Page 5 of Window Seat for Two
"And maybe bring food," Jamie added with a grin. "I know it sounds weird to bring food to a baker, but Ari works such crazy hours that he forgets to eat anything that isn't directly related to recipe testing."
"Noted." Nate raised his cup in a small salute. "Thanks for being so gracious about this whole mortifying situation."
"Are you kidding? This is the most interesting thing that's happened all week," Maya said. "I'm absolutely taking credit when you two end up together."
"That's a pretty big assumption," Nate protested, but he was smiling.
"I've got good instincts about these things," Maya replied with the confidence of someone who'd never been wrong about a potential match.
Walking back across Maple Walk, Nate felt the morning light differently than he had an hour ago. Instead of nervous anticipation, he carried a mixture of curiosity and genuine interest that felt more grounded, more real than his previous fantasies about the friendly barista.
As he approached his building, he couldn't resist glancing toward Blue Moon Bakery. Ari was still visible through the window, and for just a moment, their eyes met across the street. Nate felt his heart stutter, but this time he didn't wave. Instead, he offered a small smile and a nod—acknowledgment rather than greeting, respect rather than assumption.
Ari paused in his work, studying Nate's face for a long moment before offering the slightest nod in return. It wasn't much, but it felt like the beginning of something real.
FOUR
THE SPACE BETWEEN WINDOWS
The sourdough starter felt different under his hands this morning—more responsive, more alive. Ari worked the mixture with practiced care, his fingers finding their rhythm in the pre-dawn darkness of the bakery kitchen, but his mind kept drifting to yesterday's unexpected moment. The cheerful stranger across the street had actually seen him. Had waved at him specifically. The thought sent an unfamiliar warmth through his chest that he immediately tried to knead away along with the dough.
He'd spent months watching the morning routine from his peripheral vision—coffee cup, sketchbook, that ridiculous optimistic energy that seemed to radiate from the third-floor window even at this distance. Ari had assumed the waves were meant for someone else, probably the barista at Grindhouse who actually deserved that kind of uncomplicated affection. People like Ari, people carrying the weight of loss and abandonment, weren't typically the recipients of such genuine warmth.
The oven timer chimed, pulling him back to the present. He slid the overnight loaves from their proving baskets into the Dutch ovens, muscle memory guiding his movements while his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on brown eyes and an easy smile. Sofia would have teased him mercilessly about hisdistraction. She'd always claimed she could tell when he was thinking about someone by the way he handled the bread—too gentle when he was infatuated, too aggressive when he was angry, just right when his heart was at peace.
This morning's loaves were definitely getting the too-gentle treatment.
Golden light began filtering through the bakery's front windows as the sun crested the buildings across Maple Walk. Ari found himself positioning his work closer to the storefront, arranging the day's first pastries in the display case with unusual attention to how they looked from the outside. Not because he was hoping for anything specific. Just because presentation mattered in retail. Obviously.
Movement in the familiar window caught his eye, and his pulse quickened despite his best efforts to remain indifferent. His stranger—he really needed to learn the man's name—settled into his usual spot, carefully arranging himself for the morning ahead. Coffee cup positioned just so, sketchbook opened to a fresh page, pencil held with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what he wanted to capture.
Except today, instead of directing his attention toward Grindhouse Café, he was looking straight at the bakery.
Ari froze mid-motion with a tray of almond croissants half-transferred to the display case. Yesterday hadn't been a fluke or a moment of confusion. The man knew where his waves had been going all along, and he was choosing to continue the connection with full awareness of who was receiving it.
His hands trembled slightly as he finished arranging the pastries, hyperaware of being observed in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. When was the last time someone had looked at him with genuine interest? Marcus had spent their final months together listing his flaws—too stubborn, too attached to the past, lacking in proper ambition. Even beforethat, Marcus's attention had felt more like assessment than appreciation, as if Ari were a project to be improved rather than a person to be known.
This felt different. Whatever attention was radiating from across the street held no judgment, no agenda beyond simple human connection. It reminded him of how Sofia used to watch him work, with a combination of pride and curiosity that made him feel worthy of being seen.
Through the window, he could see the man's pencil moving in quick, confident strokes, his gaze shifting between the sketchbook and the bakery with focused intensity. Ari moved closer to the glass under the pretense of adjusting the hand-lettered "Fresh Baked Daily" sign, close enough to make out individual details across the narrow street.
Morning light caught the warm brown of his hair, slightly mussed as if he'd run his fingers through it while thinking. His expression held the absorbed concentration Ari recognized from his own moments of deep focus, when the rest of the world faded away except for the task at hand. There was something beautiful about watching someone else lost in their creative process, a vulnerability in that complete absorption that felt intimate despite the distance between them.
Their eyes met through the glass with startling suddenness, and Ari's breath caught. This close, he could see genuine warmth in those dark eyes, the way his entire face transformed when he smiled. It wasn't the polite smile of social obligation or the calculated charm Marcus had wielded like a weapon. This was the real thing—unguarded, hopeful, touched with what looked like shy uncertainty.
His stranger raised his pencil in a small, tentative wave, and Ari found himself frozen. Every instinct screamed at him to look away, to retreat behind the safety of his carefully constructed walls. Getting involved with someone new meant risking thekind of pain that still woke him in the middle of the night six months later. It meant opening himself to the possibility of being found lacking again, of having someone else walk away when the reality of his grief and stubbornness became too much to handle.
But the warmth in those distant eyes held him captive, and against every rational thought, Ari felt his hand lifting in response. This wave was slower than yesterday's impulsive gesture, more deliberate. An acknowledgment not just of the greeting but of his own willingness to be seen, to step outside the protective isolation he'd wrapped around himself since Sofia's death.
His stranger's smile widened—was that delight?—and Ari felt an answering warmth bloom in his chest, foreign and terrifying after months of emotional numbness. For several heartbeats, they simply looked at each other across the narrow street, and Ari allowed himself to imagine what it might feel like to know this person beyond their morning ritual. To learn his name, his voice, the stories behind his obvious contentment with simple pleasures.
The sharp chime of the bakery door broke the spell, and Ari turned toward his first customer of the day with flushed cheeks and a racing pulse that had nothing to do with the morning caffeine he hadn't even consumed yet. Mrs. Patterson wanted her usual Tuesday selection—two whole grain rolls and a fruit danish—and he went through the familiar motions while his mind remained stubbornly fixed on the connection across the street.
"You seem particularly cheerful this morning, dear," Mrs. Patterson observed, counting out exact change with careful precision. "It's nice to see. Sofia always said you had the most beautiful smile when you let people see it."
Her words hit him unexpectedly, bringing tears he'd thought he was done shedding. Sofia had indeed nagged him about smiling more, claiming his rare genuine expressions could charm birds from trees if he'd stop hiding behind his grumpy facade. She'd probably approve of whatever was happening across the street, would encourage him to take risks and trust his instincts instead of protecting his heart at all costs.
"Thank you," he managed, meaning it more than the simple words could convey. "Have a wonderful day, Mrs. Patterson."
