Wednesday Story continued

I go out Mondays and Fridays for groceries. Monday to Sobeys and Fridays to ALF: Alsburg’s Lemon Fish. The Lemon Fish was about as trendy as Alsburg got, and really the trend stopped at its name. In Toronto, with its plain store front, real chrome display cases and even a fat butcher in a slimy apron, the store would have topped the charts for real retro appeal, but here it was just Angus’s store and everyone knew that Angus’s outfit was not a uniform; it was his uni-wear. Secretly I hoped that Angus’s closet contained several plaid shirts and at least one clean apron, but this was merely wishful thinking. I loved his fish though and no one could argue that Angus did not love what he served and always tried to serve the best and the freshest he could find.  
     “Hey Angus.”
     “Elly! So it’s Friday already! Ho, Ho, Fry Day!” that joke never got old. “Cooking something for the boyfriend?”
     “Yeah” I squeezed out a wry smile. “You’re coming over aren’t you?”
     “You’re a smart one! Heaven knows I am a wee bit on the grey side for you lass, but if I’d been younger I would hop to it.”
     “Thanks, Angus. So what’s fresh?”
     “Besides you, you cheeky thing. Ah, let’s see, here’s a beauty!” He reached into the counter and pulled out a glistening pickerel holding it with all the reverence of the holy grail. His voice lowered to a whisper “Caught in our secret fishing hole.”
     “Hmm, where’s that?”
     Angus wagged one beefy finger “Tch, tch! Almost had me, but its secret! No, no, this one, he could fight! He pulled at that line as though the English were at his heels. We fought, him and me for nearly an hour, and finally when he broke the surface he took one look in me Scottish eyes and jumped in the boat. He knew a kinsman when he saw one.”
     “You’re not telling me that this fish is Scottish! Angus!”
     “It’s true, but for you I will price him as an Englishman!” Angus wrapped the fish up carefully and as he handed him over he whispered. “Don’t look now lass, you have an admirer. Over there … by the mixed beans. No one looks at beans that long.”
     I thanked him and as I was fumbling in my purse I glanced up. There by the beans, stood a tall man, with graceful, strong features, and he was staring at me. I had a moment of panic. I must have toilet paper on my foot or bird poo in my hair. I checked, no, everything was alright and that man was still looking. He did look familiar, charming, and familiar, and....it was Barney Bean.