If Julieta had been the calm, Pepa had been the storm. If Julieta had been dutiful and serious, Pepa had been whimsical and frivolous. But if Julieta's love for Agustín had made her more intense, more impassioned, more defiant, Pepa's love for Félix had made her more restrained, more even tempered, more earnest.

Pepa loved nothing more than to dance. Every year, at the harvest festival, she would spin and whirl for hours, passionately throwing herself into one man's arms before falling into another's, just as violently. As Alma looked on to ensure propriety, she was struck by the memory of her Mamá doing the same for her. She had been crowned la Reina de Flores thrice as a young woman, and it seemed that Pepa was no exception.

Despite her pride and joy at seeing her younger daughter lose herself in the music and the steps, Alma could not prevent a twinge of unwelcome nostalgia from blooming in her heart. Pedro liked seeing her dance. The day they met, Alma had agreed to dance with him at the Día de la velitas festival. Although he had kept stepping on her feet, she hadn't slowed in the slightest. Poor Pedro had been exhausted by the time she had finished with him and she had been so dizzy from being whirled around so much that she had to hold his arm on their way home in order to not crash into someone or something.

Alma had not been able to bring herself to dance since he died. And as she saw Pepa giggle in the arms of the young men who had waited in line for a moment with her, the grief and longing that she thought had long settled in her heart threatened to well up , how I would welcome sore feet and a spinning head to dance in his arms just one more time…

Pepa lived as she danced. Under Alma's watchful eyes, she took men into her arms, only to tire of them mere days later and end their courtship. Usually ferociously and accompanied with a hurricane. The longest anyone had lasted was Gustavo's son Octavio, who had seemed to charm Pepa for a grand total of two months before sprinting out of Casita, bolts of lightning slamming into the ground at his feet. It had taken days for Alma to get the smell of smoke out of the furniture, and even longer to gain back the goodwill of Gustavo and his family.

To be honest, Alma couldn't wait for Pepa to finally settle down. She was tired of wiping down Casita and bailing water out of flooded rooms whenever Pepa had one of her tantrums.

The crowd of potential dance partners was starting to thin. But Alma noticed that one man was letting the others go before him. Dios, that's a patient one. The men in the crowd obliged, eager to dance with the reigning Queen of Flowers as soon as possible. When they had all had their turn, and Félix Pastor took Pepa's hand before spinning her onto the dance floor, Alma couldn't help but chuckle at his cunning. After all, the last dance was always the longest, and it was generally considered proper for the last man standing to escort the Queen home.

Félix was a better dancer than she had expected. His skills aside, he certainly had an energy to match Pepa's, no matter how rapid and intricate her steps became. She was toying with him, Alma realized, daring him to keep up even as she spun and stepped and whirled, waiting for him to stop, exhausted. Soon, both partners' feet became a blurry mass as their movements became faster and faster and faster-

UntilPepasuddenly stopped dancing. A cloud grew over her head as she gasped in pain. Félix, upon noticing her discomfort immediately stopped as well. In their frantic dance, Pepa's shoe had flown off. Her now bare foot was marred with a large purple bruise. Alma looked around, but before she could enter the dance floor, Félix had spotted the wayward slipper. Picking it up delicately, he slipped it onto Pepa's foot.

"That's enough dancing for tonight, isn't it,Su Alteza?" he said. Pepa's cloud disappeared, and a smile appeared on her face.

"Quizás. But who will carry me home?" Pepa asked coyly.

Félix beamed even harder, scooping Pepa into his arms. As Alma followed them home from a discreet distance, she could not help but be reminded of when Pedro escorted her home all those years ago.

To nobody's surprise, least of all Alma's, Félix had asked to court Pepa the very next day. Pepa accepted, to Alma's secret delight, and the whole Encanto collectively held their breaths.

Perhaps, she had already softened to the idea of Félix being with Pepa, but as their relationship progressed, Alma could see that he was different from the other suitors that Pepa had courted. He didn't want her for her status or gift. He simply wantedher.

And he seemed so much better at dealing with Pepa's moods than Alma had been. Even when Pepa was angry with him for one reason or the other, he would be unyielding yet patient, firm yet kind, and the clouds that had lingered despite Alma's warnings and Pepa's rages would dissipate. Alma had been utterly astonished the first time he had so effortlessly defused a dispute between mother and daughter.

