Page 2 of Window Seat for Two
This was insane. He was developing real feelings for someone he'd never spoken to, whose voice he'd never heard, whose name Maya had discovered through coffee shop reconnaissance. Jamie could have a partner, or not be interested in men, or think morning-wavers were certified stalkers.
But hope was stubborn, and Nate had been raised on fairy tales where persistence paid off. Not in creepy ways, but romantic comedy ways where misunderstandings led to meet-cutes and happy endings.
He raised his mug one more time, holding it high enough to catch the light. This time he committed fully to the gesture, brave and terrifying at once.
The figure in the window paused.
Turned.
And looked directly at Nate's window.
TWO
THE BAKER'S DAWN
It was still dark when Ari started work.
He flicked on the lights in Blue Moon Bakery's kitchen, flour already dusting his black apron from yesterday. The sourdough starter sat waiting in its glass jar, bubbling quietly. Three weeks since Sofia's funeral, and he still heard her voice every morning: "Feed it like you'd feed family. Every day, the same."
Ari stirred fresh flour into the pale mixture, his throat tight. Her vanilla perfume seemed to linger in the corners of the kitchen, though he knew that was impossible. The dough from yesterday waited on the marble counter—twelve pounds that had spent the night in the walk-in cooler.
He began kneading. Heel of palm down, fold, quarter turn. The rhythm drowned out the radiator's complaints and the early traffic two blocks over. Sofia had made this look easy. For Ari, every motion felt like swimming upstream.
Something rattled through the mail slot.
Ari's hands went still. No legitimate mail came at five-thirty in the morning. He wiped his palms and walked to the front, already knowing what he'd find.
FINAL NOTICE in red letters.
Three months of back rent that Sofia couldn't pay during her illness. The landlord had been patient through the funeral, but now business was business. Pay $4,300 by month's end or lose the lease.
Ari shoved the notice into his back pocket and returned to the dough, working it harder than necessary. Croissants in twenty minutes. Loaves shaped by seven. Doors open by eight. The same routine Sofia had followed for fifteen years.
Through the front window, morning light crept across the street. The man with the easel was already at his window across the way, coffee mug in hand, waving with his usual ridiculous cheerfulness. Ari looked away. How could anyone be that consistently upbeat?
He scored the final loaf with Sofia's decorative pattern—shallow lines that would bloom into flowers when the bread expanded. "Beauty for beauty's sake," she'd always said. "People need more than just food."
The scent of rising dough mixed with his breakfast—day-old pain au chocolat melted in hot milk, a trick Sofia had taught him. Nothing wasted.
Ari slid the first batch into the oven, his hands shaking slightly. Sleep had become impossible since taking over the bakery. His apartment upstairs felt cramped, every surface covered with Sofia's things he couldn't bear to sort through.
The timer chimed. Croissants ready. He moved through Sofia's choreography by memory, each step a promise to keep her legacy alive, even as the bills threatened to destroy everything.
Across the street, the sketching man looked different today. His shoulders curved inward over what looked like paperwork, his usual animated gestures replaced by stillness. Even from here, disappointment was obvious in the way he held himself.
Ari felt a flicker of recognition. Another person struggling against impossible odds.
The oven timer beeped. The croissants emerged golden and perfect, settling on cooling racks with tiny whispers and cracks. "Let them sing first," Sofia used to say. "The good ones always sing."
Movement caught his eye. The man across the street stood at his window with his daily wave, but something felt final about it. Like he'd decided this might be the last time.
The vulnerability in that gesture broke through Ari's walls. Here was someone else reaching across the void, hoping for connection despite weeks of silence. The man's optimism wasn't naive—it was brave.
Without thinking, Ari moved toward the window. His flour-dusted hand rose slowly.
The man froze mid-wave, clearly shocked. His face transformed into surprised delight, a smile so genuine it made Ari's chest tighten. When had anyone last looked that happy to see him?
Ari stepped back quickly, heart pounding. The simple interaction had cracked something open inside him—a possibility he'd thought lost forever. After Marcus, he'd trained himself to expect disappointment. But this felt different. Clean.
