Page 19 of Window Seat for Two
Maybe Ari had overslept. Maybe he was in the back, running late with a temperamental batch of sourdough. Nate pressed closer to the window, cupping his hand against the glass to peer through the morning glare.
His stomach dropped.
In the back corner, at the small table Ari usually reserved for his own coffee breaks, two figures sat in conversation. Even from this distance, Nate could see the tension in Ari's shoulders, the way his hands lay flat against the worn wooden surface. Across from him sat a man Nate didn't recognize—tall, expensively dressed, with the kind of sharp haircut that spoke of money and attention to detail.
The stranger leaned forward, his posture familiar. Whatever he was saying made Ari's head bow lower, his fingers curling against the table's edge.
Nate should leave. Should respect Ari's privacy and come back later when the bakery was open for business. But something about the scene held him frozen, coffee growing cold in his hands as he watched the man reach into his jacket and withdraw what looked like an envelope.
---
Inside the bakery, Marcus slid the cashier's check across the table with practiced smoothness.
"Fifteen thousand," Marcus said, his voice carrying the same confident warmth that had once made Ari's heart race. Now it just made his chest tight with familiar dread. "It's not a loan. Think of it as an investment."
Ari stared at the numbers printed in neat black ink. More money than he'd seen in months, enough to pay the back rent with something left over for ingredient stock and repairs. Enough to save everything Sofia had built.
"I don't understand." The words came out hoarse. "You made it clear when you left that this place was hopeless. That I was hopeless."
Marcus shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his expensive watch—something sleek and modern that probably cost more than Ari's monthly revenue. "I was wrong. About a lot of things."
"Were you?" Ari's laugh held no humor. "Because I remember you saying I lacked ambition. That I was hiding from real success."
"I was angry. Frustrated." Marcus reached across the table, his fingers stopping just short of Ari's wrist. "We both wanted different things then. But I've been thinking about what we built together, about the plans we made. The restaurant we designed?—"
"You designed. I was just supposed to handle the baking while you managed the real business."
"That's not how I remember it."
Ari finally looked up, meeting those green eyes that had once made him forget every rational thought. Marcus looked good—he always looked good—but there were new lines around his eyes, a tightness to his smile that suggested the past six months hadn't been the upgrade he'd expected.
"How exactly do you remember it?" Ari asked.
Marcus shifted in his chair, the confident facade slipping slightly. "I remember us being good together. Really good. I remember you laughing at my terrible cooking attempts and me helping you organize your business plan. I remember thinking we could take on the world."
"I also remember you leaving for someone with better professional connections. What happened to that?"
The silence stretched long enough for Ari to hear the coffee shop's espresso machine hissing across the street, the normal sounds of morning filtering through the bakery's closed door. Finally, Marcus spoke.
"It didn't work out."
"Ah." Ari leaned back, understanding flooding through him with bitter clarity. "So now you want to come back to your safety net."
"It's not like that." Marcus's voice sharpened, the old dismissive edge creeping in before he caught himself. "I know how this looks, but I've spent months thinking about us. About what I threw away."
He gestured at the check. "This isn't guilt money, Ari. I heard through Elena that you were struggling, and I wanted to help. But more than that, I wanted to see if we could try again. Do it right this time."
Ari's hands trembled as he picked up the check, the paper crisp and real between his fingers. Fifteen thousand dollars. Enough to keep the lights on and the ovens running. Enough to honor Sofia's memory and prove he wasn't failing her legacy.
But Marcus sat there between them, unspoken expectations hanging in the air.
"I can't just take your money," he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.
"It's not charity. It's an investment in us." Marcus leaned forward again, his knee brushing Ari's under the table. "I know I hurt you. I know I have to earn back your trust. But we were good together, Ari. Before everything fell apart."
The familiar weight of Marcus's attention settled over him. For two years, this had been his normal—the careful conversations, the shared ambitions, the way Marcus made him feel like he was part of something bigger. It had taken months after the breakup to realize how small he'd felt in that bigness, how his own dreams had been quietly reshaped to fit Marcus's vision.
"I need time to think," Ari whispered.
