Page 3 of Window Seat for Two

THREE

MISTAKEN CRUSH

*When reality doesn't match expectations*

The morning light streaming through his apartment windows felt different today—sharper, more insistent.

Nate had been awake since five-thirty, checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror three times and changing shirts twice before settling on a soft green henley that brought out his eyes.

His hair refused to cooperate despite liberal application of product and finger-combing, but Maya always said the messy look worked for him anyway.

He'd rehearsed the conversation during his shower, while brushing his teeth, and again while making coffee he was too nervous to drink.

*Hi, I'm Nate—I live across the street. I've been waving at you every morning for months.

* No, too stalker-ish. *Hey, I'm the guy from the window—want to grab coffee sometime?

* Better, but what if the barista thought he was weird for not just walking over sooner?

Standing at his easel now, ostensibly working on a book cover illustration featuring a moonlit garden, Nate found himself sketching the barista's face from memory instead.

Strong jawline, kind eyes, that practiced smile that suggested someone who genuinely enjoyed making people's mornings better.

He'd imagined their first conversation dozens of times, usually while watching the man work behind the counter, movements efficient and graceful as he pulled shots and steamed milk.

The sketch wasn't coming together quite right, though.

Something about the eyes seemed off—too sharp, maybe, or not quite the right shape.

Nate frowned, erasing and redrawing the line of the cheek for the third time.

Memory was unreliable for portrait work; he'd learned that lesson countless times in figure drawing classes.

But today wasn't about accuracy—it was about working up the courage to finally cross the street.

By eight-fifteen, Nate couldn't stall any longer.

The morning rush would hit soon, and he'd lose his chance for anything resembling a real conversation.

He grabbed his messenger bag, checked his reflection one more time, and headed downstairs with nervous energy usually reserved for job interviews or first dates.

The cobblestones of Maple Walk felt uneven under his feet as he crossed the narrow street, dodging a delivery bike and sidestepping Mrs. Vasquez's overly friendly tabby cat.

The familiar sounds of the neighborhood—distant espresso machine hiss, early commuters chatting, rumbling delivery trucks on the main road—felt heightened, as if his nerves had amplified everything.

The bell above Grindhouse Café's door chimed his arrival, and the rich scent of freshly ground coffee beans enveloped him immediately. The morning rush hadn't quite started yet, leaving only a few customers scattered at communal tables with their laptops and newspapers. Perfect timing.

Behind the counter, a young man with dark hair tied back in a small bun looked up from the espresso machine he was cleaning, offering exactly the kind of warm, welcoming smile Nate had been watching from his window. This was it—his moment.

"Hey there," the barista said, moving to the register with practiced ease. "What can I get started for you?"

Nate's rehearsed opening lines evaporated.

Standing this close, he could see that the barista's eyes were brown rather than the green he'd imagined, and his build was more compact than it appeared from across the street.

Still handsome, definitely friendly, but somehow not quite matching the image Nate had constructed.

"Actually," Nate began, feeling heat creep up his neck, "I wanted to introduce myself first. I'm Nate—I live across the street, third floor corner apartment? I've been waving at you every morning for months."

The barista's eyebrows drew together in genuine confusion. He glanced toward the window facing Maple Walk, then back at Nate with a puzzled expression that made Nate's stomach drop.

"Waving at me?" he asked slowly. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've noticed... When do you usually wave?"

Before Nate could answer, a woman emerged from the back room carrying a tray of clean mugs, her short platinum hair catching the morning light. She was petite and sharp-featured, with the kind of direct gaze that suggested she missed very little.

"What's this about waving?" she asked, setting the mugs down with a slight clatter.

"This is Nate," the male barista explained, his tone kind but still confused. "He says he's been waving at me from his apartment across the street."

The woman—Maya, based on Nate's mental catalog of neighborhood faces—looked between them for a moment before her expression shifted from confusion to understanding. Then she laughed, not unkindly, but with the bright recognition of someone who'd just solved a puzzle.

"Oh honey," she said, pointing toward the window that faced Blue Moon Bakery rather than the street. "You mean the grumpy baker, don't you? That's Ari Volkov. He's the one who can actually see your apartment window from where he works."