"Pepa, you cannot keep destroying the bridge. Either get a hold of yourself, or don't go near it when you're in one of your moods!" Alma had yelled after she got a report of Pepa causing a hailstorm near the orchard for the fifth time. Esteban Granja had laughed at the dress she had painstakingly made, and in an instance, the bridge and canal beneath had frozen over.

"What do you want from me, Mamá? I spent months on that dress. I'm sorry I can't be a perfect seamstress like you or Teresa!" Pepa had screamed back. A dark gray cloud had formed above her head.

"Pepa, you have a cloud!" Alma had warned.

"Ialwayshave a cloud, Mamá! I can't do anything about it," Pepa had argued.

Félix, having just entered, looked on in surprise. Though unlike Agustín, who rarely intervened when Julieta and Alma argued, Félix spoke up.

"Señora, if I may?" he asked.

"Be my guest," Alma huffed.

"Esteban Granja can't even grow a full mustache. What can he say about appearances?" Félix chortled, embracing Pepa.

Pepa smiled through the tears welling in her eyes. "It was even worse when I was with him. He couldn't grow even a wisp of hair. He looked like a baby!"

Félix laughed, raising his hat to fan away the cloud. Pepa giggled. And soon the cloud that just earlier had threatened to grow into a storm had vanished.

One afternoon, when Pepa had been away, watering the orchard, Félix had knocked on Casita's door.

"Hola, Félix. Pepa's at the orchard, if you want to talk to her," Alma greeted.

"Actually, Señora, I was hoping to talk to you," Félix replied.

Alma let him in, perplexed. He sat down, looking slightly and uncharacteristically sheepish.

"Y-you know how Pepa and I have been together for a year?" he stuttered. Alma nodded nervously. Félix was never this awkward. What had happened?

"I wanted to surprise her by holding a Reinado de Bambuco in the square," Félix continued.

Ah. "And you want my help to organize it?" Alma asked.

"No! Pues, sí, maybe a little, but that's not what I came here for," Félix blurted. He took a deep breath, "My Mamá said that when you were young, you were a great dancer. She said that you were crowned la Reina de Bambuco almost every year. Is it true?"

The long buried memories of the music, the swirling, the giggling all thrust their way back into Alma's mind. Finding her composure, she responded wistfully, "In another life, it was."

Félix struggled to meet her eyes, "Do you think you could teach me?"

Alma snapped out of her daydream, "¿Qué?"

Félix looked at his shoes, "I can do the cumbia, the mapale, and the joropo, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't get the bambuco. It's too much synchronization. Please, Señora."

Alma shook her head, "I don't dance anymore, Félix." I don't even know if I could anymore.

"Surely you still remember it! My tía says that once you learn to dance, you never forget it!" Félix said.

"I was a much different woman when I learned to dance," Alma answered. And that woman died with Pedro.

"Ay, Señora, you're not that old yet," Félix smiled flatteringly, "Let me make Pepa happy."

Pepa would be happy. Just like how I was so happy when Pedro learned to dance with me. Alma took a deep breath, "Casita?"

Immediately, the room expanded. The furniture was all pushed to the sides of the room, leaving a large empty space in the center. Some of Agustín's instruments flew from the music room, playing a lively tune.

"You'll want to time your movements with mine." Alma held her arms out and stepped in rhythm with the music. Grabbing Félix's hand in her own and raising it over her head, she slowly walked in a circle, leading Félix, who mimicked her movements.

"Now, you'll spin me around," she instructed. Félix obliged. As the music played on, Alma led him through the motions of the dance, guiding him when he stumbled, repeating steps until he got them right. Before long, Félix was leading on his own, and Alma was spinning and stepping and whirling as if the woman she had once been and buried had risen from the grave of the dark recesses of her mind for just a moment.

And as she watched Pepa spinning and giggling and whirling just as she had done mere hours ago, and as she watched Félix getting down on one knee, and as she watched Pepa cry tears of joy as Félix slipped a ring onto her finger, she began to wonder if that woman too was dancing with Pedro in heaven.