Angelo buzzed through the morning shopping.
Or he tried to.
But his mother had insisted on coming along. When he was selecting a long side of swordfish from the iced counter at the Pike Place Market fish vendor, his mother was chatting with Henry.
As he chose only the most perfect avocados and artichokes, she’d found out that Uli had two children and a third one on the way though it wasn’t showing yet. At least not that he could politely see.
Maria Amelia greeted the bread baker in passable French, and she stopped them for a cup of espresso and to split a morning baklava at Mister D’s Greek Delicacies even though he wasn’t really open and serving yet.
Angelo barely tasted it and seared his mouth on the hot coffee.
It was past seven, almost seven thirty by the time he got back to
