Page 18 of Window Seat for Two
The dinner rush interrupted them—neighborsgrabbing day-old bread, office workers seeking caffeine salvation. Ari moved through motions while hyperaware of Nate sketching at his corner table, occasionally glancing up to catch light and shadow, community in motion.
When the lastcustomer left and Nate helped flip the door sign to closed, quiet loaded with possibility settled around them. Nate's fingers brushed his as they reached for the same cloth, and suddenly they stood close enough to count eyelashes.
"Come here,"Nate said softly, and Ari stepped into those arms like coming home.
This kiss was different—lessdesperate exploration, more quiet certainty. Nate's hands framed his face like he was something precious, and Ari sank into the illusion for thirty stolen seconds. Let himself believe in futures and collaborations and morning coffee delivered with shy smiles.
When they broke apart,Nate rested his forehead against Ari's. "I keep thinking about last night."
"Me too."More truth than he'd intended.
"Mrs. Vasquez invitedme to dinner Sunday. Family style, she said. Will you be there?"
Sunday dinnerwith neighbors who'd become family, sitting around Mrs. Vasquez's table like he belonged. Like he wasn't counting down to homelessness.
"Probably.If I can get away from the bakery."
Another lie wrapped in truth.He'd be there if he could, if walls hadn't closed in completely, if he hadn't already broken both their hearts by necessity.
Nate kissed his cheek,soft and sweet, before stepping back reluctantly. "I should let you close up. But maybe... maybe I could bring dinner tomorrow? We could eat upstairs again."
"I'd like that."The most honest thing he'd said all day.
That evening,Ari sat at his kitchen table with the eviction notice spread like a death sentence. His phone lay beside it, Nate's contact glowing on the screen. He'd started typing messages a dozen times—explanations, confessions, apologies for feelings he couldn't afford.
*I needto tell you something important.*
Delete.
*The bakery is in trouble.I'm in trouble.*
Delete.
*I'm fallingfor you and I can't afford to fall.*
Delete.
Each deletedword felt like another small betrayal, another choice to protect himself at Nate's expense. But how could he explain that love felt like luxury when survival took everything? How could he ask Nate to care about someone who couldn't even save his aunt's legacy?
He setthe phone aside and stared at Nate's sketch, propped against the salt shaker. The version of himself in that drawing looked capable of deserving love, of building something lasting.
Tomorrow he'd findcourage to be honest.
Tomorrow he'd figure out how to save everything at once.
Tomorrow the math would add up differently, and red stamps wouldn't feel like countdown timers.
Tonight,he touched his lips and remembered what hope tasted like, even knowing he couldn't keep it.
ELEVEN
WHEN THE EX RETURNS
Nate balanced the coffee carrier and paper bag from Grindhouse as he approached Blue Moon Bakery, anticipation warming his chest despite the morning's cool air. He'd ordered Ari's usual—dark roast, no sugar—plus one of Jamie's experimental lavender scones that he thought might inspire a new bakery flavor. After last night on the rooftop, everything felt possible. The sketch he'd made of Ari laughing under the string lights was tucked safely in his jacket pocket, a tangible reminder that their connection was real.
But the bakery's windows were dark.
Nate slowed his steps, checking his phone. Nine-thirty. Ari always opened by seven, the warm glow of the display cases and the smell of fresh bread marking the street's transition from sleepy to bustling. The CLOSED sign hung crooked in the door, and no movement stirred behind the counter.
