Pedro opens his mouth to say something, and I never get to hear his answer because Victor and Cintia arrive. He quickly steps away from me to start our meeting—the Vozes fundraiser is later today, and we have a lot to do.

I sit down on a stool by the counter, my heart pounding.

When Cintia comes to sit next to me, she’s unaware of the electrical currents traveling all around the kitchen. Pedro chatters on, sounding a little hoarse, and when she asks me if something happened, my heart slams against my chest so hard I’m sure she can hear it.

When we get to Vozes, the house is packed. Community leaders bustle about inside, while the kids’ choir gets ready to perform.

We go straight for the table in the back, where other dishes are assembled. Guests have brought their favorite recipes for the potluck, and we carefully place our double-layered guava and Parmesan corn cake next to them. Victor and Cintia liked it so much when they found it in the fridge, they insisted Pedro and I recreate it. Leaving out the details of our little accident, we adjusted the recipes to make both layers blend better when they stack.

Tiny arms wrap around my waist.

“Amandinha,” I say, returning the hug.

She smiles, looking up at me. “You came!”

“Of course I did!”

“I made him promise you would come back,” she admits, glancing at Pedro, who’s busy assembling more plates and cups.

“He told me.”

She gestures for me to kneel down.

“Is it a secret?” I ask her.

Amandinha nods, and then says in my ear:

“My mom got a job.”

“Wow!” I give her another hug. “That’s really great! I’m really happy for you.”

“She said she’ll get me a Barbie!”

I think of Mom trying to buy me a laptop and my heart aches at the memory of her embarrassment. “You take really good care of that Barbie,” I tell Amandinha. “I know she’d give you more dolls if she could.”

She smiles. “She’s going to make delicious food just like you guys do!”

“Yeah?”

“I told her about your grandma’s fairy hands!”

Dona Selma taps Amandinha on the shoulder, and she waves goodbye, skipping to go take her spot in the choir.

“I’m glad your club could join us today,” Dona Selma says, and Pedro shows her the cake we’ve brought.

I still can’t believe it’s a cake that I helped bake.

Last time I tried baking Grandma’s corn cake, it felt wrong that I couldn’t make it like I remembered it. I had baked it looking for her and couldn’t quite find her. But, in the magic of cooking, the recipe took a detour and led me elsewhere. Not to Grandma, but to myself. And then after a little slip and a near kiss, the recipe reinvented itself and turned into perfection.