I tried. I really tried.
"It'll be just us," I told Sofia that morning. "Dinner. Mila's restaurant. The two of us. No schedule, no itinerary, no other Queens."
Sofia looked at me with the expression of a CEO who'd heard a subordinate propose a strategy she already knew would fail. "That's very sweet, Jake."
"It'll work this time."
"Will it?"
"It will."
It didn't.
We arrived at La Casita de Mila at seven. Mila seated us at the corner table — the same one Sofia had optimized for our first dinner — and I'd asked for no other reservations. Mila had smiled. "Just you two. I like it. Quiet night."
