You Had Me at Hola(75)

Once she was out of sight, she resisted the urge to high-five herself for drawing a clear boundary and sticking to it. But the pride was tempered by sheer annoyance. The absolute fucking nerve of McIntyre. Oh, he missed her, did he? He wished he hadn’t broken up with her via tabloid while gallivanting around Cabo with a model half his age? That was fucking rich.

Old Jasmine would have taken that as proof that she was worthy of a man’s attention and run back to him for validation. New Jasmine just wanted him to take her name out of his damn mouth.

Still, the adrenaline rush from the confrontation left her a little shaken, so she made her way to catering for lunch. She hadn’t felt up to eating breakfast that morning, and she needed food and more caffeine. As she was fixing a cup of coffee, a squeaky voice behind her shouted, “?Comida!”

Jasmine abandoned her cup just in time to catch the tornado of elbows and knees that crashed into her.

It was a little boy with sandy blond hair and familiar brown eyes. She immediately recognized him from the photos she’d seen online. His wide, gap-toothed smile won her over instantly, and she couldn’t help but grin back, even as her heart twisted.

“Yadiel!” Ashton’s voice came from around the corner, not sharp, but concerned. When he stepped into view and saw them, he froze.

“Like father like son,” Jasmine said wryly, helping Yadiel back onto his own two feet. Then she picked up her coffee and raised it in a mocking toast.

Ashton’s lips pressed into a straight line and he didn’t reply.

“?Papi, mira!” Voice full of glee, Yadiel gestured expansively at the array of food. “Hay mucha comida aquí.”

“Sí, mijo,” Ashton said gravely. “But you just ate.”

“Pero quiero comer eso,” Yadiel replied, pouting.

Since Ashton still hadn’t even deigned to acknowledge her presence, let alone make introductions, Jasmine picked up a plate and addressed Yadiel directly. “?Qué quieres comer?”

As Yadiel turned starry eyes on the trays of food and snacks, Ashton moved closer. “Inglés, Yadiel,” he said, when Yadiel started chattering about the food in Spanish.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and muttered, “I do know some Spanish.” Enough to talk to children, at least.

Ashton finally met her eyes. “He speaks English too. It’ll be good practice for him.”

The mention of practice made her recall her own Spanish lessons with Ashton. He’d been unfailingly patient with her . . . almost like he was used to teaching a reluctant learner. At the time, she hadn’t given it much thought. But now, after meeting his son, things were starting to fall into place. His kindness, the bad jokes—holy shit, they were dad jokes not bad jokes—and how he was always texting with his father.

He wasn’t just a caring son, as she’d thought. He was a caring son and dad.

Once Yadiel and Jasmine had plates piled high with food—arroz con pollo, pastelitos, tostones, and fruit on the side—she led him to the dining area to eat. She had a feeling their eyes were bigger than their stomachs, but they’d had fun selecting the food and talking about their favorite dishes. Yadiel revealed that his abuelo y bisabuelos owned a restaurant, which Jasmine had already known, so the kid had lots of opinions about Puerto Rican food.

Ashton followed, stiff and silent, while Jasmine’s conversation with Yadiel shifted to the Avengers. In the dining area, Jasmine and Yadiel sat at a round table with four chairs around it, but Ashton remained standing by the door. She tamped down her anguish and got a bunch of napkins for Yadiel, in case he was anything like her nephews. Despite Jillian’s best efforts, the boys ate like monsters.

“How do you know about superheroes?” Yadiel asked her through a mouthful of rice.

“I have nephews,” she told him. “I think you’d get along with them. They like superheroes and LEGOs too.”

Yadiel was an easy kid to talk to, but Jasmine couldn’t ignore Ashton hovering like a nervous shadow in the doorway. His eyes were cold and distant, his expressive mouth set in a firm line. Everything about him was aloof and unapproachable . . . just like how he’d been when they first started working together.

It hurt her heart to see him this way. He’d come so far over the past few months, opening up and letting people in. Not just her, but the rest of the cast. Nino looked up to him, Peter sought him out daily to discuss baseball, and Lily had named him her official dominoes nemesis. Watching Ashton retreat behind the mask he’d worn at the beginning made Jasmine sadder than anything else that had happened between them.

If she thought about it further, she was going to weep, so she focused on Yadiel, who’d pulled a LEGO mini-figure from his pocket and was enumerating the toy’s many cool features.

Jasmine looked up as a man wearing a pale blue guayabera shirt strolled into the dining area. He was shorter than Ashton, his skin darker and more lined, but he was unmistakably Ashton’s father. They had the same jawline, the same stride, and the same taste in shirts.

As he approached the table where Jasmine and Yadiel sat, his face creased into a smile and he held out a hand. “Hola, Jasmine. Soy Ignacio, el padre de este cabrón aquí.” He jerked his chin to indicate Ashton.

Yadiel let out a delighted giggle at hearing his grandfather call his dad a dumbass. Over by the door, Ashton muttered something under his breath and his scowl deepened.