Page 52 of Angel

We navigated the human maze until we got to the Anacapri Municipal Market.

The small local hub overflowed with vibrant fruits, leafy vegetables, and rounds of regional goat cheese.

We made our grocery selections, filling our totes with lamb, fresh tomatoes, garlic, and cured meats.

As we finished, I reached for Roxy’s elbow and steered her straight toward the line of taxis.

‘We’re taking a cab back,’ I insisted in a growl. ‘I’m not doing that hellish bus ever again.’

Her laughter rang out, and despite myself, I locked eyes with her and chuckled, my mood lighter than I expected.

Chapter 12

ANGEL

That night we devoured a rich, slow-simmered lamb ragù that Mrs. Campanelli prepared from our market haul.

The deliciousness of the meal and the sublime red wine lulled me.

Enough that I almost missed it when the housekeeper insisted on our return to the town the following morning.

‘Daily though?’ I groused.

Mrs. Campanelli nodded with firmness, setting down a basket of warm bread.

‘We Italians insist on fresh ingredients every single day.’

I gave in with a groan as I caught Mrs Campanelli’s dancing eyes meeting Roxy’s.

She really was up to something, and I mulled on it as we rose to put our plates away.

Our second excursion through Anacapri the next day was chaotic and sun-drenched.

Roxy and I went down narrow alleys on a hunt devised by Ms. Campanelli, searching for an extensive list that included olives, capers, cannellini beans, lentils, lemons, vegetables, and protein.

We took turns figuring out which local vendors sold genuine olive oil and which were hawking the freshest fish.

‘The shops are mini markets, so not the super-type we’re used to,’ Roxy warned me. ‘They tend to specialize in one or two items, so we’ll probably have to shop multiple places. All part of the fun!’

Short on patience, I bit back a curse.

‘Where you find the joy in all this, I have no clue.’

‘I love it, it’s like a scavenging hunt,’ Roxy shot back, her eyes sparkling behind her sunglasses. ‘Just keep carrying our haul like a boss.’

I grunted, but a small smirk tugged at my mouth as I pulled her close as the crowds jostled her.

Roxy loved life.

She found joy in the simple, sun-drenched moments, from plucking bouquets of tangled bougainvillea that grew wild along the narrow cobblestone alleys to sipping with pleasure the fresh lemon granita I bought for her in Villa San Michele.

She even won over the local shopkeepers along the Via Giuseppe Orlandi, chatting with artisans in their storefronts alongside the tourists packing the bustling Anacapri piazzas.

Later, we ducked under the awning of a quiet café, settling into a shaded wrought-iron table for lunch.

After we paid our bill, we lingered.

I studied Roxy over the rim of my espresso cup as the hot Mediterranean sun beat down on the cobblestones outside.