He looks a little flustered. “No need.”

“Thank you,” I repeat. “One thousand thank yous.”

We’re staring at each other. Perhaps longer than we should. And I want to tell him that he’s saving me and my family. When suddenly—

My eyes travel to the beauty mark above his lips.

“I wish you didn’t look so surprised I helped, but, yeah.” He swallows. “You’re welcome. I mean, it’s no big deal, and we’ve known each other our whole lives, so why can’t we be—”

Pedro never finishes his sentence because Cintia and Victor walk in.

“Are we late?!” Cintia screeches, craning her neck to look at the clock on the wall. “I didn’t know we were meeting early...?”

I catch the surprise in Victor’s expression. The way his eyes travel to the dough we’re kneading. The tiny, sad smile that forms on his lips, like he’s only now fully realizing something.

I look down at the bread dough and I see my hands are resting under Pedro’s, caked in raw batter. A jolt of adrenaline and something—something brighter, and electric, and dizzying runs through my body. I pull my hands out, and it’s only then Pedro seems to notice we were touching this entire time. He steps away from the counter in a coughing fit.

“What is this for?” Victor asks, going straight to the pot with guava filling. “A Romeo and Juliet recipe?”

My face gets hotter.

“A Romeo and Juliet recipe requires cheese. Do you see any cheese around here?” Pedro snaps at him, wiping his fingers with a dish rag.

“You don’t need to be so sour,” Cintia says.

“Let’s get the meeting started,” Pedro pushes past Victor to take position at the counter, still flustered. “We have a full afternoon ahead of us.”

I have no clue why Pedro is being so short with Victor. Cintia must see the confusion on my face, because she leans in to whisper, “I think they argued at the party,” nodding in their direction.

“What?” I whisper back. “When?”

“I think after you left. Do you know why?” She looks worried.

I shake my head no. What would they even argue about?

I try to focus on the meeting, but my mind keeps going back to the way Pedro looked at the party when I returned his sunglasses. The longing in his eyes.

Stop.

I sharpen my focus.

“Vozes is having a fundraiser event in two weeks,” Pedro goes on, his voice distant, like I’m listening from behind a thick wall. He’s avoiding eye contact with me again. “It’s important everything goes well. They need the funding to start construction in their kitchen.”

I find myself noticing little details about him. The way he projects his voice, trying to mimic his grandfather. The way his curls are a lighter shade of brown at the tips, tucked behind his ears.