Dinner at Rodrigo’s had always been loud, warm, and messy in the best way, full of scraping plates, clinking spoons, laughter, overlapping conversations, and music humming from the old radio in the corner. Tonight was no different, except that this time Eve sat at the head of the table, with Ryan beside her, as though she had always belonged there.
The dining area at the back of the restaurant wasn’t large, just enough to seat eight comfortably. A round wooden table sat in the center, slightly worn along the edges from years of elbows and happy gatherings. The soft yellow glow of the pendant lights made the space feel like a pocket of safety carved out from the world.
Camila brought out bowls of caldo verde, fresh tortillas, grilled vegetables, and honey-glazed roasted chicken. Mitre pou
