I just knew he’d be in the kitchen early. He’s cooking alone, and he gives me a tiny glance of acknowledgment before shifting his attention back to the pot he’s stirring. His posture is tense, his back to me.

The shift I sensed at the party last Friday is still here. Something’s changed between us. Something that’s hard to ignore.

I join him at the stove, leaning against the counter next to it.

“I’m just melting some guava before our meeting,” he says, lowering the heat. He’s still not making eye contact. “Every time I get a chance, I have to practice my family’s bolo de rolo recipe.”

“That smells good.”

I look from the bubbly red guava to him, and I sense he doesn’t want to be alone with me. Or maybe it’s me who feels we shouldn’t be alone, like I could start thinking about us the way I did at the party.

“You left early on Friday,” he says as if reading my thoughts.

“I did.”

He finally looks at me. “He’s a nice guy. Victor, I mean,” he smiles, although it’s forced and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Congratulations.”

“Why ‘congratulations’?”

“Because he’s... You two...” It’s odd to see him at a loss for words. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say to new couples?”

He thinks I’m with Victor? If I didn’t know him, I’d say he’s jealous. I laugh, but that only annoys him more.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Should I congratulate you for marrying Luana?” I joke.

Earlier today, I finally caught Luana alone to return her flip-flops—after a whole morning of her friends gushing over the wedding quadrille—and thanked her for the gesture. “I always have them handy when I go to parties,” she said like it was nothing, but I know it’s her peace offering to me. Not the flip-flops, but the little secret that even she struggles with high heels, too.

Pedro stops stirring. “You know that wasn’t a real wedding, right?”

“And Victor and I aren’t a couple,” I say plainly.

“I thought—” Pedro hesitates. He goes back to stirring. “Never mind.”

I notice the slight tug in the corner of his mouth. A smile? A smirk? I give my head a little shake before I get caught up trying to figure it out. I need to focus on why I came here early, not on deciphering misleading signals.

“I need to ask you something,” I say, already feeling a little jittery, and Pedro turns the stove off, giving me his full attention. It makes me even more nervous, honestly.

“Did something happen?”

“The mixer at Salt broke and Mom can’t afford a new one,” I say. “It’s a lot of batter to mix by hand.”