Page 15 of Window Seat for Two
Nate laughed, the tension easing. "Children's books. That's the dream, anyway. I've been working on this series about a little bear who runs a bakery—" He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos until he found the sketches. "It's still rough, but..."
Ari leaned closer to see the screen, his shoulder warm against Nate's arm. The drawings showed a cheerful bear in an apron, kneading dough and serving customers who looked suspiciously like the regulars at Blue Moon.
"Nate, these are amazing." Ari's voice held genuine delight as he studied each sketch. "Look at the detail in the bakery—you even got the way flour settles in the corners of everything."
"I may have spent some time observing my local baker."
"Good research." Ari's grin was soft and real. "This bear—he looks familiar somehow. Very handsome. Excellent taste in aprons."
"Pure coincidence."
They finished eating as the last light faded from the sky, conversation flowing easier than it had since the power outage.Ari told him about his first disastrous attempt at growing cilantro, which had somehow produced something that looked more like weeds and tasted like soap. Nate shared the story of his college printmaking accident, the one that had left the small scar on his hand and convinced him that working with sharp objects required more attention than he'd been giving them.
When the containers were empty, they stayed on the blanket, lying back to look up at the few stars visible through the city's glow. Their shoulders touched, just barely, but Nate was hyperaware of the warmth and the steady rise and fall of Ari's breathing.
"Last night," Ari said quietly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of traffic, "when the lights came back on—I wasn't ready for the moment to end."
Nate turned his head, finding Ari already looking at him. In the glow of the string lights, his eyes looked almost silver, and there was something vulnerable and determined in his expression.
"I haven't stopped thinking about it either," Nate admitted.
Ari shifted closer, his hand finding Nate's where it rested on the blanket between them. "I keep telling myself I'm not ready for this. That it's too soon, too complicated."
"And?"
"And I'm tired of being scared." Ari's fingers threaded through his, warm and sure. "I want this. Want you."
The words settled between them, honest and brave—everything Nate had hoped to hear without admitting it to himself. He turned onto his side, bringing his free hand up to trace the line of Ari's jaw, feeling him lean into the touch.
"I want this too," he said, and leaned in.
Their lips met softly, tentatively, nothing like the urgent almost-kiss from the night before. This was deliberate, unhurried, tasting of sweetness and possibility. Ari's handtightened in his, and when they broke apart, it was only far enough to breathe.
"Okay?" Nate whispered, foreheads touching.
"More than okay."
This time when Ari kissed him, it was deeper, more certain. Nate felt his pulse skip and settle into something steadier, more real. The city hummed its evening song around them, but here under the string lights and growing things, surrounded by the scent of basil and the warmth of Ari's mouth against his, the world felt perfectly, wonderfully small.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Ari smiled—the first completely unguarded expression Nate had seen from him.
"So," Ari said, his thumb tracing patterns across Nate's knuckles. "This is definitely not what I planned when I inherited a bakery."
"Good surprise or bad surprise?"
"The best kind." Ari's smile grew. "Though I should probably warn you—Mrs. Vasquez has been asking when I'm going to invite you for dinner. Apparently, she's been planning the menu."
Nate laughed, the sound carrying across the rooftop. "Should I be worried?"
"Terrified. She makes a lasagna that could probably end wars, but she also asks very personal questions and has strong opinions about everything from your career choices to whether you're eating enough vegetables."
"I'll take my chances."
They stayed on the blanket as the night deepened around them, talking quietly and stealing kisses between conversations. Nate learned that Ari hummed while he worked in the garden, unconscious melodies that seemed to make the plants lean toward him. Ari discovered that Nate had been sketching himfor months before they'd ever spoken, capturing moments of concentration and rare smiles from his window across the street.
"I was so convinced you were waving at Jamie," Ari said, shaking his head. "All those mornings, thinking you were interested in someone else."
"And I was so convinced you hated me for interrupting your routine."
