Still warm.”

I opened the door and found a paper sack tied up with butcher’s string.

Enzo was already halfway down the stairs, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Thank you,” I called after him.

“Eat one before they get cold.

You look like a woman who skipped her breakfast.”

I brought the sack inside and set it down next to the certificate.

The roll was still warm through the paper, and I ate it on my feet, leaning over the sink, while the lamp buzzed away.