Page 16 of Window Seat for Two
"I did, a little. But I also looked forward to it." Ari's confession was soft, threaded with amusement. "You were so persistent. So genuinely happy every morning. It was annoying how much it didn't actually annoy me."
The admission made Nate's chest warm. He kissed Ari again, slow and sweet, tasting contentment and something that felt remarkably like coming home.
Later, when the air grew too cool and they finally gathered the empty containers and folded the blanket, Nate realized something had shifted. Not just between them, but in the way the evening felt—less like an ending and more like a beginning.
Standing at the rooftop door, Ari caught his hand, threading their fingers together.
"Stay a little longer?" he asked. "I could make coffee. Real coffee, not the stuff from the shop downstairs."
Nate squeezed his hand, smiling. "I thought you'd never ask."
TEN
LOVE AND LIES OF OMISSION
Morning light filtered through Ari's bedroom windows, carrying the scent of yesterday's rain and something sweeter—the ghost of Nate's cologne on the pillow beside him. His fingers drifted to his lips, tracing where Nate's mouth had pressed against his under the string lights. The memory sent unfamiliar warmth through his chest, happiness so foreign after months of numbness that he barely recognized it.
His alarm shattered the spell.Reality flooded back: the bakery downstairs, mounting bills, the walls he'd spent last evening dismantling kiss by kiss. He sat up slowly, running both hands through his hair, trying to reconcile the man who'd melted into Nate's arms with the one facing eviction in three weeks.
The apartment felt smallerin daylight, cramped with secrets.
Downstairs,morning prep offered no comfort. His hands shook as he measured flour, muscle memory guiding him while his mind replayed every rooftop moment. The way Nate had looked at him when he'd described Sofia's garden. How natural it felt when Nate's fingers traced his jaw. That soft sound when Ari finally kissed him back.
A paper cornerjabbed his palm as he reached for invoices. The eviction notice he'd buried weeks ago stared back, that damning red stamp screaming FINAL NOTICE. His stomach dropped as numbers swam before his eyes: $12,000 in back rent, due in twenty-one days.
Twenty-one days tofind money he didn't have.
Twenty-one days before Nate discovered he'd fallen for someone who couldn't even keep a roof over his head.
The mixing bowlclattered as his grip slipped. Ari steadied it with white knuckles. He could imagine the conversation: *Actually, about those plans you mentioned...*
The front door chimed.Ari shoved the notice under invoices and watched the morning rush through his pass-through window—Mrs. Hendricks with her scone order, the construction crew grabbing coffee. Normal people living normal lives without crippling debt or heartbreak lingering from their last relationship.
He focused on kneading,finding rhythm in the familiar motion. Dough yielded under his palms, elastic and forgiving inways people rarely were. Sofia used to say bread didn't lie—it rose or it didn't, no middle ground, no false promises.
Unlike the versionof himself he'd shown Nate last night.
The bell chimed again.This time his whole body responded before his brain caught up. Nate stood in the doorway with two coffee cups, face brightening when their eyes met. That smile hit Ari like a physical force, warm and uncomplicated and completely undeserved.
"Morning."Nate approached with careful steps, testing new ground. "Thought you might want actual coffee instead of whatever you usually drink."
Ari accepted the cup,hyperaware of the space between their fingers, how Nate's eyes searched his face. "Thanks."
Such a simple wordfor something that felt enormous. Thanks for the coffee. Thanks for last night. Thanks for looking at me like I'm worth something.
"Sleep okay?"Nate leaned against the counter, close enough for Ari to catch that familiar scent.
"Fine."The lie came easily, practiced. He'd slept in fragments, waking every hour to reach for warmth that wasn't there.
Nate's smile faltered."Everything alright? You seem..."
"Just tired."Another smooth lie. Ari turned toward the display case, avoiding Nate's perceptive gaze. "Early morning."
But Nate steppedaround the counter, close enough to brush flour from Ari's cheek with gentle fingers. The touch lasted three seconds, but Ari's breath caught.
"There."Nate's hand lingered. "Better."
Ari stepped backbefore he did something stupid like lean into that touch. "Ovens need checking."
