Chapter Text
Honestly, outside of having seen little chunks of how they were in public, you hardly knew the Madrigals. On a personal level, anyway.
Technically, everyone in the Encanto knew who they were; the only people who would be unfamiliar with the family name were the younger children in the village. You didn’t go out of your way to converse with them, and only talked to a few of them either out of necessity, or just to exchange a few simple greetings.
It wasn’t that you disliked them, you were just, frankly, intimidated by them. They were a literal magical family, for God’s sake. No matter what anyone could say to reassure you, they were irrefutably different from the normal townsfolk. You were just a baker, and that was nothing compared to whatever powers they possessed. (They no longer had any, but the fact that they used to would still play a big role in their aura of unapproachability.)
If there was one word you would use to perfectly describe your life, it would be ‘simple’. You cycled through the same routine every single day without failure. You would wake up, prepare and open up the bakery, close up, look at the events happening near town square, start preparing for tomorrow’s batch of food, go to bed, and repeat. To describe your life as interesting would be the same as describing a blade of grass as something that was out of this world— it was just something that allowed you to be able to get food on the table for you and your familia.
You loved baking, so complaining about the routine was completely out of the window for you.
Your love life was pretty much as good as dead. Your parents had been expecting you to find someone and get married soon. Ever since you turned twenty-one, they had been bugging you about it non-stop. You absolutely loved your parents, but it was starting to get annoying. Ever since you were just a mere sulky teenager, you knew that you had zero interest in men.
If you had paid attention to your heart when you were a child, you might have figured it out a lot sooner. As your hermano pointed to the men on telenovelas, he’d ask you if you thought they looked attractive. The answer had always been no. He caught on after the first few times he asked, and chose to ask you what you had thought about the women instead.
Your attention would shift to all the pretty women on screen, your heart suddenly trembling. Their lips, their eyes, their glowing smiles. What was there not too like about them? You’d bite your lip, your fist clenching onto the fabric covering your skin. Your hermano had clued you in subtly, trying to allow you to understand why you had never been interested in the concept of marrying a man.
“Isn’t that girl over there pretty?”
“Oh, isn’t she stunning?”
“Mana, do you think she looks nice?”
“What do you think of her?”
Okay, maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as you remembered him being, but the point still stood. There weren't a large number of women in town that even acknowledged that liking the same gender was a very real occurrence, and even lesser women who were even romantically interested in women. So yes, your love life was currently six feet under, as dead as a doornail.
You pushed your blanket aside, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. Today was going to be a fairly big day, if everything went according to schedule. This morning, the Madrigals’ Casita would finally be fully rebuilt. You let out a soft and almost inaudible sigh. You would definitely miss having the bakery to yourself. Sure, you loved the bakery’s customers, but be that as it may, the peacefulness was nice. There was no doubt that the townsfolk would have more free time to linger around the bakery now that they would no longer have to spend most of their day helping the Madrigals.
You thought it was really sweet that they were willing to dedicate so much blood, sweat and tears into rebuilding the ginormous house.
You would’ve helped, if not for your lack of strength and stamina. You wished that you were joking when you said that you could only carry something that weighed the same as a loaf of bread. Your arms and legs simply could not handle that much pressure or exercise. Hell, you could only run around for an approximate of two minutes before your legs would give way, letting your body collapse onto the ground.
This, together with the fact that the people around you were much stronger than you, made it so that your familia grew a habit of randomly carrying you around. For fun, they claimed. Before the accident, your papá loved to carry you all around the house. Every time you’d complain, telling him that you were an adult, he’d always shoot back the same few words you had grown so familiar with.
“It doesn’t matter, you’re still my little princesa!”
You couldn’t help physically, so once in a while, you would provide the people who were working with snacks. The baskets of food might be a little heavy, but you’d rather carry them than the baskets of bricks the rest were carrying.
