Sofia found the restaurant.
She'd gone for a morning run along the bay — Sofia was the kind of woman who ran at dawn, not for fitness, but because she liked the quiet — and she'd cut through Little Havana on the way back. The smell of roasted pork and sofrito had stopped her mid-stride.
"It's this little place i found," she said at breakfast, her eyes sharp with the kind of enthusiasm she usually reserved for a good acquisition target. "Cuban-Mexican. Tiny. It's called La Casita de Mila. The owner was there, setting up the tables. She talked to me for twenty minutes. She's so amazing."
"A free cortadito," Victoria repeated. "You want to go to a restaurant because a stranger gave you a three-dollar coffee?"
"I want to go because the food smelled incredible and the owner has good instincts. She reminded me of someone." Sofia paused, searching for the word. "Li, actually. She has that same energy. Hard worker, self-made, doesn't take nonsense from anyone."
