“You are toast,” Michelle said, then raised her glass. “Here lies Jasmine. We loved her well. Cause of death: crushing on her costar.”

Jasmine grabbed her own wine and gulped down half of it. “What is so wrong with having a crush?”

“Oh, now it’s a crush? Are you at the second point on the scale?”

“No.” Not yet.

“There’s nothing wrong with a crush,” Michelle said, her tone gentle. “But you don’t do crushes.”

Jasmine wished she did crushes. How much easier would her life be if she could find someone appealing, never act on it, and then forget all about them? But she just wasn’t wired that way, and she didn’t want to be. Was it so much to ask for a loving, committed relationship with someone who unconditionally loved and accepted her for who she was?

Apparently so, because she’d kissed a lot of frogs over the years, and all of them had broken her heart.

“I’m not going to rebound with Ashton,” she said firmly, more to herself than to Michelle.

Her cousin raised a skeptical eyebrow, then lifted her glass again. “Cheers to that,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced.

“Don’t tell Ava.”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling Ava.”

Jasmine let out a sigh. “Fine. Tell Ava. Saves me the trouble of bringing her up to speed.”

Michelle chuckled while Jasmine drained her glass.

Chapter 10

Vera was waiting when Ashton arrived on set for private rehearsal early the next day. These scenes would be shot in a working kitchen that was normally used for talk shows but was now outfitted to look like the basement-level kitchen of the Serranos’ East Harlem brownstone. The crew had dressed it in dark wood with warm yellow lighting and copper pots and pans hanging from a low ceiling. Three walls had been built around the kitchen appliances—a sink on one side, a stove on the other, fake stairs in the back, and a wood-topped island in the center.

Since they were just rehearsing, Ashton was still in the jeans and T-shirt he’d dressed in after his five a.m. gym session. Jasmine arrived just behind him, looking fresh and sexy in a floral romper. She wasn’t tall, but she was all legs, and it took everything he had not to stare like a creep when she strutted around in shorts.

“Morning,” she said, sending him a sleepy little smile. Damn, she was adorable.

“Buenos días,” he replied, then reminded himself to stick to English. “Tired?”

She nodded. “No coffee yet. I didn’t want to—you know, drink coffee and then kiss. It’s kinda gross.”

He couldn’t help but smile, since he’d considered the same thing this morning—brushing, flossing, and rinsing his mouth three times after drinking his own coffee.

Ilba and Marquita strolled in then. It was only the five of them on set to practice. Vera’s orders.

They sat on folding chairs while Vera reviewed the points she’d made the previous day regarding communication and consent.

“Did you two come up with some sort of closure ritual?” Vera asked, turning her bright, intense gaze on Ashton and Jasmine.

Carajo, he hadn’t even thought about it, but Jasmine raised her hand tentatively, like they were in school.

“I had an idea,” she said, her voice unsure as she met Ashton’s eyes. “What if we . . . high-fived? After Ilba yells ‘cut.’ To, you know, snap us out of character.”

Ashton’s mind flashed back through eight years of high-fiving Yadiel every time the kid nailed his goals—walking, tying his shoes, adding numbers, flipping his skateboard and landing on it. He still couldn’t remember what that move was called, but Yadiel had been so proud of himself when he’d stuck the landing that first time. It had warranted a double high five, using both hands. A “high ten,” Yadiel called it.

Everyone was waiting for him to reply, so Ashton nodded. “Okay. Yes, a high five.”

With Jasmine it would be an innocuous move, the sound and motion of their slapping palms serving to break them out of the awkward haze of kissing on camera.

Because it was awkward, no matter how many times he did it.

The last woman he’d kissed on camera had been a seasoned telenovela actress on El fuego de amor. In fact, they’d both starred on another show together, maybe six years earlier, where they’d had to kiss. They’d cracked jokes leading up to the moment, teasing each other about how much older they were now. But Ashton didn’t have that rapport with Jasmine. All he had was a feeling like electricity singing through his veins when she was near.

It was his own fault. He should have worked harder to get to know her before this moment. Media attention and social anxiety be damned, this was his chance. And he was on the verge of blowing it because he’d spent too much time hiding in his dressing room.

“So we have a passionate, heat-of-the-moment kiss between two ex-lovers,” Vera went on, oblivious to Ashton’s inner turmoil. “There’d be some reluctance there, too, right? But also surrender. They’re finally giving in to what they both feel.”

Ashton glanced at Jasmine. Giving in? That wouldn’t be too hard to pretend. But feeling real attraction for the other actor often made the whole thing even more awkward. He had to shut those feelings away and focus. This was work.

Ilba spoke up. “I’m thinking more clutching, less groping.”

Vera nodded. “Yes, these are two people who once loved each other enough to get married. They’ve spent years apart and they’re desperate to revisit what they once had. But also, it’s a stolen moment in the family kitchen, and Carmen’s mother could come back at any time. They’re holding each other, not tearing off clothing.” She turned to Jasmine and Ashton. “How does that sound to you two?”

Jasmine agreed. “It’s a release of tension too. They’ve been snapping at each other since he returned, but the anger and teasing mask the real feelings underneath—both the hurt and the lingering love.”

The others nodded approvingly, then Ilba turned to Marquita. “How hot are we making this? Like, tongue? Or—”

Vera took one look at Jasmine, and whatever she saw on her face had her interrupting quickly. “No tongue. It won’t be necessary.”

Now Ashton wanted to know what Jasmine was thinking. He preferred not to use tongue on-screen. It was weird, and kind of jarring. There was already too much to think about without bringing tongues and saliva into it. What had Jasmine’s experiences been? She must have had plenty of on-screen kisses. It was too late to ask her, however. They were getting ready to begin.

While Marquita and Ilba discussed something in the script, Vera took Ashton aside.

“Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with?” she asked in a low voice. “Doing or receiving. Or anywhere you’d prefer not to be touched?”

It was the first time anyone had asked him that. He’d thought to ask some of his female costars in the past, but it wasn’t something the production team usually took into account, especially for a male actor. Everyone had always assumed he was perfectly comfortable touching women he didn’t know, or being touched by them.

When he didn’t answer right away, Vera gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ve done my research. I know you’re a pro. But still, if there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, or you don’t want to do, please tell me. This is a safe space for you too.”