Page 16 of Window Seat for Two

FOURTEEN

FULL CIRCLE

The familiar creak of the building's front door echoed through the hallway as Nate climbed the stairs to his apartment, his messenger bag heavy with art supplies and the weight of an emotionally exhausting day.

Maya's words from the gallery still rang in his ears—*He needs you*—along with the image of Ari's stricken face when he'd fled the exhibition.

Three flights up, Nate rounded the corner to find Mrs. Vasquez stationed outside his door like a determined sentinel, clutching a steaming mug of coffee and wearing an expression that brooked no argument.

"Mrs. V?" Nate fumbled for his keys, surprised to find his elderly neighbor waiting in the dim hallway. "Everything okay?"

"No, mijo, everything is not okay." She thrust the coffee into his hands before he could protest. "We need to talk. About Ari, about what's really been happening, and about why you're standing here with sad eyes instead of being where you belong."

The coffee was perfect—exactly how he liked it, with a hint of cinnamon that reminded him of Blue Moon's morning pastries.

Nate unlocked his door and gestured for her to enter, though something in her tone suggested this wasn't really a request. She settled herself on his small couch like she owned the place, her sharp eyes taking in the easels crowded near the windows and the half-finished illustration still clipped to his drafting table.

"You have questions," she said, smoothing her floral dress over her knees. "Good. You should. But first, you need to understand something about Sofia and what she built in that bakery."

Nate sank into his desk chair, cradling the warm mug between his palms. Mrs. V had a way of making conversations feel both intimate and momentous, like she was about to reveal secrets that could reshape the world.

"Sofia never just sold bread," she continued, her voice carrying the weight of forty years of neighborhood observation.

"When the Garcias couldn't make rent three winters ago, they found an envelope of cash slipped under their door with a note in Sofia's handwriting: 'For the community we build together.

' When Mr. Chen's wife was sick, Sofia made sure there was always fresh soup waiting outside their apartment.

When Jamie needed a loan to finish culinary school, she cosigned without telling a soul. "

The revelation hit Nate like cold water. He'd seen Ari's dedication to the bakery, his fierce protectiveness of Sofia's recipes and routines, but he'd never understood the deeper web of connection that the business represented.

"Ari doesn't know most of this," Mrs. V said, reading the question in his expression.

"Sofia was careful about pride—hers and everyone else's.

She helped people in ways that let them keep their dignity.

But when she got sick, when she saw the end coming, she made me promise to watch over that boy.

To make sure he understood what he was inheriting. "

"What he was inheriting," Nate repeated slowly, setting down the coffee as understanding began to dawn. "Not just a business."

"A family. A responsibility. A legacy of caring that goes deeper than profit margins and rent payments." Mrs. V leaned forward, her weathered hands clasped tightly in her lap. "And now that legacy is in danger, mijo. Real danger."

The words tumbled out in a rush—the eviction notice that had arrived three days ago, the impossible timeline for back rent and property improvements, the sleepless nights Ari had spent poring over legal documents and bank statements.

She described Marcus's sudden reappearance with his calculated offer of help, how he'd positioned himself as Ari's only option while subtly undermining his confidence.

"He's been carrying all of this alone," she said, and Nate felt something twist painfully in his chest. "Too proud to ask for help, too scared to admit he might lose everything Sofia trusted him to protect.

And then you showed up at the gallery tonight, happy and hopeful, and he couldn't bear to drag you into his mess. "

Nate stood abruptly, moving to the window that faced Maple Walk.

The street looked peaceful in the evening light, string lights beginning to twinkle between the buildings, but he could see the darkened windows of Blue Moon Bakery and imagine Ari inside, surrounded by legal papers and the crushing weight of responsibility.

"He thinks he's protecting you," Mrs. V said softly behind him. "But that boy is drowning, and he needs someone to throw him a rope."

The frustration that had been building all evening finally found its target—not Ari's fear or Marcus's manipulation, but his own blindness to what had been happening right across the street.

