Page 11 of Window Seat for Two

NINE

ROOFTOP KISS

The takeout bags crinkled in Nate's grip as he pushed through the bakery door, the familiar bell announcing his arrival to the empty shop.

Evening light filtered through the windows, casting everything in warm amber, and the lingering scent of fresh bread made his stomach growl despite the pad thai waiting in the bags.

Ari looked up from wiping down the counter, his movements stilling as their eyes met.

That same shy smile from this morning tugged at his lips, but underneath it, Nate caught the flicker of something else—awareness, maybe, or the same nervous energy that had been thrumming through his own chest since he'd woken up thinking about almost-kisses and flour-dusted fingers.

"Thai place was busy," Nate said, lifting the bags slightly. "But I got extra spring rolls."

"Good thinking." Ari folded the dishrag with careful precision, his gaze sliding away before returning. "I, uh—want to show you something. If you're interested."

The hesitation in his voice made Nate's pulse skip. "Always."

Ari's smile grew a little more certain. He gestured toward the back of the shop, past the display cases and the small seating area. "The rooftop. Sofia started something up there, and I've been... well, you'll see."

They moved through the bakery's back room, past industrial mixers and cooling racks, to a narrow staircase Nate had noticed before but never thought much about.

Following Ari up the steps, he caught glimpses of the apartment above—a cozy living room with Sofia's photos still scattered across the mantle, a kitchen where his own sketches were now pinned to the refrigerator with flower-shaped magnets.

The sight of his drawings displayed so casually, so naturally, sent warmth spreading through his chest.

Then Ari pushed open a door at the top of the stairs, and Nate stepped out onto the rooftop into something that stole his breath entirely.

String lights crisscrossed overhead between wooden planters overflowing with herbs and flowers, creating a canopy of warm light against the deepening sky.

The scent hit him immediately—basil and lavender, tomatoes and something sweet he couldn't identify, all mixing with the cooling evening air.

Terra cotta pots lined the roof's perimeter, filled with everything from rosemary to what looked like strawberry plants, their leaves catching the light.

"Jesus, Ari." Nate turned slowly, taking it all in. "This is incredible."

"Sofia started it about five years ago." Ari's voice carried that particular softness it always held when he talked about his aunt.

He moved to a large tomato plant, touching the leaves with gentle fingers.

"She said every baker needs to know where their ingredients come from.

That fresh herbs make all the difference, but more than that—you need to understand how things grow. "

The city stretched out around them in all directions. Other rooftops dotted with gardens and satellite dishes, windows beginning to glow golden in the gathering dusk. But up here, surrounded by growing things and soft light, it felt like they were in their own world.

"I can see why she loved it up here." Nate set the takeout bags down near a weathered wooden bench. "It's like a secret garden."

"Some of the neighbors have been asking about it.

Mrs. Vasquez especially—she thinks we should do some kind of community garden project.

" Ari moved to help unpack the food, his shoulder brushing Nate's as they worked.

"I keep telling her I don't know what I'm doing, that Sofia was the one with the green thumb. "

"Looks like you figured it out pretty well." Nate gestured to the thriving plants around them. "Everything's beautiful."

They settled cross-legged on a blanket Ari pulled from a storage box tucked between planters, the containers of pad thai and spring rolls spread between them. The string lights overhead cast dancing shadows across their faces as the sky deepened from blue to purple.

"This is much better than eating in my apartment," Nate said, accepting the chopsticks Ari handed him. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little jealous. My fire escape barely fits a chair, let alone all this."

"Sofia always said good food tastes better under open sky." Ari took a bite of pad thai, his expression thoughtful. "She used to have dinner parties up here in the summer. Nothing fancy, just neighbors and friends, but she'd make these elaborate picnics with everything she'd grown."

"Sounds perfect."

"It was." Ari's smile held traces of old sadness, but warmth too. "I keep thinking I should do something like that again. Maybe when I'm not so worried about the business failing."

Nate studied his face in the soft light. "What would you do? If the money wasn't an issue, I mean. If you could do anything."

For a moment, Ari didn't answer, focused on wrapping noodles around his chopsticks. When he finally looked up, his expression was almost shy.

"Travel, maybe. Sofia always talked about going to France, studying pastry techniques from the masters.

She had this collection of cookbooks from French patisseries—these incredible photos of things I can't even pronounce.

" He laughed quietly. "I used to think it was just dreaming, you know?

But lately, I wonder what it would be like to actually go.

To learn from people who've been perfecting their craft for generations. "

The longing in his voice made Nate's chest tight. "You should go. When things stabilize here."

"Maybe." Ari met his eyes. "What about you? Besides world domination through illustration."

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 hand tightened 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 him for 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."

"I did, a little. But I also looked forward to it." Ari's confession was soft, threaded with amusement. "You were so persistent. So genuinely happy every morning. It was annoying how much it didn't actually annoy me."

The admission made Nate's chest warm. He kissed Ari again, slow and sweet, tasting contentment and something that felt remarkably like coming home.

Later, when the air grew too cool and they finally gathered the empty containers and folded the blanket, Nate realized something had shifted. Not just between them, but in the way the evening felt—less like an ending and more like a beginning.

Standing at the rooftop door, Ari caught his hand, threading their fingers together.

"Stay a little longer?" he asked. "I could make coffee. Real coffee, not the stuff from the shop downstairs."

Nate squeezed his hand, smiling. "I thought you'd never ask."