You automatically began to make your bed, bringing your pile of stuffed animals to their correct positions on your bed. You folded your lavender tinted blanket and arranged your pillows before dusting off the hair that had fallen onto your bed while you were asleep.
You took pride in how neat and tidy everything in your room was. The simple satisfaction of everything being in order was comforting. You walked over to the closet closest to your bed, picking up a simple white top with a pale yellow skirt. Inhaling in the scent of fresh laundry, you hurriedly changed out of your sleeping attire.
On your way to the bathroom, you grabbed your favourite purple ribbons, holding onto them with your teeth as you did your hair. You split your hair into two braids, using your fingers to comb your bangs. You’ve braided your hair so much that mirrors were not necessary for you to do your hair, but it wouldn’t help to make sure that you looked presentable.
You eyed yourself on the mirror, giving your reflection a satisfied smile. You quickly finished up your business in the bathroom, rushing down the stairs, you headed to the kitchen, where you picked up the baskets of bread and pastries you had prepared the previous night. You really wanted to help by providing the townsfolk with some quick energy boosters. Plus, you knew that everyone in town loved your baking. They’d definitely be more than happy to take them.
Scrambling to display your familia’s breakfast on the dining table, you made sure they were ready and good enough for consumption, placing a handmade food cover over the plates.
Stifling a yawn, you hung the baskets on your arms like you would with hangers in a closet, taking a deep breath before using your free hand to turn the doorknob on the front door.
The first thing you were met with when you stepped outside was the sound of conversations overlapping with one another — nothing out of the ordinary. The sun was absolutely blinding. Señora Pepa might no longer have her gift, but the sky must’ve surely known that today would be a joyous day.
You let out a hum, a tune slipping off your tongue, and began to walk towards where the Madrigals’ casita would be. You greeted everyone you saw out of habit when you walked past them. Some of them greeted you back, while the rest only acknowledged you with a nod.
You felt a weight crash against your chest, something heavy making you plummet straight down onto the ground as you lost your balance. Your head pounding and your back aching, you tried to refocus your eyes, staring at the blurry image of the person who had crashed into you.
You blinked a few more times, your eyes finally fluttering open, your vision cleared. Out of all the people you had expected, Isabela Madrigal was most definitely not one of them.
She stared at you, and you looked back into her eyes, blinking excessively due to confusion.
“Hi.” You managed to whisper, your voice inexplicably hoarse.
The other woman shifted, unsure of how to move off your body without it being awkward. Instead of moving away, she remained on her spot, unintentionally pinning you on the ground.
“Hey.” Isabela gave you a sheepish smile, a look of panic slowly settling on her face as the seconds went by. Her eyes began to dart all over your body, probably checking for any injuries you might have gotten from the crash. You knew that her intention was only that, but it wasn’t like you could stop the blood from rushing to your cheeks.
“I’m so, so sorry.” She leaned in closer, “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” Her words were laced with worry.
Your throat closed up, your mouth went dry. You didn’t know where to look, because she was so close, that no matter where you looked, you’d only be met with the gardener.
The bread and pastries that had fallen were suddenly forgotten. It was like you were swimming in her eyes, the richness of her brown eyes were extremely enticing. They were so pretty up close. The few specks of hazelnut in her eyes popped out like a spot of black on a white canvas. Your eyes traced the shape of her face, and you stopped to look at her beauty mark. You were always watching from afar, so her having a beauty mark was certainly new information to you.
Promptly realising that she was still waiting for you to reply, you cleared your throat in embarrassment. “Yes I am, sorry, señorita Isabela.” You coughed out, warmth creeping up your neck.
She sighed in relief. “That’s good. Please don’t apologise, it’s my fault, I’m the one who bumped into you, so I should be the one apologising.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “No, it’s fine, I didn’t get hurt. What about you? Are you okay?”
“I am, thank you.” Her lips shifted into a smile. Her smile was so bright, so gentle.
The color of her lipstick looked so—
You inhaled sharply.
