Page 22 of Window Seat for Two
"Of course. But I also know how practical you are." Marcus moved closer to the counter, every gesture deliberate. "Fifteen thousand, Ari. No strings."
The lie sat between them like a third person. There were always strings with Marcus, usually attached to outcomes that served his interests first.
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" Marcus leaned against the counter now, close enough that Ari could see the expensive weave of his shirt. "You need money. I have money and want to help someone I cared about deeply. The math is straightforward."
*Cared about.* Past tense. It stung more than expected, even though Ari had been the one to leave, to finally recognize the difference between being wanted and being valued.
"You left, Marcus. You made it clear this wasn't enough for you. That I wasn't ambitious enough, successful enough."
"People change. I've changed." Marcus's fingers brushed Ari's wrist where it rested on the display case. "What we had was good, Ari. Really good. Maybe I got distracted by possibilities that turned out to be less fulfilling than expected."
The touch felt wrong in a way he couldn't name. Not unwelcome exactly, but foreign, like clothes that used to fit before his body changed. Six months ago, Marcus's return might have felt like vindication. Now it just felt like another problem.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Say you'll let me help. Say you'll give us another chance." Marcus's thumb traced across his knuckles. "Take the money, save the bakery, and let's see what happens."
Movement outside caught Ari's eye. Nate, returning from wherever he'd escaped to. The timing was catastrophic—Marcus leaning close, voice intimate, hand warm on Ari's skin. From outside it would look exactly like what Marcus wanted: a reunion, a reconciliation.
"Marcus—"
"You're scared. I understand." Marcus's voice dropped to a whisper, breath warm against Ari's ear. "But look around. You're drowning here, trying to preserve something meant for two people. Sofia had the community, the established base. You're starting from scratch in an economy that kills small businesses. Let me throw you a lifeline."
The words hit too close to unspoken fears. The shrinking customer base, impossible margins, the daily uncertainty about whether he was preserving Sofia's legacy or slowly destroying it through inadequacy.
But then he saw Nate outside, close enough that his expression was unmistakable. Pure hurt flashed across his features, followed immediately by resignation. Their eyes met through the window for one devastating moment before Nate turned away, shoulders set with finality.
"I have to—" Ari started toward the door, but Marcus's grip tightened.
"Let him go, Ari. You and I need to finish this."
The presumption crystallized everything. That Marcus could dictate who he spoke to, that whatever was happening with Nate mattered less than Marcus's agenda. Ari pulled his arm free, harder than necessary.
"No. You need to leave, and I need to fix what you just helped me break."
But when he reached the door, the street was empty except for Mrs. Vasquez's cat picking between cobblestones. Nate had vanished.
"Ari." Marcus's voice held patient frustration. "You're being emotional. Come back and let's discuss this rationally."
Standing in the doorway, Ari felt the pull of competing futures. Marcus represented the known—complicated, sometimes selfish, but offering a clear path through his crisis. Nate represented risk, vulnerability, the possibility of something better with no guarantees.
The envelope felt impossibly heavy in his pocket.
"You should go," he said without turning. "I can't take your money, Marcus. And I can't pretend these months didn't happen."
"You're making a mistake."
"Probably." Ari looked back at him, taking in the careful composure that didn't quite hide Marcus's irritation at being denied. "But it'll be my mistake. That has to count for something."
Marcus gathered his coat with precise, dignified movements. "The offer expires, Ari. I can't keep it open indefinitely while you figure out whether you want to save this place or watch it fail out of stubbornness."
After he left, Ari stood alone in the suddenly quiet bakery, surrounded by the weight of his choices. Through the windows, Nate's apartment remained dark, its occupant either absent or simply done.
The distance between their windows had never felt wider.
THIRTEEN
