Page 23 of Window Seat for Two
THE BLOCK STEPS IN
The bakery felt like a tomb at five in the morning. Ari stood behind the counter, staring at the abandoned bowls of half-mixed dough that had been sitting there since yesterday evening. Flour dusted every surface in chaotic patterns, evidence of his failed attempts to lose himself in work after watching Nate disappear into his building.
Sleep hadn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the devastation on Nate's face through the window—the way his shoulders had sagged, the careful distance he'd maintained as he walked away. Ari had replayed that moment a hundred times, each iteration making his chest tighten further.
The eviction notice lay crumpled on the register, smoothed flat and re-read until the words blurred together. Fifteen days. Marcus's business card sat beside it, pristine and mocking in its simplicity. One phone call could solve everything. All he had to do was accept money from the man who'd already broken his heart once.
The front door chimed, startling him from his spiral. Mrs. Vasquez stepped inside, her usual morning smile faltering as she took in the scene—Ari's rumpled clothes, the disaster zone of his workspace, the dark circles under his eyes.
"Mijo," she said softly, her voice carrying the particular authority of someone who'd raised children through every possible crisis. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The lie felt weak even to his own ears. "Just had a long night. Coffee's not ready yet."
She ignored his deflection, moving around the counter with the confidence of someone who'd appointed herself neighborhood guardian. Her weathered hands brushed flour from the surface, revealing the eviction notice underneath.
"Dios mío." The Spanish slipped out as she read, her face hardening. "How long have you been dealing with this alone?"
"Mrs. Vasquez, it's fine. I'll figure something out?—"
"¡Basta!" The sharp command cut through his protests. "Enough. You think you're protecting someone by suffering in silence? This bakery, this block—we're all connected. Sofia knew that. Why don't you?"
The mention of his aunt's name hit like a physical blow. Ari's carefully constructed composure began to crack, the weight of the past week pressing down on him. "I can't ask people to fix my problems."
"Who said anything about fixing?" Mrs. Vasquez planted herself directly in front of him, her small frame radiating fierce determination. "You think when the Garcias had their immigration scare, they handled it alone? When Mr. Patterson had his heart attack, did his wife manage by herself? Families help each other. That's what communities do."
"It's not that simple?—"
"It is exactly that simple." Her voice gentled, but her grip on his hands remained firm. "Tell me everything. Right now."
And somehow, standing in the early morning quiet with Sofia's friend—his friend—Ari found himself breaking. The words came in a rush: the mounting debt, Marcus's unexpected return, the impossible choice between his pride and the bakery'ssurvival. He even confessed about Nate, about the connection that had been growing between them, about watching it shatter through a window because of his own cowardice.
Mrs. Vasquez listened without interruption, her expression cycling through outrage, concern, and something that looked suspiciously like plotting. When he finished, she was already reaching for her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Mobilizing." She was already dialing. "Maya, mi amor, I need you at the bakery. Bring whatever legal knowledge you have about tenant rights. Yes, now."
The next hour passed in a blur of phone calls and arrivals. Jamie appeared with coffee and determinedly cheerful energy, followed closely by Maya carrying a laptop and wearing the focused expression of someone ready for battle. The Garcias from the corner market came bearing pastries from their own suppliers and decades of small business experience. Even old Mr. Chen shuffled in, mentioning something about his grandson's accounting degree.
"I didn't ask for this," Ari protested as his bakery filled with neighbors, but Mrs. Vasquez just pointed him toward a chair.
"No, you didn't. That's what makes it family."
Maya spread the eviction papers across the center table, her photographer's eye scanning details with methodical precision. "This notice has problems," she announced after several minutes. "The timeline's off, and they haven't followed proper procedure for commercial evictions. We can challenge this."
"Challenge it how?" Ari's voice came out rougher than intended.
"Emergency filing for tenant protection. Buy you time while we explore other options." Maya's fingers flew over her keyboard, pulling up legal sites and forms. "The landlord's tryingto rush this through, which usually means they're not confident in their position."
Mrs. Garcia leaned forward, her kind face creased with concern. "When we had trouble with our lease renewal, there were grants available. Small business preservation funds. The city doesn't advertise them, but they exist."
"I looked into loans," Ari said weakly. "My credit's not good enough."
"Grants, not loans," Mr. Garcia clarified. "Community development money. Jamie, didn't you research that stuff when you were planning your coffee business?"
Jamie nodded enthusiastically. "There's a whole network of support for neighborhood businesses. I've got contact information somewhere."
The conversation swept around him, practical solutions emerging from every corner. Mrs. Vasquez had somehow transformed his crisis into a community project, and neighbors who'd been mere acquaintances yesterday were strategizing his salvation with the intensity of family members.
