Sofia planned the dinner. Of course she did.
She'd booked a private table at La Casita de Mila — not the reserved room in the back, which was still mysteriously unavailable, but a corner table on the terrace overlooking the street. Candles. White wine. A menu she'd pre-selected with Mila that morning while I was still asleep.
"You vetted the menu," I said.
"I optimized the menu." Sofia adjusted the napkin on her lap with the same precision she used to adjust a quarterly earnings report at Aldridge Global. "Vetting implies scrutiny. Optimization implies improvement. I had Mila add the ceviche and remove the fried plantains. You don't need the carbs."
"You're managing my diet now?"
