I set up a new rule naming Margaret’s email address and the web form Brent had used to text me.

I set the filter to send every incoming message past my main inbox and straight into an archive folder called Chicago.

Then I ticked the box that shut off every popup alert and sound notification for that folder.

I clicked the save button at the bottom of the form.

I watched the archive folder disappear from my screen.

At eight sharp the morning sun struck the blue porcelain tiles on the front of the bakery, turning the wet stone pavement outside into a sheet of yellow light.

I stepped through the open doorway into the smell of warm butter, espresso and baked sugar.