My stomach is in knots.

When the crowd parts a little, I spot Dona Elizabete Molina’s famous milk pudding recipe locked in a glass box on the wall. My jaw drops. I guess I wasn’t expecting hers to look so much like my great-grandmother’s recipe back at Salt.

If our families’ feud were an object, Dona Elizabete’s recipe would be the other half of it. Not a polar opposite. But a soul mate.

“Please, follow me,” Seu Romário says, guiding us around the counter, and I get a jolt of adrenaline. Because there’s nothing more sacred than the world behind the main counter of a bakery. It’s the place where science turns into magic. What would Grandma say if she saw us now?

Dona Eulalia rushes past us to Seu Romário’s side.

“Father, wait. I don’t want you talking alone with them,” she says in a low voice. “We should be a part of this conversation, too.”

Seu Romário frowns. “We?”

“Pedro and I,” she explains, and he looks surprised when she mentions Pedro. She adds quickly, “Yes, he’s home. He arrived this afternoon.”

“Pedro!” Seu Romário calls. His voice sends a tremor down the whole bakery’s foundation.

“Father, watch your blood pressure,” Dona Eulalia begs.

Pedro steps out of Sugar’s kitchen, wiping cake off his face with a dish rag.

“Grandpa,” he says in greeting, lowering his eyes in submissive respect.

I spot his blue backpack, the one he brings to school, on the kitchen floor behind him, fat with his laundry, the zipper burst open at the seams. It’s like he tried taking his whole wardrobe with him, wherever he went.

Seu Romário gives him a long look, and Pedro’s eyes remain trained on his cake-smeared shoes.

“So you’re back,” the man says, and maybe it’s my imagination, but there’s a hint of “I told you so” in his tone.

“Yes, yes,” Dona Eulalia butts in. “And he’s not going anywhere, right, Peu?”

Peu? I stifle a laugh at his nickname.

Pedro glares at me.

He opens his mouth to say something to his grandfather, but the man turns around without giving him a chance, and I catch the hurt look Pedro launches at his back.

“Go be with your grandfather,” his mother mouths to him, and after some hesitation, Pedro gives in.

Something must have happened between them. I wonder if it’s the reason why Pedro left suddenly.

Dona Eulalia enters Seu Romário’s office right behind Pedro, not even looking back to see if we’ll follow.

The room is narrow like Grandma’s office in Salt, not much bigger than a broom closet. It smells like cologne. Strong. Suffocating. Filing cabinets stand against each side of the desk. And wherever there’s wall space hang framed awards for excellence in pastry baking from when Seu Romário was younger.