Chapter Five
Following Rey’s directions, Tomás turned left into a subdivision nestled near the center of Oakton.
Tall oak and Bradford pear trees shaded wide lawns scattered with richly colored fall leaves. He cruised past an older couple strolling hand in hand along the sidewalk, then slowed down even more when he spotted some kids darting across several adjoining yards in a spirited game of tag.
The neighborhood was older, yet far from run-down. More like comfortable, inviting. Compared to his new neighborhood, where most of the trees were saplings recently planted by the builder, Yazmine’s street had a homey, established feel to it, similar to his parents’ back in McAllen.
Nostalgia strummed a wistful chord in his chest. The distance separating him from his family seemed greater now that he’d moved to the suburbs, away from the diversity of inner-city Chicago. Vacations and holiday trips to Texas didn’t provide enough time together.
Of course, his parents always asking when he planned on moving back didn’t help. No matter how often he tried to explain, they still hadn’t come to accept, much less understand, that his job and financial success were important to him. Both of which were more easily attainable in a city like Chicago.
The move to the suburbs provided the comfortable family lifestyle he wanted for Maria. Yet the city skyline looming in the distance reassured him that he’d also be able to provide financial security for her. Something he’d lacked as a child.
“Home, sweet home.” Reynaldo pointed to a red-brick two-story house with gray shutters up ahead. “Bienvenidos a mi casa.”
In the back seat Maria craned her neck to see better. “Oooh, it’s pretty.”
Tomás pulled into the driveway, mumbling his thanks to Reynaldo for his welcome.
Frankly, he couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself roped into another meal with Yazmine. Even after finding out about her career plans yesterday, he’d still spent the morning trying to hit the delete, rather than the play button, on the mental video of last night’s vivid dreams.
All co-starring Yazmine.
Now he glanced at her in his rearview mirror. Mouth set in a grim line, she looked about as thrilled as he was by their forced dinner plans.
“Come inside. The soup should be ready.” Reynaldo opened his car door and slid from the front passenger seat.
Tomás followed suit. No turning back now.
Maybe it’d help if he thought of this dinner as a fact-finding mission. An opportunity to confirm what he’d realized yesterday: As tempting as she might be, Yazmine Fernandez was not a woman for him to mess with.
She had a one-way ticket aboard the next plane out of town burning a hole in her dance bag pocket.
He, on the other hand, had his sights set on planting roots in Oakton.
If there was one thing his failed marriage had taught him, it was that opposites do not attract. He’d do well to remember that.
His head finally in the right place, Tomás grasped Maria’s hand to help her out of her booster seat. Together they followed Yazmine and Reynaldo up the cement walkway lined with orange and yellow chrysanthemums.
Reynaldo lifted his foot to take the single step up to the front porch and he swayed to his left. Tomás lunged forward to grab him, nudging shoulders with Yazmine when she did the same.
“Estoy bien. I’m fine,” Reynaldo repeated, shrugging them both off. “I missed the step. That is all. No need to worry.”
His last words were directed at Yazmine, a parental warning in his tone.
“Papi, maybe you should lie down.” Anxiety puckered Yaz’s brow.
“And not enjoy our company? No, I said I am fine. Now quit fussing.”
The older man unlocked the door and stepped inside. Yazmine moved aside for Maria and Tomás to pass by, but he caught the flash of fear and frustration in her caramel eyes. Yesterday she’d mentioned her concern about Reynaldo’s health. Hell, he’d feel the same way if Rey were his dad.
“We’ll try to make this quick so he can rest,” Tomás said, stopping in the doorway to touch Yazmine’s shoulder in a show of support.
Her gaze caught his.
Fire shot through him. Confusion sparked in her eyes in the seconds before she blinked and looked away.
“Thanks,” she whispered. The vulnerability in her soft voice, the worried quaver in the single word ensnared him. His grip on her shoulder tightened.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her in comfort, offer his support. Only, he didn’t trust himself to stop there. His attraction was still too fresh. Too raw. Too dangerous for where they were headed—nowhere.
“Excuse me, can I go in?” Maria squeezed in between them, knocking his arm off Yazmine’s shoulder. And him out of his stupor.
Still, as he entered the open space of the family room, he flexed his fingers, certain Yazmine’s heat had left an imprint on his palm.
