Martín brought the coffee. He brought a small plate with a palmera —one of those palmier pastries, dusted with sugar. “On the house,” he said. “You looked cold.”
“You just did.”
Clara froze. “How did you—”
She had not cried. She had walked nine blocks in the rain without an umbrella. Tampoco Pido Tanto Fixed
She deleted the list. Not because she had given up. Because she realized: a list of bare-minimum requests is not a romantic challenge. It is a warning label. Martín brought the coffee