I watched Matteo use his shirt to drag the cart forward. He didn’t touch the handle until he’d wiped it down thoroughly with a disinfectant wipe from one of the containers at the entrance.
“Germaphobe?” I asked curiously.
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t carry a gun on me just so I can get killed by a disease passed on from some nasty fucker.”
Fair enough.
I pulled the list out of my back pocket.
“Okay, so, first off, we need—”
“s**t, look, there’s Fruit Loops. Let’s get some of those.”
I blinked. He took my silence as agreement and tossed three big boxes of Fruit Loops into the cart.
“I was gonna say potatoes, but alright…”
We went on, and, with every item on the list, Matteo added at least four unnecessary ones. After having to scold him sternly near the frozen section aisl