She took their jackets without another word, turning to hang them on a wooden coatrack near the door. Tomás used the time to take in her family’s home.
A pair of bongo drums bookended a dark-stained entertainment center to make unique fern stands that gave the room a cultural touch. Richly colored rugs dotted hardwood floors. However, it was the walls that drew his attention the most.
Family portraits and framed candid snapshots intermingled with paintings and prints of Puerto Rico’s lush, tropical landscape. As the stairs ascended to the second floor, picture collages traveled up the length of the tan wall, maracas crisscrossed in pairs between them. The home’s atmosphere spoke of family ties and a strong connection to their heritage.
It reminded him of his parents’ house back in Texas. Filled with mementos that were testaments to their love for their culture and history. His mom would feel right at home here, like he immediately did.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Yazmine motioned to the coffee-colored microfiber sofa and recliner squared off in front of the entertainment center.
Tomás peeked through the archway connecting the living room to a formal dining room. It flowed into the kitchen, where he caught sight of Reynaldo. The older gentleman stood at the kitchen counter removing the lid from a Crock-Pot. A puff of steam billowed forth, carrying the scent of simmering garlic and spices. Tomas’s stomach rumbled, his mouth watering in anticipation of the authentic Puerto Rican meal.
“It smells delicious,” he called to Reynaldo, then he turned back to Yazmine. “Since we moved out here, I miss being able to easily stop by Twenty-Sixth Street for a taste of home.”
“You’re in for a treat then,” Yazmine said. “Papi’s a great cook. My mom taught him well. You two go ahead and sit down while we get things ready.” She brushed past him, leaving behind her subtle scent of violets.
Tomás glanced at Maria, bent over to peer at some photos on the end table. He should take advantage of the chance to peek into Yazmine’s past. Confirm why they weren’t compatible. Reynaldo shouldn’t be waiting on any of them though. The older man needed his rest.
Instead of joining Maria near the couch, Tomás headed to the kitchen, where he found Yazmine shooing her father out of the way.
“Go sit down, Papi. You keep them company and I’ll have dinner on the table in a few minutes.”
“I can help,” Tomás suggested.
“I’m a good helper, too. Mrs. B and my papá always say so,” Maria chimed in from behind him.
“I’m sure you are.” Yazmine’s worried gaze strayed to her father’s tired face.
Tomás took the hint. “Maria, why don’t you ask Señor Fernandez to show you Yazmine’s trophy case, the one he mentioned on the drive over?”
Maria’s eyes lit up like he’d suggested they eat dessert before dinner.
Reynaldo chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Vente, nena. It’s downstairs in the basement.” He motioned for Maria to follow him and she hop-skipped out of the room behind Reynaldo’s shuffling figure.
Suddenly, Tomás found himself alone with Yazmine. Something he’d thought about for a ridiculous amount of time.
“If only Maria could pass along some of her energy to my dad,” Yazmine said with a sigh. “He could definitely use it.”
“Couldn’t we all.”
“Yeah.” She huffed out a short laugh. “I guess you’re right.”
“How’s he doing?” Tomás stepped farther into the kitchen. “Has he said anything about his next doctor appointment?”
Arms folded across her chest, Yazmine leaned back against the counter, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “No. Honestly, it scares me. I can tell he hasn’t been feeling well.”
Tomás opened his mouth to offer some words of advice, wanting to calm the shakiness in her voice. Erase the stark fear in her eyes.
She stopped him with a raised hand. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come to hear my sob story again. We’ll be fine. I’m venting, and I shouldn’t be.”
Turning away, she picked up a large wooden spoon and dipped it into the slow cooker.
She was right. She shouldn’t confide in him. Worse, he shouldn’t want her to.
Things would get messy—for him and Maria—if he didn’t keep his distance.
Head bent, Yazmine continued stirring the soup. The mouthwatering aroma beckoned Tomás closer to peer over her shoulder. Reynaldo’s invitation had mentioned stew, but this didn’t smell like anything he’d eaten growing up.
“Not your regular beef and potato concoction, is it?”
“Even better. It’s one of my mom’s Puerto Rican specialties. Asopao de gandules. Pigeon pea soup.”