Isabela stood up, dusting dirt off her colorful dress. Your body suddenly felt too light, like something was missing. A longing to come into contact with her again attacked every nerve in your body. Something about the way she looked at you sent a jagged sensation down your back.
Despite being pressed against hard and uncomfortable concrete tiles, being this near her made the feeling disappear, dissolving into something that flickered dimly at the back of your head.
“I’m sorry about the bread.” Isabela frowned, offering her hand out to help you up.
You gently took her hand, bringing yourself up on your feet, confusion spelled out in your expression.
Her eyes moved down to the ground, and you followed her line of vision, stopping dead in your tracks when you spotted what she was looking at— fallen baskets sprawled across the tiles.
You blinked slowly, your brain having to take a few extra seconds to fully process what you were staring at. With slumped shoulders, you let out a quiet frustrated groan. “I stayed up all night to bake those.” You murmured to yourself.
Worry started to flood your brain and strained yourself to think of a quick solution to the sudden problem. You were definitely not willing to feed the townspeople food that had fallen on the ground. Who knew what had come into contact with it?
The raven haired woman shuffled her shoes, restless. She looked up from the ground to meet your eyes, her face pulled into a stiff grin. “I’m sorry, uh…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Something tugged at your heartstrings. “I don’t think I’ve caught your name.”
The taller woman tucked a few strands of her behind her ear, her gold earrings glistening in the sunlight.
You gave her your name, your voice vulnerable, as if it could shatter at any moment.
You fiddled with the hem of your skirt, watching as her eyes crinkled, the sweetest laughter you’ve ever heard bubbling out of her soft looking lips.
You stood there, unmoving and stunned. Isabela had always seemed so unapproachable, a bubble shielding her from the outside world. Looking at her now, her dress colorfully messy with dye and pollen, her syrupy brown eyes swimming in reflected clouds, no longer held back by rules she had to follow, made you lose all feeling in your arms.
“I know you, sorry, I only really knew you by name.” She explained, the finger joint of her left hand touching the very bottom of her chin. “You’re the baker, correct?” At your nod, she continued on. “I’m not the one who picks up our bread, Mira is usually in charge of that. I really love your baking, you know.”
At her compliment, you flushed. “Thank you, I’m honoured.” You tried to stop the stray giggle from escaping your lips, but it was too late. The girl in front of you let out a soft chuckle in return, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
The two of you settled into a comfortable silence. Isabela took the initiative to start picking up the fallen baskets and food, prompting you to follow her actions when what she was doing inscribed on your brain.
When everything had been placed back in the baskets— after brushing the grime off, of course—, her lips parted slightly, ready to speak, but the words died in her mouth and after a few seconds of contemplating, she shut them.
You felt your curiosity perk up, your own mouth mirroring her movements, your mouth opened to ask her what had been on her mind. Before any words could flee from your mouth, you were sharply interrupted by a distant voice calling out to the woman standing in front of you.
“Isa, Isa!”
Your eyes reluctantly left the sight of Isabela. Your gaze trailed over to a curly haired boy, who had been flailing his arms around while he ran in your direction.
Once Camilo ran close enough, Isabela’s face switched over to a look of what seemed to be faux annoyance.
“What?” She hissed, her voice low. “I’m in the middle of something here, if you can’t tell.”
“Right, yeah, I can see that.” He snorted, biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing. “Abuela asked for your presence, or something like that. I don’t have her exact words, but the point is that she needs you to come back right now. We’re almost ready for the reveal, so she asked me to get you.” Camilo brought his hands up to his cheeks, palm pressing against his face, fluttering his eyelashes in an attempt to impersonate his prima.
Isabela let out a soft grumble, obviously trying to conceal the annoyance in her tone. “Okay, I got it.” She fixed her eyes on you after she gave him a reply, leaning in a little too close. You let out a squeak at the sudden close contact, your cheeks turning darker.
