The noodle place was loud at lunch; dinner was quiet.
Lucas had texted at four: **Last meeting ran long. Dinner? Same neighborhood. Your call.**
Mia typed back: **One hour. Not a date.**
**Copy,** he wrote. **A meeting with vegetables.**
Now they sat across from each other in a small, bright dining room where the waiters glided and the water glasses refilled themselves as if by magic. A window framed the evening like a postcard; outside, the city blinked into night.
“Order anything," Lucas said, setting his phone face down. “My only rule is we share."
“I don't share dumplings," Mia said.
“Exceptions prove rules," he conceded.
They ordered. When the waiter left, silence took the third chair like a polite guest.
“Okay," Lucas said. “If we're doing the honest version, start where we