“Smells delicious.” Tomás took the spoon from her when she moved to put it down. He swirled it through the mixture, then turned in time to catch Yazmine reaching for some bowls high up in a cabinet.
Her ivory sweater crept up, treating him to a glimpse of her toned stomach above the edge of her low-rise jeans.
Now his mouth watered for a completely different reason.
His gaze traveled down the length of her legs and back up, past her elegant neck to the delicate curve of her jaw. Her dark, silky ponytail trailed over her shoulder, brushing across her breast.
Damn, if she wasn’t the epitome of sexy and alluring.
He gulped, quickly turning back to stir the soup when Yazmine moved toward him, bowls in hand.
“Here.” Yazmine tugged open a drawer to remove four soup spoons. She dipped one in the pot, then held it toward him with an open palm below it. “Pruébalo.”
He didn’t think twice, his stomach urging him to follow her suggestion to taste the delicious-smelling food.
His mouth closed over the spoon, his eyes drifting shut on the burst of flavor.
“Mmmmm.” He moaned his approval, and was answered by the soft sound of Yazmine sucking in a quick breath.
His eyes shot open.
She stood in front of him, one hand holding the spoon, the other cupped below his chin. He licked his lips, savoring the flavors on his tongue. Unable to resist thinking about savoring her.
The intimacy of the situation crackled around them. Strong, electric. Dangerous.
Yazmine eased back.
He swallowed slowly. Wanting more. Wondering about more. Like, would she taste as good?
Probably better. He’d lay money on it.
“What do you think?” she asked, her voice a husky rasp.
He thought he might be in trouble. Fat chance of him admitting that out loud. “I think you need to share your recipe with Mrs. B.”
“Maybe I will.” She dropped the used spoon in the sink with a clatter, then grabbed another one from the drawer. “If you’re good.”
“Depends on your definition of good.” The double entendre slipped out before he could stop it.
She flashed him an impish grin. “You’re incorrigible, sabes?”
“Yeah, I know.” Not to mention a little insane.
She laughed and he found it too easy to join her. Too easy to fall into the trap of going with what felt good, instead of what was right.
Damn, he could get in a lot of trouble here.
His strategy of using this visit to stifle his attraction was in danger of failing. Miserably.
“Maybe we should get dinner on the table.” He winced at the unintentional abruptness of his words.
Yazmine’s smile faltered.
He softened his tone as an apology. “I meant, it’s getting late. Your father’s tired.”
Not to mention, he wasn’t making any headway in creating distance between them. On the contrary, he felt far too comfortable joking and flirting with her in the privacy of her kitchen.
Yazmine stared at him in silence. He sensed her measuring her words, measuring him.
When she finally spoke, it was with the cool demeanor she’d first greeted him with on Wednesday.
“There’s juice and milk in the refrigerator. Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab the drinks while I serve up the asopao?”
Great, he’d annoyed her again. Guilt gnawed at him, but he steeled himself against it.
Better to be on her bad side than on the receiving end of another inviting grin. Her smiles led him to forget about important things—like lines in the sand that should be left uncrossed.
* * *
“So you and your group actually recorded an album?” Tomás asked her father with surprise.
“Sí, at a studio in Chicago. We sold copies at our performances.”
Pride for Papi swelled up in Yaz. She leaned back in one of the recliners in the library corner of the basement—Rosa’s corner—listening to his and Tomás’s conversation.
As soon as Tomás had asked about one of the black-and-white photographs of Papi and the other two men in Los Paisanos, she’d known the conversation would be anything but short.
If there was one thing Papi loved almost as much as his family, it was his music. His passion flowed in his words and the sparkle in his eyes.
Even though Yaz had spent the better part of the past two hours peeking at her watch, anxious for Tomás and Maria to leave, she didn’t wish for that anymore. She couldn’t. Not when she saw the joy in Papi’s face as he spoke about his band and the gigs they’d played back in the day.
It was the same expression he wore when he talked about what he called her “unquestionable success” on the stages of New York. It was what pushed her to succeed.
“What kind of music?” Tomás asked.
“Romanticismo. The old standards, as they say here. Romantic ballads that have helped men woo their women for generations. It’s how I won over my Marta, Yaz’s mamá.”
