Page 34 of Cryptic Curse

“I have an idea,” I finally admit.

“What’s that?”Savannah asks.

“We can infuse the milk with Colombian coffee.Another way to incorporate both cuisines.”

“Youarea chef in the making,” Star says.“All right, ladies.Let’s get started.”

Within five minutes, the kitchen smells like heaven.

I’m elbow-deep in spices, browning carne asada in a cast iron skillet that looks like it’s older than I am.

“This smells sinful,” Star calls out, a wine glass in one hand and a dishtowel slung over her shoulder.“You sure this isn’t illegal in at least three states?”

I laugh.“Don’t report me, but I’m cheating on tradition.”

Star leans over the pot, takes a deep sniff, and fans herself.“Mmm.It’s going to be perfect.”

Savannah walks in from the pantry with an armful of ripe avocados.“I think I’m already a fan of this Mexican-Colombian fusion.It smells delish.”

Savannah slices the avocados and arranges them on a white platter.Star adds fried eggs to a warm plate.

“I need to start the dessert,” Savannah says, “so it’ll be ready on time.”

“Yes, you leave the rest of dinner to Daniela and me,” Star says.“We’ve got it under control.”

“Okay,” I say, wiping my hands and stepping back to admire the chaos.“Time to plate this.”

Star raises her glass in a toast.“To beautiful women in beautiful kitchens…committing beautiful crimes against tradition.”Then she grabs a mixing bowl.“Time to teach you what corn wants to be when it grows up.”

She’s already roasted the corn—smoky, golden kernels with just the right char.Now she’s scraping them off the cob.

“Watch and learn,” she says, tossing the corn into the bowl.“First rule ofesquites—don’t you dare skimp on the mayo.”

She starts mixing in the mayonnaise, sour cream, and crumbled cotija.A sprinkle of chili powder.A dash of tajín.Then chopped cilantro.

I can’t stop smiling.I could learn a lot from Star.

She squeezes in fresh lime juice, and then she dips a spoon in and holds it out to me.“Taste this and tell me you’re not ready to marry a bowl of corn.”

I take the bite.Tangy, creamy, smoky, with just the right kick of heat.

“Wow,” I say.

Star laughs, scooping the salad into a shallow dish and dusting the top with more cotija and lime zest.

“Ladies,” she says, “this is street food dressed for a party.”

She’s not wrong.The whole thing looks like summer and smells like temptation.

Star claps her hands.“All right, Savannah.Do you need help with dessert?”

“The cakes are cooling,” Savannah says.“I’m going to make the milk now.”She pours sweetened condensed milk into a saucepan.“I love your coffee idea, Daniela.That’s so creative!”

She adds evaporated milk and heavy cream to the pot, stirring slowly.Then she reaches for dark Colombian coffee that I brewed.The scent hits instantly—rich and roasted, sharp enough to cut through the sweetness of the milk.

Savannah leans over the pot and inhales.“Mmm.That’s tres leches with a caffeine addiction.”

Once the coffee-milk mix is warm and blended, Savannah pokes holes all over the cake and pours it over the top, letting the sponge drink it in.