When they stood to leave, Valeria tucked the map back into her bag, but not before folding the corner where they’d traced the route. “Later,” she said. Mia nodded. It wasn’t a promise; it was an agreement. They stepped back into the rain, four flavours replaying on their tongues—lemon, tomato and basil, dark chile chocolate, vanilla and berry—each one a small, bright piece of the evening they’d share for a long time.