Hearing the cracking sound the glasses make when they break hurts. Pedro and I both flinch.

I crouch down to pick them up. One of the arms is bent and the lenses are cracked. I can’t help but feel guilty—if I hadn’t run into Pedro, they’d be intact now. He sticks his hands in his pockets, moving next to a big window looking out at the feirinha. Even though he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, his expression is strained.

I rush after him, holding the sunglasses out for him. “I’m so, so sorry,” I say. “Please, let me pay for them.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps. “Toss them in the trash. I don’t care.”

Somehow I get the feeling these sunglasses mean something to him. I put them in my bag when he’s distracted. Maybe I could try repairing them. It makes me think of the wedding cake I destroyed in front of Sugar. No wonder he doesn’t want me around the club.

“Pedro, I know you hate me... And I know we disagree on a lot about our families’ businesses. And I know I am clumsy, but I promise I won’t destroy your kitchen. I’ll—” I take a deep breath. “I promise I’ll follow your rules.”

He glances at me, the late afternoon light bathing the side of his face with a golden hue as the sun sets.

“You will?”

“Yes, Chef,” I say, and he makes a face like he thinks I’m teasing. “I mean it. I’m not at the club just because Pimentel asked me to be. I’m serious about it. I don’t know if you know this, but I work with an NGO, too. It’s called Vozes, and they really need help. After seeing the work the club is doing, I was wondering if the cooking club could get involved with Vozes, too.”

I explain Dona Selma’s predicament with their kitchen, and to my surprise, Pedro listens to me. No fighting. No bickering. And for the first time in the seventeen years we’ve known each other, we have a real conversation.

“We’ll cook for Vozes,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Why not?”

I’m so happy I could actually hug him.

And that’s... Weird.

We both avert our eyes, smothering the moment.

“And just so you know, Dona Yara wasn’t wearing her glasses,” he says. “She thought she saw you, but I told her she was mistaken.”

“She believed you?”

Pedro gives me a knowing look. “Why wouldn’t she? What would we be doing together?”

“Ah, right.”

Pedro scoots a little to make room for me at the window. From our spot, we notice that city workers are already setting up the big yearly St. John’s bonfire in front of the church, although festivities don’t start until next month.