![]() ![]() It’s unapologetically high-brow, and while the store makes all kinds of sweet things, it’s best known for its “bean-to-chocolate handmade artisanal French crème truffles.” The storefront is painted Tiffany blue, its pretentious name stenciled in elegant gold cursive across the windows: La Douceur Parisienne. They know it well they’ve been many times. It’s a fair negotiation, and he stops whining. “Bash, please, five more minutes,” she says, exasperated. Sebastian believes Santa is going to bring all his presents, so in this moment, sugar is the only thing he’s interested in. Her four-year-old son couldn’t care less about Christmas shopping. She prides herself on giving thoughtful, personal gifts. He’s tired, and getting cranky, and what he really needs is a nap. “Mommy, I want a lollipop,” he says for the second time. ![]() His little hand keeps slipping out of hers every time he yanks too hard, trying to pull them in the direction he’s determined to go. Sebastian’s jacket is shoved into one of Marin’s shopping totes, but still, he’s sweaty. Combine it with last-minute holiday shopping and an extremely mild, sunny weekend-almost unheard of in December-and you are in the busiest nine acres on a Saturday afternoon in Seattle. Pike Place Market is a tourist trap on a regular day. ![]()
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