Her eyes widened, pleasantly surprised at the unexpected noise, her mouth trained in a wobbly smile. “It was nice meeting you. I’ll make sure to talk to you soon, alright?” She handed you the baskets she had been carrying onto, giving you an apologetic look. “See you around.” Her soft hand lingered on your skin for a second too long before she eventually moved away.
Camilo raised an eyebrow, amused by the interaction he had just witnessed.
You beamed at her, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course, see you.”
You weren’t quite sure if it was just because you were riding on an adrenaline rush, but you were pretty sure you just saw Isabela wink at you. If it weren’t for your stiff muscles, you probably would’ve ended up falling into pieces, crumbling into nothing but tiny remains of what you used to be.
She waved at you, and you waved back, even though she wouldn’t have seen it since she had already turned away. You could hear Camilo’s vague snickering as they moved further away from where you had been standing.
You stood rooted to the ground for a whole minute, trying to comprehend what just happened. You gulped, impulsively biting your inner lip, emptily looking at the baskets hanging from your arms.
You shook yourself out of your daze, rubbing the tips of your shoes against the ground, slowly getting used to moving about again. From what Camilo had said, you definitely did not have enough time to completely remake the pastries. With nothing else to lay against, you settled with the decision of just carving off the first few layers of the food. Sure, they would become significantly smaller, but it was better than nothing.
The tarts you had made had crumbled into inedible pieces, the only thing that suggested that they were once pastries being the foil liners. Nevertheless, you knew that with proper time dedicated to them, you could save them from their demise. Your hermano was not one to complain about how food looked, they were good to him as long as they had any resemblance of taste to them. The ratio to the amount of pastries and bread you had baked was not even; the food with the higher amount were the loaves of bread, so it was going to be fine.
You jogged over to your house, your braids trailing behind you, cold air slapping against your face. You scurried to the kitchen when you arrived, hastily tying your cat embroidered apron around your waist and instantly got to work.
You could hear the soft and murmured voices of the other residents of the house coming from the other rooms. Your hermano was most probably mumbling to himself again while he was testing out different clothing combinations in his room. Mamá and papá were just talking, but you didn’t bother trying to listen in on them. You never liked the concept of eavesdropping, so you never trained yourself to do it. Knowing them, they were probably just having a sweet little conversation.
You tried to work as silently as possible. No one in the household knew that you were home, or at least you hoped that they didn’t know. You had to abide by a deadline, and you were not in a mood to talk.
Your mind kept replaying the exchange you had with Isabela, electricity sparking through your bloodstream. Your hands moved automatically, carving the outer layers of the bread with precise accuracy. After you were done with preparing the bread, you swiped a jar of cinnamon powder off the kitchen cabinet, sprinkling the spice on the pieces of bread to add a little extra flavour to them. Maybe it would be able to make up for the rough look of the loaves, or maybe people would think that they had intentionally been shaped like chunks of rubble.
Nodding to yourself, you stacked them back in the woven baskets, making sure that they weren’t so tall that they would topple, but short enough to not waste any valuable space.
Taking off your apron and hanging it back on the hook, you made your way up the stairs, deliberately avoiding the creaky wooden planks that you knew would have instantly alerted everyone had you stepped on it.
Freshening yourself up for the second time today, you pat your hair back into place, picking off bread crumbs that had stuck to your clothes. You huffed, your hands planted on your hips, determined.
Now that you were finally ready, you snuck back into the kitchen and grabbed all of the baskets you had left laying on the dining table. You clenched your fist as you left the building, your knuckles white from the strength you had dedicated into the action, filled with evident nervousness.
Excitement rippled through you, your heart knocking hard against your rib cage. You kept your mind clear, or at least you tried to.
Maybe you’d never talk to her again, maybe she wouldn’t even acknowledge you the next time you saw her, but the possibility that you would be able to hear her talking to you again fueled your aching heart. Your breathing stilled, and all you could feel was a mixture of raw fear and anticipation.
You were going to see her again, and you didn’t know why, but it scared you.