Tomás and her dad grinned at each other like two buddies swapping locker room stories. Yaz rolled her eyes at the machismo.
“Ay, pués. It’s mostly mis compadres, they know how to set the tempo of a party.”
That was her father. Proud, yet modest.
“Well, nothing, Papi. It’s not just your buddies,” Yaz called out.
Side by side in front of the keyboard, flipping through pictures from different venues Los Paisanos had played over the years, Tomás and Reynaldo looked over their shoulders at her. One man older, shorter, tired, but handsome in her eyes; the other far too sexy for his own good.
Or hers, anyway.
“The group wouldn’t have been the same without you and you know it,” Yaz continued. “Who booked the festival gig that brought you here from Puerto Rico? And who finagled that first recording opportunity? Los Paisanos were a wonderful team, with you leading the way as much as the others. And you still are.”
Tomás drew back in surprise. “So the group still plays?”
“Are you kidding me?” Yaz laughed, recalling the inside joke she’d heard throughout her childhood. “Even their wives couldn’t keep them apart.”
“No, pero el cáncer si lo hizo.” Papi’s grim words instantly dulled their buoyant mood. He stepped away from the keyboard, haphazardly strumming his fingers along the strings of a nearby guitar.
“No it didn’t. Papi, don’t think like that. You’ll be back, stronger than ever.” Regret nipped at her conscience for bringing up the subject. “So you took some time off to regain your strength. Next summer you’ll be serenading the crowds at Chicago’s annual Puerto Rican festival again. Maybe we’ll even get Rosa out there to dance, huh?”
“Esa nena?” Papi’s laugh turned into a cough and he put a hand to his chest. “That girl never joins in. I told her she’d have to dance with me on her wedding day.”
Yaz watched his gaze stray to Maria, his expression wistful.
Maria stood at the ballet barre Papi had installed when Yaz was little. Over the years she’d spent countless hours practicing, stretching, and honing her technique there. Oftentimes while she’d danced, Los Paisanos rehearsed and Rosa sat in a recliner reading. Mami’s footsteps would sound overhead as she whipped up something tasty in the kitchen. And Lilí, the energetic tomboy, basically ran around getting into everything. Their house had been loud, full of laughter, love, and music. Always music.
“Here, let me show you how.” Reynaldo shuffled over to stand next to Maria at the barre. Their reflection in the mirror-lined wall let loose a swarm of memories, stealing Yaz’s breath.
How many times had Papi joined her there, teasing her with his clownish attempt at a plié? She’d looked forward to moments like this, watching him joke around with his granddaughter. Her little girl.
Only that would never happen. Not as long as she kept pursuing a career that wasn’t conducive to family life and raising children. Not as long as she strove to succeed, for herself as well as him.
Years ago Papi had been forced to choose between his dreams of being in the spotlight with Los Paisanos and his responsibility to his growing family. She should have known better than to think she could have both.
Sometimes she wished her life had taken a different route. One without the pressure of living up to others’ expectations. One where she felt comfortable with who and where she was.
She hoped a time would come when she could stop pretending she knew what she wanted. When she could honestly feel fully confident in her own shoes. Whatever they might be—ballet, jazz, sandals, or stilettos.
“Reynaldo is good with her.”
Yaz started at Tomás’s hushed observation coming from close by. Craning her neck, she looked up to find him looming over her recliner.
His genuine admiration for Papi weakened her resolve to remain aloof. No way could she not be attracted to a man who thought her father was as incredible as she did.
“Papi’s had plenty of practice dealing with girls. But through everything, he’s always been good with us.”
Tomás hunkered down next to her chair.
Yaz sucked in a shallow breath, pressing back against her seat cushion. Up this close, she noticed the ring of black encircling the mahogany color of his iris. Practically felt the scruff of his five o’clock shadow. Couldn’t help but breathe in his woodsy cologne.
“A guy could learn a lot from someone like your dad.” Tomás smiled, his straight white teeth a contrast to his tanned skin. “He’s been successful as a father and in his music career.”
Guilt soured Yaz’s stomach. She wasn’t entirely convinced Papi would agree with Tomás’s assessment.