While he'd been celebrating Maya's success and imagining a future where his biggest worry was whether to kiss Ari goodnight at his door or invite him upstairs, Ari had been fighting a battle that threatened to destroy everything he loved.

"Mrs. V," Nate said, his voice rough with determination. "Tell me exactly what needs to happen to save the bakery."

Her smile was fierce and approving. "Now you're asking the right questions, mijo. But first, you need to go to him. That boy has been alone with this long enough."

Nate was already reaching for his laptop and portfolio case, his mind racing through possibilities.

Social media campaigns, emergency fundraising, community mobilization—there had to be ways to fight this that didn't involve accepting help from someone who'd already proven he couldn't be trusted.

Art had always been his way of solving problems, of taking something complex and emotional and distilling it into something clear and communicative.

"Go," Mrs. V said, rising from the couch.

She looked satisfied, like someone who'd just finished exactly what she'd set out to do.

"I'll start making calls. The Garcia family, Mr. Chen, Jamie at the coffee shop—there are more people who love that bakery than Ari realizes.

But he needs to hear that from you first."

The evening air was crisp as Nate crossed Maple Walk, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and his heart hammering against his ribs.

Through the bakery's large front windows, he could see Ari hunched over the corner table, surrounded by what looked like an explosion of paperwork.

The sight of him—shoulders curved with exhaustion, one hand buried in his hair while the other traced lines of text—made Nate's chest ache with the need to fix this somehow.

The door's chime seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet space. Ari looked up with red-rimmed eyes that went wide with surprise, then filled with something that looked dangerously close to panic.

"Nate? What are you—you shouldn't be here. I'm sorry about tonight, about running out on the gallery, but I can't?—"

"Stop." Nate set his laptop case on the nearest table and pulled out a chair across from Ari. "Stop apologizing and stop trying to protect me from whatever this is. Mrs. V told me everything—the eviction, Marcus, all of it. So tell me what we're dealing with, and then let me help."

For a moment, Ari looked like he might argue, his stubborn independence warring with the exhaustion that had carved shadows beneath his eyes. Then his shoulders sagged, and the fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.

"The building was sold six months ago," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"New management company, new standards. They want three months' back rent, plus money for renovations to bring the space up to their specifications.

I have two weeks to come up with fifteen thousand dollars, or they'll evict me and convert the space into luxury retail. "

Nate opened his laptop, his fingers already moving across the trackpad as he pulled up design software. "Okay. What about a loan? Emergency fundraising? Community investment?"

"My credit isn't good enough for a traditional loan, not for that amount.

I looked into crowdfunding, but who's going to donate to save a bakery they've never heard of?

" Ari gestured helplessly at the papers scattered across the table.

"Marcus keeps saying his offer is the only realistic option, and maybe he's right.

Maybe I've been too proud to admit I can't do this alone. "

The familiar interface of his design program filled the screen, and Nate felt the same focused calm that always came when he had a clear creative problem to solve.

Ari might not see the solutions yet, but Nate could envision them—social media graphics that told Blue Moon's story, crowdfunding campaigns that highlighted the community impact, promotional materials that would drive foot traffic and emergency sales.

"You're not alone," he said, his stylus moving across the tablet as he began sketching rapid concepts. "And you're not going to lose this place. Look?—"

He turned the laptop screen toward Ari, revealing a rough mockup of a crowdfunding page featuring hand-drawn illustrations of the bakery's warm interior, Sofia's vintage mixer, the morning light streaming through the windows.

Even as a quick sketch, it captured what made Blue Moon special—the craftsmanship, the history, the sense of home that drew people back day after day.

"'Help Save Blue Moon Bakery,'" Nate read from the header he'd designed.

"'A neighborhood institution founded on the belief that bread shared is community built.

' We'll tell Sofia's story, your story, the customer stories.

People donate to causes they understand and care about, and once they understand what this place means. .."