Page 13 of Window Seat for Two
ELEVEN
WHEN THE EX RETURNS
Nate balanced the coffee carrier and paper bag from Grindhouse as he approached Blue Moon Bakery, anticipation warming his chest despite the morning's cool air.
He'd ordered Ari's usual—dark roast, no sugar—plus one of Jamie's experimental lavender scones that he thought might inspire a new bakery flavor.
After last night on the rooftop, everything felt possible.
The sketch he'd made of Ari laughing under the string lights was tucked safely in his jacket pocket, a tangible reminder that their connection was real.
But the bakery's windows were dark.
Nate slowed his steps, checking his phone. Nine-thirty. Ari always opened by seven, the warm glow of the display cases and the smell of fresh bread marking the street's transition from sleepy to bustling. The CLOSED sign hung crooked in the door, and no movement stirred behind the counter.
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.
"Of course." Marcus stood, smoothing down his jacket. "But don't take too long. This kind of opportunity won't wait forever."
He moved around the table, and Ari didn't pull away when warm lips pressed against his forehead. The kiss felt like a claim being staked, a reminder of territory once held.
"Neither will I," Marcus added softly.
The bell above the door chimed as he left, and Ari sat alone in the empty bakery, staring at the check until the numbers blurred together.
He should call Nate. Should explain what was happening and ask for advice, or at least for someone to sit with him while he figured out how to choose between impossible options.
Instead, he folded the check and slipped it into his pocket, where it pressed against his thigh like a guilty secret.
Only then did he notice the coffee carrier and paper bag sitting by the front door, a folded note tucked under the cup holder. His name was written across the front in Nate's careful handwriting, and his chest tightened as he read the message inside.
*Thought you might need these. See you later? - N*
The coffee was still warm.
---
Nate's hands shook as he climbed the stairs to his studio, the image of that conversation burned into his memory.
The way the stranger had leaned across the table.
The familiarity in his gestures. The envelope that could have contained anything—a contract, a letter, something that made Ari look like he was carrying the world's weight.
And Ari hadn't pulled away when the man kissed his forehead.
Nate set up his easel with mechanical precision, trying to lose himself in preparing to work.
Canvas, brushes, palette knife. The commission sketch that was due by noon lay forgotten on his desk as he squeezed paint directly onto the canvas—violent slashes of red and black that bore no resemblance to the gentle illustrations that paid his rent.
His phone buzzed.
*Ari: Sorry I missed you this morning. Long night, slept in. Dinner later?*
Nate stared at the text, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Ari was lying. The bakery should have been open hours ago, and Ari never slept past six. And if he'd been sleeping, who was the man in the expensive suit?
*Can't tonight. Deadline crunch.*
The response felt petty even as he sent it, but Nate couldn't shake the image of Ari's bowed head, the careful distance he'd maintained from that stranger even as he accepted whatever was in the envelope.
There were explanations for everything he'd seen—business meeting, family emergency, someone from his past that had nothing to do with their fragile, days-old relationship.
But explanations required honesty, and Ari had already lied once today.
Nate's brush moved across the canvas in angry strokes, the paint thick and unforgiving.
He'd been an idiot to think someone like Ari would want more than casual friendship.
Had been reading too much into shared coffee and a single kiss, building fantasies around a man who clearly had more complicated concerns.
The afternoon crawled by in frustration and obsessive window-watching.
Every time movement caught his eye across the street, he looked up hoping to see Ari emerging from the bakery, maybe with some reasonable explanation for the morning's secrecy.
Instead, the CLOSED sign remained in place, the windows dark.
His phone stayed silent.
By evening, Nate had abandoned any pretense of working productively.
The commission sketch lay half-finished, his usual attention to detail sacrificed to the anxious energy that kept him pacing between his easel and the window.
Maple Walk settled into its dinner-hour quiet, string lights flickering to life between the buildings as the last of the commuter traffic died away.
Then he saw him.
Ari stood in the bakery's doorway, looking across the street with that uncertain expression that had become so familiar. He raised his hand in their usual wave, but instead of the easy smile that typically accompanied the gesture, worry creased his features.
Nate remained at his desk.
The wave became more insistent, Ari stepping fully out onto the sidewalk.
Still Nate didn't respond, though every instinct urged him to go to the window and fall back into their comfortable routine.
Instead, he hunched over his sketchbook, pencil moving in meaningless circles as he fought the urge to look up again.
When he finally gave in, Ari was still there.
Their eyes met across the narrow street, and the distance felt vast. The joy that usually lit Ari's face when they spotted each other was replaced by something raw and troubled, an expression that confirmed Nate's suspicions.
Ari knew he'd been caught in a lie. And from the way his shoulders sagged, whatever secret he was keeping was bigger than a simple misunderstanding.