Sometimes, when doubt took hold of her thoughts, she wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t come along so soon. If Mami’s pregnancy hadn’t been so difficult. If Papi hadn’t canceled the Los Paisanos road trip and started working for the US Postal Service. Instead of hitting the road and marketing their music, Los Paisanos wound up playing for local events and private parties. The men settled down to regular nine-to-five jobs, raising their children and families together. Creating memories of a different kind.
There were times she wondered if he thought about what might have been—if not for her.
That’s why she was determined to let him live his glory days on stage vicariously through her. Any doubts she harbored about surviving in the callous dance world had to be silenced.
“Mami used to say the Island made special men. With my Papi being one of the best.”
“He’d have to be to raise three daughters on his own. If your sisters are anything like you, I’d say he did his job well.”
Yaz heard the smile in Tomás’s voice and she glanced over in time to catch his dimple’s wink.
A lightning bolt of attraction zapped through her.
She tried to shake it off, reminding herself to keep things light. “An evening of Papi’s war stories, flipping through a few embarrassing family pictures, and you’re an expert on me and my sisters, huh?”
Tomás’s broad shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug. “I call it like I see it. With a mom as beautiful as yours, and a dad as vested in you, no wonder you’re knocking it out of the park.”
Heat rose to her face at his compliment.
In the dim coziness of the basement, with one of Los Paisanos’s CDs softly serenading them, she found herself in danger of falling for Tomás. Hard.
For the first time in weeks, her father was acting like his old self. For the first time in ages, she found herself totally relaxed. Thanks to this tantalizing man and his adorable daughter.
“Actually, you’re right, my sisters are incredible women. But even they aren’t as good as I am.” She laughed out loud at Tomás’s snort of surprise.
“I see Reynaldo’s modesty didn’t get passed down to you.”
“Rosa inherited my share. She’s the quiet one. Our kindhearted, wise little bookworm.”
“And Lilí?”
“The wild one. Finally showing vague signs of responsibility.” Yaz scooted over to let Tomás crook his elbow on her armrest. “She’s an undergrad sophomore, majoring in Women’s Studies.”
“¿De veras?” Tomás slowly drew out the words.
“Yeah, truth. Why the surprise?” Sensing his genuine interest, Yaz angled closer. It was fun introducing him to her family.
“More like, admiration. I mean, wow! A spirited dancer, a quiet sage, and a spunky people person. I don’t know how your father managed after your mom passed. There are days I’m overwhelmed with one and I have Mrs. B to help.”
Tomás’s honesty humbled her.
Yaz ducked her head, wondering if she’d misjudged him. The first day they’d met, she’d grouped him in with her ex—both self-centered workaholics. But the more time she spent with Tomás, the more she witnessed his interaction with Maria, the more she second-guessed her first impression.
Her gaze strayed to Papi and Maria. They faced each other, one hand on the barre, as they slowly bent in a deep plié.
“I used to do this with Yazmine when she was little,” Papi said. “It is how I kept in such good shape.” He patted his well-fed belly.
Maria covered her mouth with her free hand and dissolved into giggles.
“You should go join them,” Yaz urged Tomás. “She’ll get a kick out of it.”
He sent her a dubious glance.
“I’m serious. Look at her.”
Maria’s tiny shoulders shook with laughter at Papi’s silliness.
“As much as I hate to admit it”—Tomás tugged on Yaz’s ponytail and rose from his haunches—“you may be right.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
He raised a hand to point two fingers at his eyes, then back at her in the age-old “I’m watching you” sign. With a sexy quirk of his mouth, he sidled away.
Shivers of awareness shimmied her shoulders as she watched him. She’d warned herself at the dance store yesterday that she was playing with fire.
This man was good. Just not good for her.
Leaning back against the recliner cushion, Yaz closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. Desperate to soothe the wistful ache in her chest. She knew what she had to do, and what type of sacrifices it required.
Suddenly Maria let out a surprised yelp.
“I got you!”
Yaz’s eyes snapped opened at Tomás’s exclamation. When she saw his arms around Papi, carefully helping him to the keyboard bench, she sprang out of her chair. “¿Qué pasa?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Papi answered. “I stepped awkwardly and twisted my ankle, eso es todo.”
“Are you sure that’s all? You look pale.”
Maria laid a hand on his knee. “Are you okay, Señor Fernandez?”
He gave her a reassuring pat. “Sí, nena. I’m okay.”
