of course, but what if something happened? There were so many things that could go wrong.
There were practical considerations, too, like where they would stay, and making sure Abuelita Bibi could get around, and whether Ignacio would want to close the restaurant, and—
And his son was looking at him with undisguised longing on his face. Yadi wanted this. And it was within Ashton’s power to give his son something that would make him happy.
How could he say no?
Especially since the only real reason why he’d say no was fear. He couldn’t let that get in the way of letting his son live his life.
So even though it terrified him, he said, “Okay, Yadi. You can come to New York.”
Yadiel whooped and cheered, leaping all over Ashton and the sofa and knocking the books to the floor in his excitement. Ashton laughed and tackled the kid to the cushions, sparking a father/son wrestling match.
In the end, Yadiel won, standing with one foot on Ashton’s chest and crowing his victory. Ashton, sprawled out on the rug, wondered how the hell he was going to pull this off.
That night, after Yadiel y los viejitos had gone to bed, Ashton sat at the kitchen table and accepted the cold beer Ignacio passed him. It had been a long day—hell, a long week, a long summer—and he was tired.
Ignacio sat across from him. They clinked their bottles together and drank. “How’s the production?” he asked.
Ashton scratched at the edges of the bottle’s label, wet and peeling with condensation, to keep from picking at his own fingers. “I think it’s going well.”
Ignacio took a long swig. “Are you still keeping to yourself?”
Ashton sighed. “Not like I was before, no.”
He didn’t mention Jasmine, or how twisted up he was about her. His father was easygoing, and even when Ashton had suddenly found himself in the role of single dad, Ignacio had never been judgmental. But Ashton didn’t know how to talk about Jasmine with him. Not yet.
Leaning back in the chair, Ignacio crossed his arms and sent Ashton an impassive look. “You can’t be alone forever, mijo.”
“I’m not alone.” Ashton spread his hands to encompass the house, even though the rest of the family was sleeping upstairs. “I have all of you.”
Ignacio just shook his head slowly, and when he spoke, the words were laced with a resigned sadness. “It’s not the same.”
Even though she’d never lived in this house—Ashton had grown up in Guaynabo—at times, the absence of his mother could be keenly felt, like he expected her to turn the corner into the kitchen at any moment. Sometimes the feeling of loss faded, more like a forgotten task nagging at his attention, or a misplaced item waiting to be found. But it never truly went away.
“I miss her,” he said.
They didn’t talk about his mother often. It had been ten years since she’d passed, after a quick and devastating bout with cancer, and they’d fallen into new rhythms. But Ashton still wished she could have met her grandson.
“I miss her too,” Ignacio said, and then he polished off his beer. “But she would’ve wanted you to be happy.”
“I’m fine, Pa. Really.” Although lately, he’d been thinking more about what it would be like to have a companion on this parenting journey, and for Yadiel to have a mother figure in his life.
The fact that these thoughts popped up more since meeting Jasmine unnerved him.
“Well, if you say you’re fine, you’re fine,” Ignacio said, but his face and tone implied he didn’t believe it.
Ashton finished off his own beer and stood. “It’s late. I’ll let you get to sleep.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll leave after Sunday mass.”
“Fair warning, Yadiel wants to go to a baseball game in New York.”
Ashton gave a brief smile. “I’ll break out the hat and sunglasses.”
“You sure you don’t want a trench coat and a newspaper with two holes cut out, Señor James Bond?”
Ashton smothered a laugh so he didn’t wake the others. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
Ignacio collected the bottles to dispose of them. “Buenas noches, mijo.”
Chapter 27
Jasmine arrived at the studio the next morning in high spirits. The summit had been great press, the show was going smoothly, and Ashton . . . Well, she was trying to avoid examining her feelings too much, but it was safe to say she was happier than she’d ever been with a man. Real happiness, too, where she felt valued and like it was safe to open up to him, not performative happiness that relied on