My heart stayed slow, steadied by the weight of the audit reports I had finished at midnight.

A bright red pickup truck swung hard across the lane and stopped across two spaces in the delivery zone.

The driver’s door swung open, and Seth stepped out into the damp cold in his brown work coat.

He held a big white bakery box in his right hand, balanced carefully against his hip.

“Natalie,” Seth called out, his voice smooth and loud across the empty lot.

“I brought those cherry pastries you like from the bakery on Third.”