Chapter 60 A provocation
“He was still finishing up when I left.”
Anastasia's smile widened, full of tenderness. “That boy is so dedicated... Every year, on this day, he insists on cooking. It's his way of honoring his grandmother's memory.”
Anastasia paused to catch her breath and continued: "When João was a child, his father and I were always working. It was his grandmother who raised him. She was a true master in the kitchen and wanted him to be her successor. He said he wasn't interested, but he was always there, helping her. After she passed away, he made a commitment to cook for her every year on the anniversary of her death.
Hearing this, Katherine performed the last movement of her sequence and stopped. Sweat glistened on her forehead, but her thoughts were far away. So the “by the way” he had said in the kitchen was literal. He wasn't cooking for her; she was just a guest in a pre-existing ritual.
“Kath? What are you thinking about with that lost look?” Anastasia approached, wiping the sweat with a towel.
Katherine returned to reality and smiled discreetly, almost imperceptibly. “Nothing... I just realized I've been thinking too much about something.”
For the first time, her sixth sense—that infallible tool of analysis and judgment that kept her alive—had failed her.
“Overthought what?”
Katherine watched the Samoyed running across the lawn in the distance. “Well... I did consider that he... liked me.”
She had an intrinsic habit of dissecting intentions. João's words on the staircase, the cornering against the wall, the surveillance... Everything had led her to conclude that there was romantic interest. But, faced with Anastasia's revelation, she realized that her logic had failed. He was just following a family tradition. She was not a deity; making mistakes was a statistical possibility that she accepted with coldness.
Anastasia laughed, watching the dog approach. “But of course he likes you! That's undeniable. Our dog doesn't go near anyone he doesn't like. Look, he's coming straight to you.”
Katherine didn't argue. She just crouched down and stroked the soft fur of the animal that was jumping towards her. That's when she noticed something in the dog's mouth. A card.
Written with a thick marker in firm handwriting, it read: “Come back for lunch.”
“That's João's handwriting,” Anastasia celebrated with a knowing look. “Come on, don't keep him waiting. He hates to eat lunch alone.”
“Aren't you coming?”
“Joseph has prepared something special for me today,” Anastasia replied, with a shy gleam in her eyes. “You go. After lunch, you have school, and we're going to the temple to pay our respects to his grandmother. It may take a while. If you get hungry later, don't wait for us for dinner.”
“All right.”
Upon entering the house, the aroma that filled the air was unmistakable. Katherine smelled the sauce and, to her surprise, a sweet trace of cooked vegetables.
On the table, the plate of pasta with Italian sauce was impeccable. And there, mixed in with the sauce, were bright pieces of carrot.
João Pedro stood beside her, focused on cleaning the cutlery with surgical precision. His long, defined fingers moved with an elegance that Katherine found strangely attractive.
“Wash your hands,” he said, without looking up, his voice maintaining that deep neutrality.
Without saying a word, Katherine obeyed. As the water ran, she looked at the plate of pasta. He hated carrots. He called them “the source of strange flavors.” Yet there they were.
Her sixth sense, which she had just declared flawed, began to throb again. If he was just following a tradition for his grandmother, why change the recipe to include something she liked and he disliked?
The mental chess game between the two had just gained a new piece.
As she sat down at the table, Katherine noticed that her plate was not only overflowing with grated carrots—much more than João's—but also accompanied by a glass of steaming milk.
“I don't want to drink milk right now,” she said, pushing the glass toward him. The weather outside was muggy, and the heat rising from the milk was almost oppressive.
João stared at the glass for a second before fixing his eyes on her. “Do you really think I would drink this?”
“You don't like it?” Katherine glanced at him. “I thought it was your favorite, since you always have a faint smell of milk.”
João's knuckles protruded under his skin as he clenched his cutlery.
His face became a complex mixture of restrained emotions. In the next instant, he returned the glass to Katherine with a sharp movement.
“I don't like milk. And I certainly don't smell like milk,” he clarified, his voice maintaining a forced calm.
Katherine opened her mouth to reply, but changed her mind. “Forget it.” She wasn't going to waste time arguing over trivialities.
João picked up his fork and began to methodically twirl his pasta, but he didn't bring it to his mouth right away. His deep gaze insisted on gravitating toward Katherine, as if attracted by a magnet, simulating an accident that fooled no one.
Katherine tasted a portion of the pasta with carrots. Suddenly, she stopped chewing. Noticing her pause, João began to eat his own pasta with calculated naturalness.
“Something wrong with the taste?” he asked casually.
Katherine finished her bite and replied, “No. It's just familiar. It tastes like the roast pork you ate at the temple years ago.”
João paused for a long moment. His eyes met hers. “You remember that.”
“Hmm. It was delicious.”
“It was made by my grandmother,” he revealed, his voice softer.
Katherine nodded. She already knew of Antonieta Arbex's reputation as a cook and the affection she had for her grandson. It was no surprise that the original recipe was hers.
“I know how to make it too,” João added, almost as if seeking approval.
“Oh.” Katherine's response was one of cutting indifference. She picked up her cell phone and immersed herself in a manga website, ignoring the aura of expectation emanating from him.
Noticing the lack of attention, João tried to regain control. “Drink the milk.”
“No.”
“Eat the fruit, then.” He slid a plate of fresh cut fruit to the center.
Without looking up from her screen, Katherine picked up a slice of apple and began to chew. João didn't insist further. After a few quick bites of his pasta, he simply picked up Katherine's glass of milk and emptied it in a few gulps.
When Katherine looked up, the glass was empty, with only white residue slowly dripping to the bottom. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eyes.
“You're quite tsundere, aren't you?” she teased.