faults. There had been good time, times when she’d been loving and warm. But he was still angry. He didn’t think he could bear to hear another lie coming from her lips.
“What about the rest of your family?” he said, changing
the subject. “You mentioned a brother who likes football. Do you have sisters?”
“Two. Francesca is in furniture and Angela works in fine food. Angela is an amazing cook. It’s a shame she isn’t here right now.” Tina gathered up the pasta strips, dusted them with flour and swirled them into a loose ball.
“You’re not doing too badly.” Her sister might be the expert, but Tina was no novice in the kitchen. He lifted the grater and uncovered a mound of fine cheese shavings. “And your brother?”
“He’s the head of a company. He helped put Angela through cooking school and paid for Francesca to take business courses. He helps me too, in many ways.”
“So, no more cucina povera for your family.”
She flashed him a quick glance. “No.”
“What about your mother? Does she work?”
“She’s very family-oriented,” Tina said and smiled. “Mamma sees her main job as giving advice to her children. Sunday lunch everyone has to come together. We spend a summer holiday together, too, in Naples.”
“And go to the soccer game.”
“Sì.” She grinned. “We love our football.”
Luke was forming a picture of a close-knit family, struggling to overcome what must have been a devastating blow when Tina’s father and brother died. But they’d worked hard, supported each other and bettered themselves. He could imagine her growing up in one of those tall terracotta-colored houses with clothes hanging on the line and kids playing below in the street. Her mamma cooking vast pots of pasta for a large, extended family.
“I have my own place,” Tina added, dashing that romantic and probably stereotypical notion. “I adore my family, but I need my own space.”
“Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“Not yet. But my brother married recently so I’m hoping there will be a bambino in the near future.” She carried the pot to the stove to heat.
Luke refilled their wine glasses. “Are your sisters married?”
“No, they’re single, much to my mother’s sorrow. Angela is the youngest. I think she might be romantically interested in someone, but she’s denying it. As for Francesca…” Tina shrugged. “I don’t know if she’ll ever settle down. At one time, she planned on becoming a nun until she discovered boys.”