Papi slowly reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief, blotting his face with a shaky hand. The fear that had haunted Yaz through the previous weeks rose out of the shadows once again.
“It’s getting late. We should be heading home.” Tomás’s deep voice broke the tremulous silence. “Yazmine, will you please help Maria with her jacket upstairs? Rey can rest a minute while I convince him to sell me a Los Paisanos CD.”
Yaz’s gaze moved from her father’s pallid face, to Maria’s scared expression, to Tomás’s strong figure.
He must have sensed her hesitation because Tomás jerked his head toward the basement stairs.
“Here, give me a hug goodnight.” Papi opened his arms for Maria. “You will have to come see me again, soon.”
“Gracias. I had fun dancing with you.” Maria gave Papi a hug, then stepped back and slipped her tiny hand into Yazmine’s. Together they turned toward the stairs.
“We’ll be right behind you, Yaz, no worries,” Tomás assured her.
It was the first time he’d used her nickname, as if they were friends. Yaz nodded, finding herself once again grateful for his presence.
Once they reached the foyer, she forced herself to concentrate on zipping up Maria’s jacket. Worrying about Papi had become second nature to her—maybe she was reading more into the situation than it warranted.
Everything was fine with him. It had to be.
* * *
Tomás slid a bar stool closer to where Reynaldo sat on the keyboard bench. “Forgive me for asking, but are you sure you only twisted your ankle?”
Rey hadn’t stumbled so much as wilted. Like someone had flipped a circuit breaker, knocking out all his energy.
The older man nodded, but didn’t say anything else, despite Tomás’s intense scrutiny.
Tomás bit back a frustrated sigh; he’d hoped Rey would confide in him. Tonight, getting to know Yaz’s father had reminded him of how much he missed spending time with his own dad. The two older men shared a deep devotion to their family and culture, not to mention a strong work ethic.
Several quiet beats passed before Tomás recognized another similarity—pride. The Achilles’ heel of many Latino men, himself included. It would take an act of God to get them to admit a weakness.
Wise enough to know when to push and when to ease off, Tomás relented. Still, the creed familia primero flashed through his mind.
Family first. The saying he’d heard since his childhood, handed down from generation to generation. In the Latino community, family included close friends and neighbors. Like Yaz and Reynaldo had become tonight.
Tomás pulled out his wallet to hand Rey his business card. “Here, hang on to this. If there’s anything you need, doesn’t matter what it is, you let me know, okay?”
“Gracias. Te lo agradezco.”
Tomás shrugged off the thanks and appreciation. “I mean it. Anything at all.”
Rey stared down at the card, answering with a slow nod.
“If you’re up for it, I say we get moving before Yaz comes looking for us. She’s not one to back down, is she?” Tomás put a hand under Reynaldo’s elbow to help him up.
“I see you are getting to know her well. That stubborn streak she has comes from my Marta.” Rey groaned as he stood up. “You have to be patient with her. That’s all.”
As they climbed the stairs, Tomás admitted he’d need something other than patience when it came to Yaz. More like, the self-discipline to resist her charms, especially if Rey asked for his help. For his and Maria’s sake, he couldn’t afford to make a wrong move.
At the top of the stairs they found Yaz and Maria peering at a group of framed photographs. When he drew closer, Tomás realized it was a collection of Playbills and photographs from Yaz’s New York productions.
His gaze caught on a candid photo of Yaz with a well-known actress. Both wore figure-hugging cocktail dresses and heels. They stood at a theatre entrance, arms around each other’s waist, faces lit by their bright smiles. A crowd of fans swarmed behind them, pens held out for autographs, cameras ready for candid shots.
Here it was, barely two feet from the front door, proof of his and Yaz’s unsuitability. The irony sucker-punched him.
The photo collage was a reality check to keep him from making the same mistake he’d made with Kristine. To stop him from heading off on another attraction-fueled drive with a woman more interested in racing on a fast track headed in the opposite direction.
He waved good-bye to Yaz and Rey amid Maria’s cry of “See you soon,” wondering how the hell he’d gotten himself into this mess.
After getting to know Rey and making a commitment that he could be relied upon if needed, staying away from Yazmine, not thinking about her, might prove next to impossible.