“As always, Angelo,” Cassidy raised her tiny cup of decaf espresso.
He doffed his hat and sipped from his own cup, most certainly the leaded variety. “Yes, I make a mean espresso.”
They all laughed knowing she’d meant the meal and that he’d known it as well. The restaurant had quieted and slowly emptied as the hours slid by. Now they were the last table that hadn’t been cleaned and prepped for the next day. Of course they also had been the noisiest table the whole night.
Perrin’s latest exploits and Cassidy’s behind-the-label tales of the Mondavi system had kept the conversation lively—egged on by Jo’s wry interjections. Cassidy hadn’t yet told them about Russell, not with Josh sitting there and especially not now with Angelo joining them. It would be unfair for him to know before Russe
