You Had Me at Hola(25)

“We’re making mofongo,” Victor replied with a grin.

“Ah, your favorite.” Carmen pulled an open bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and poured herself a glass. “I can’t count how many times you came to bed reeking of garlic after eating Mami’s mofongo.”

“I can’t help it if Dahlia is an amazing cook.” He shot his ex-mother-in-law a dashing grin, which Dahlia totally fell for. She trilled a little laugh and patted the side of Victor’s face.

“Ay, muchacho, we missed you around here,” she said, then snapped up a spare apron and tossed it to Carmen. “Póntelo, nena. Those plátanos aren’t going to peel themselves.”

“Isn’t this cheating?” Carmen grumbled, but she tied the apron on over her dress. “Victor’s going to have to do all this himself during the competition.”

“It’s not like you’re a master chef either,” Victor pointed out with a smile. “You could also stand to learn.”

“Oh, I know how to make mofongo,” she retorted. “You think I could get away with not helping my mom cook? In this house?”

“So what happened?” He leaned in closer while Dahlia rinsed greens in the sink. “You never cooked for me.”

Carmen gave a sassy little shrug. “Not the best use of my time,” she said primly. “Some of us had to work.”

He leaned his hip on the counter and ducked his head closer to hers. “That’s not fair,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t become an international pop star by accident. I had demands on my time too.”

Carmen stilled. She set down the plátano in her hands, and with a deliberate movement, turned her face toward his. Their gazes locked, and all traces of teasing and frustration melted from her expression.

This was a big moment. They’d practiced it multiple times during rehearsal, and Ilba had told them it would be a big close-up: the moment when Carmen and Victor connected emotionally. Again.

“I know,” Carmen said in a soft voice. “You’re right. We were both . . . unavailable.”

The moment stretched between them until a loud clang made them both jump. With perfect timing, Dahlia had plunked down a giant soup pot onto the stove.

“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.