“Time to start the broth!” she called out cheerfully, oblivious to what she’d interrupted. Eyes on their work, Carmen went back to peeling plantains and Victor resumed crushing garlic.
“Cut!”
Chapter 12
With the help of a real chef from a Caribbean restaurant uptown, they filmed the cooking montage, which involved a lot of chopping, laughing, and tasting. Ashton had grown up in his family’s restaurant, so this was nothing new to him. If anything, he was more comfortable in a kitchen than anywhere else, surrounded by the scents of garlic and cooked plantains.
This part was being filmed MOS—a motor only shot with no sound—so nothing they said would be included in the scene. They were supposed to look like they were having a grand old time, and luckily, Miriam Perez—who played Dahlia—was a comic actress with a ton of improv experience. Miriam kept Jasmine and Ashton grinning the whole time, doing things like feeding Ashton a taste of broth like he was a baby, airplane sounds and all. Ashton hoped that part made the final cut; Yadiel would get a kick out of it. And he had to admit he was having fun stretching his comedy muscles.
Ilba was all about making it as real as possible, so Ashton was tasked with keeping an eye on the broth and giving it the occasional stir. He was standing over the pot, inhaling the aroma that reminded him of home, when Jasmine appeared at his side.
Meeting his eyes, she dipped a fresh spoon into the broth. “If one has garlic, all must have garlic,” she said.
Was she alluding to their upcoming kiss scene? He hoped so, because now it was all he could think about, and he didn’t want to be the only one.
His gaze dropped as she brought the spoon to her mouth, her full lips enveloping the curved metal in a way that sent his heart racing. She swiped her tongue over her lower lip to catch an errant droplet of broth. Her lashes fluttered as she murmured a deep “mmm.”
Ashton cleared his throat. “I have mouthwash in my dressing room.”
Madre de Dios, he was the fucking worst at this.
“So do I. But still.” Jasmine’s smile was flirtatious as she dropped the spoon into her apron pocket and turned away. Ashton checked the urge to reach out for her. From the corner of his eye, he caught the camera tracking them. Only years of experience prevented him from making eye contact with the camera as he resumed stirring the broth.
Carajo. That was the realest moment they’d shared together as themselves, and it would likely end up in the final cut. Oh well. So be it. Their characters were supposed to be growing closer, right? Flirting and rekindling their abandoned romance. It fit the scene. No one else would think twice.
But Ashton had been acting opposite Jasmine for a few weeks now, and he knew the heat in her eyes, in her voice, had been real. She’d been flirting with him, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Not true. He felt great about it. Too bad he was so out of practice he lacked the ability to flirt back.
It was for the best. The only romance he was here for was the one unfolding in front of the camera.
When the director gave them a break before filming the kiss, Ashton ran back to his dressing room to clean his mouth more thoroughly than he ever had in his life.
He imagined Jasmine in her own dressing room undergoing the same pre-kiss ritual, then gargled with mouthwash one more time.
Out of habit, he checked his phone before heading back to set, and frowned when he saw a voice mail from his father. Holding it to his ear, he listened to the message.
“Hola mijo,” Ignacio began, his typical greeting. “No te preocupes, todo está bien.”
Ashton’s heart sank. Whenever his father started with, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” things were not, in fact, fine.
“We’re going to the ER,” Ignacio went on in Spanish. “Yadi fell out of a tree and hurt his wrist. I think it’s just a sprain, but we’re getting X-rays. And your grandfather’s cough still hasn’t gone away, so he’s going to get checked out too. Mi madre is coming along for the ride.”
With a final “don’t worry,” Ignacio ended the message. Ashton squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then called back. It rang, and rang, then went to voice mail. Resisting the urge to call back repeatedly until his father picked up, Ashton sent a text instead, telling Ignacio that he was filming but wanted updates as soon as they were available. Short of running to the airport and hopping a flight to Puerto Rico, there was nothing else he could do.
This wasn’t Yadiel’s first trip to the ER. The kid never stopped climbing, which meant he fell a lot too. But each time, Ashton wished he could be there for the day-to-day bandaging of bumps and bruises. And his grandfather was eighty-three, so even a summer cold was a concern.
Someone knocked. “They’re ready for you,” a PA called out.
“Gracias,” Ashton replied. Coño. While worrying about his family, he’d completely forgotten that he was about to film his first kiss with Jasmine. Out of habit, he reached up to run his hands through his hair, then quickly jerked them away. He didn’t want to explain to the hair stylists why his hair was suddenly a mess.
What he needed to do was calm down, but with his father incommunicado and no time to wait around for a reply, that seemed unlikely to happen.
Nothing to do but show up on set and hope for the best.
Chapter 13
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 3
Scene: Carmen and Victor kiss.
INT: Serranos’ kitchen—NIGHT
Ilba gave the cue, and Dahlia picked up the cell phone sitting on the kitchen island. She glanced at the screen. “It’s Tía Jimena. Un momentito.”
She walked to the back of the kitchen and took the stairs, leaving the set.
At the counter, Carmen huffed. “She’ll be gone an hour.”
Victor crossed his arms and slid his hip along the edge of the counter, bringing himself closer to Carmen, smoothly getting inside her personal space without towering over her. He flashed her a charming grin.
“Do you think I have a chance at winning?”
Carmen gazed up at him from where she leaned her elbows on the edge of the island, assessing. “I think so. If you remember every step of the recipe, execute it all perfectly, and finish on time.”
He barked out a laugh. “No pressure.”
And because she understood him and the tremendous standards he held himself to, she repeated his words, but softly, with no sarcasm. “No pressure.”
Some of the tension left Victor’s face as he gazed at her, then he uncrossed his arms, lifting a hand to her cheek. His strong fingers skimmed over her face, curling around her neck. She fought a shiver at his touch.
“You have something here,” he murmured in a low, sweetly seductive voice that had made his first album go platinum. He stroked his thumb in achingly gentle passes over her cheekbone.
Carmen knew it for what it was. A line, an excuse to touch her. The distance between them was killing him, and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore. She knew, because she felt it too.
But she was still going to call him on his bullshit.
“No, I don’t.” Her voice came out confident, but the words vibrated with need.
His surprise showed on his face in the slight widening, then narrowing, of his dark eyes. Maybe she hadn’t been so forward when they’d been together before.