His Perfect Partner

by Priscilla Oliveras

  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.

  Chapter Six

  “Did you and Cheryl have fun shopping today?” Rosa asked.

  Yaz looked up to find her sister setting the last of the dirty dinner dishes next to the sink for her to wash.

  “Black Friday at the mall was a madhouse.” Yaz finished rinsing a glass and put it on the drain board. “The best part was sitting in Starbucks catching up. I’m excited Cheryl’s moving back. Though I hate that breaking up with her boyfriend is why she decided to come home.”

  “Que pena,” Rosa murmured.

  “Yeah, it is a shame,” Yaz answered. “But good for her for moving on if he can’t recognize how great she is.”

  “I hear you, and I’m all happy you two had some girl time, but what I really wanna know is . . .” Lilí sidled over, her eyebrows waggling with mischief. “Who’s this Tomás Garcia guy Papi keeps talking about?”

  Yaz cringed, nearly dropping the soapy glass she held. Ay Dios mío, she wanted her sisters poking around about Tomás as much as she wanted the bright lights of Broadway to darken.

  “He’s nobody.” Her pulse skipped at the lie. “His daughter’s a student at Hanson’s. Papi and I ran into them at the park the other day.”

  “Since when do you invite students and their stud-muffin dads over for dinner?” Lilí playfully bumped hips with her before swiveling to put away a stack of dried salad plates.

  “It was Papi’s idea.” Yaz pointedly ignored the “stud-muffin” comment. No need to add fuel to Lilí’s nosy fire. Her sister had been itching to pair Yaz up with someone new since the whole Victor debacle had blown up. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have invited the man over if it was up to me.”

  “Oh really?” Rosa asked, the words sounding more like the “aha!” of a private eye discovering a closely guarded secret. Though really, in her soft blue turtleneck sweater, loose-fitting gray slacks, and low-heeled black Steve Madden boots, Rosa looked more like Nancy Drew than Sherlock Holmes.

  “Don’t go reading anything into it,” Yaz answered. “Tomás Garcia is a moody workaholic with a cute five-year-old daughter in need of mothering. Not exactly my cup of café con leche.”

  “‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’” Rosa’s crossed arms and speculative narrowed gaze had tremblings of unease tickling the back of Yazmine’s neck.

  “Por favor, I am not a heroine in one of your Shakespeare tragedies, waiting for you to character analyze me.”

  “Touchy, touchy.” Lilí swatted Yaz’s butt with the dish towel, then plopped down on a wooden chair at the kitchen table. She propped her booted foot on her seat, her bent knee poking out of a hole in her ripped jeans. “I sorta think I’m with Rosa on this one.”

  Yaz glared at her younger sister. Traitor.

  “I know, hang a banner from the rafters.” Lilí spread her hands through the air in front of her, emphasizing her point. “Rosa and Lilí actually agree on something. Imposible. Ouch!” She rubbed her arm from Rosa’s pinch. “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side, remember? She’s about to crack.”

  “Crack schmack. There’s no story here.” Yaz dropped a handful of clean silverware into the drain board with a clatter. “Quit jabbering and finish your job.”

  “I don’t knooow,” Lilí sing-songed, her spiked pixie haircut and Cheshire cat–grin highlighting her impish personality. “Inviting a babe over for dinner isn’t like you. Dance has always come first. Well, except for jerky Victor—but we won’t go there.” She waved a hand as if shooing a pesky fly. “So who’s the hottie and how serious are you?”

  Yaz pulled the drain plug in the sink. The gurgle of water being sucked down the pipe made her wish she could pull the plug on this conversation as easily.

  Leave it to Papi to stir things up with her sisters. Over the past two days, every time she’d tried to broach the subject of his health, he’d counter by saying something about his new “good” friend Tomás.

  “Earth to Yazmine.” Rosa waved an arm in the air, drawing Yaz’s attention. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Or better yet, who? Come on, girl.” Lilí slapped her hands together, then rubbed them briskly, warming up to her pestering.
“I’m in between guys at the moment, so throw me a bone. Por favor, chica, cough up the details. I want ’em all, especially the raunchy ones.”

  Leaning back against the sink, Yaz wagged a finger at her little sister. “You are too sassy for your own good, girl.”

  Lilí’s grin widened.

  “Knock it off.” Rosa scowled at Lilí, then turned to Yaz, her expression earnest. “Seriously, it’s good to see you showing some interest in dating again.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Ever since you broke off your engagement to Victor and came home,” Rosa continued, ignoring Yaz’s objections, “you’ve been . . . I don’t know, different. You barely talk about what happened.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Or that she cared to admit.

  Rosa frowned, her concern evident in the pinch of her lips.

  Yaz knew her sister meant well. Rosa always thought about making others happy. Doing her best to make sure all was right in the world.

  That wasn’t always possible though. Not in Yazmine’s world anyway.

  Her heart raced, guilt and disillusion pounding a bongo drum beat in her chest at her sisters’ persistence.

  No way she’d confess that, after finding Victor in bed with one of their show’s producers, followed by his spiteful but well-placed taunts, so much of what she believed about herself stood in question.

  Between their studies and Papi’s health scare, her sisters had enough on their plates already.

  She had to figure out a way to get over her hang-ups on her own. When she went back to the city, she’d only have herself to rely on anyway.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Rosa pressed.

  The kindness in her sister’s brown eyes, that keen maternal instinct so like their mom’s, had Yaz nearly giving in to the overwhelming urge to lean on Rosa for support.

  Yaz wouldn’t though. She was the oldest, and Rosa had been the caregiver for far too long after their mother’s death. Now it was Yaz’s time to be the strong one.

  Frustrated with herself, she snatched up the dish sponge and started wiping off the counters. It didn’t hurt that doing so also helped her avoid Rosa’s intuitive gaze. Her sister was going to make a damn fine high school librarian when she graduated in May. She’d be someone the kids could rely on for advice and guidance. Someone who was always there. Unlike Yaz.