cheek, and soon they were all seated at the round dining table, digging into the pizza.
“Ooh, toppings!” Michelle grabbed olives and roasted red peppers from the antipasto plate and piled them onto her pizza slice. “So what were you two up to?”
Ashton passed around napkins. “Rehearsing lines.”
This was a slight exaggeration, considering they had yet to open their scripts, but it was better than admitting they’d been flirting over olives and telenovelas.
“Excellent,” Michelle said. “We’ll help you. Jasmine’s the pro, but Ava and I also took drama classes in school.”
“What do you do now?” Ashton asked politely.
“Freelance graphic designer.”
Michelle did so much more than that, but Jasmine didn’t contradict. Starting the freelance business had been Michelle’s way of recovering from her high-level—and extremely stressful—corporate job.
“And you?” Ashton asked, turning to Ava.
“Middle school teacher.” Ava yanked the cork out of the wine bottle. “But I’m on summer break now.”
“And how about you?” Michelle asked Ashton, as if she didn’t know. Jasmine rolled her eyes as Ava filled her wineglass.
Ashton replied with a rueful grin. “Well, I’ve been a gold miner, sheriff, CEO, duke, and now I’m a singer.”
Michelle nodded. “A man of many talents. Wine?”
Jasmine hid her smile in her glass. Michelle was like that. She could charm anyone with her particular blend of dark wit and smooth delivery. Jasmine knew what she was doing, though. Michelle was taking Ashton’s measure, gauging if he could hang.
And so far, Ashton—the same guy who hid from everyone else on the cast—was holding his own. He joked and bantered back and forth with Michelle, talked movies with Ava, and chowed down on pizza.
“Who’s in this scene?” Michelle asked, picking up Jasmine’s script.
“Carmen’s family,” Ashton replied.
Ava gestured at Jasmine. “You obviously have to play Carmen. I’ll read her mother’s lines.”
“I’ll be the dad,” Michelle said, then sent Ashton a sunny smile. “That leaves you as Carmen’s sister, Helen.”
Jasmine expected him to protest, or insist on reading Ernesto’s lines. Instead, Ashton leaned back in his chair, like he was lounging. He gave a little shoulder shake and a head toss, to mime throwing back a long mane of hair.
Jasmine let out a giggle. The posturing was a perfect imitation of the way Lily played Helen. And when Ashton spoke, it was with Helen’s attitude and Lily’s intonation.
“I’m ready,” he said with another head toss, and Jasmine laughed because Lily really did throw her hair around a lot.
“You are a good actor,” she teased.
He chuckled and sent her a wink. “Just don’t tell Lily. She’ll think I’m after her job.”
They drank wine and read parts of the script out loud, getting sillier as the night wore on. Finally, Ashton begged off—they had an early call time, and he always hit the gym first thing in the morning.
As he gathered the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher—something that had hearts forming in Ava’s eyes—Michelle elbowed Jasmine in the ribs.
“Ow! What?” Jasmine scowled and rubbed her side.
“Ask him,” Michelle hissed.
“I don’t want to ask him,” Jasmine shot back in a whisper.
“Abuela would love it if he came to her party,” Ava added in a low voice. “And it would totally put you over Jillian in the Ranking.”
Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “Low blow, Ava.”
The Ranking was a list they’d come up with in middle school, putting all the cousins in order from their grandmother’s most favorite to least favorite. It had been updated many times over the years as all the cousins grew up and became either more or less favorable in their abuela’s eyes. They hypothesized that Ava was always near the top—she spoke the most Spanish, helped Esperanza clean the house before parties, and went over a few evenings a week to help cook and watch telenovelas with her. Michelle, being “the mouthy one,” as she called herself, figured she was near the bottom. Jasmine was convinced that her older sister, Jillian, with her beautiful children and “regular job” on Wall Street, must be high up in the Ranking too. Higher than Jasmine was, anyway.
Bringing Ashton to the party would almost certainly skyrocket Jasmine to the top.
And it would make Esperanza really, really happy.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” she grumbled. “Don’t interfere.”
Michelle gave her an innocent grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Jasmine caught up to Ashton as he was leaving the tiny kitchen.
“Hey, um, I have a question for you,” she said, then groaned inwardly. Real smooth.
His expressive eyebrows rose, inviting her to speak.
“My grandmother’s eightieth birthday party is coming up right after we wrap the season.”
The corners of