Nate felt his face burn with mortification so intense it was probably visible from space. The pieces clicked into place with devastating clarity—the angle of his window, the layout of the street, the fact that he'd been waving at a coffee shop whose front windows faced entirely the wrong direction.

"Oh god," he managed, his voice slightly strangled. "I've been waving at the wrong person for months."

Jamie—the barista's name tag finally came into focus—exchanged an amused but sympathetic look with Maya. "That's actually kind of sweet. In a mortifying way."

"I am so sorry," Nate stammered, wishing the vintage concrete floors would open up and swallow him whole. "I can't believe I just—this is so embarrassing. I thought you were ignoring me, and then yesterday someone finally waved back, and I figured?—"

"Wait," Maya interrupted, pulling out her phone with the quick efficiency of someone always ready to document life's more interesting moments. "Yesterday someone waved back? That would have been Ari, and honey, that's actually kind of a big deal."

Her fingers flew across her screen before she turned the phone toward Nate, displaying a photo that made his breath catch.

The image showed a man kneading dough behind what was clearly Blue Moon Bakery's counter, his dark hair slightly mussed and flour dusting his forearms. His expression was serious, focused on his work, but there was something compelling about the intensity in his dark eyes and the careful precision of his movements.

"This is who's actually been seeing your waves," Maya said. "Ari Volkov, Sofia's nephew. He inherited the bakery when she passed a few months ago."

Nate stared at the photo, feeling an unexpected flutter of interest that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

This man looked nothing like Jamie—where Jamie radiated easy warmth and accessibility, Ari appeared guarded, complex, maybe even a little dangerous in the way that suggested hidden depths rather than actual threat.

"He waved back yesterday?" Jamie asked, genuine surprise in his voice. "Ari doesn't really do friendly gestures. At least, not since Sofia's funeral."

"He's been through a lot," Maya added, her tone softening.

"Losing Sofia was hard on everyone, but especially him.

She basically raised him after his parents died, and now he's trying to keep the bakery going on his own while dealing with grief and money problems and—" She caught herself, apparently remembering that Nate was essentially a stranger.

"Well, let's just say he's had better months. "

Nate glanced toward the café window, following the sightline to Blue Moon Bakery across the narrow street.

Through the bakery's large front windows, he could make out a tall figure moving behind the counter, and his heart did something complicated in his chest. Had he really been so fixated on his imagined connection with Jamie that he'd never properly looked at the person who could actually see him?

"So when you say he doesn't do friendly gestures," Nate said carefully, still studying Ari's photo, "does that mean yesterday was unusual?"

"Unusual doesn't begin to cover it," Jamie replied. "Ari's brilliant with bread—Sofia taught him everything she knew, and he's got instincts you can't teach. But with people?" He shrugged apologetically. "Let's just say customers don't go to Blue Moon for the sparkling conversation."

"He's not mean," Maya clarified quickly. "Just... prickly. Keeps to himself, especially since Marcus left."

"Marcus?"

"Ex-boyfriend," Jamie explained. "Real piece of work, from what I heard.

Left about a month after Sofia died, said something about Ari lacking ambition.

Because apparently inheriting a struggling bakery and working eighteen-hour days to keep it afloat doesn't count as ambitious enough for some people. "

Nate felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness toward someone he'd never actually met. The idea of abandoning someone during grief seemed particularly cruel, and the timing made it even worse.

"So if he waved back yesterday," Nate said slowly, processing this new information, "that was probably a bigger deal than I realized."

"Probably," Maya agreed. "I can't remember the last time I saw him initiate any kind of social interaction. He's polite when people talk to him, but he doesn't exactly encourage it."

Jamie started the espresso machine, the familiar hiss and gurgle filling a brief silence. "You know what? This whole mix-up is actually kind of perfect. You get to start over with the right person, and maybe Ari gets to remember that not everyone in the world is going to disappoint him."

"Assuming he wants to be waved at by a stranger," Nate pointed out, though he was still looking at the photo with growing fascination. Something about Ari's expression suggested layers—the kind of complexity that made for interesting conversations and unexpected discoveries.

"Only one way to find out," Maya said with a grin that suggested she enjoyed playing matchmaker. "But fair warning —Ari's not exactly the easy, breezy type. If you're looking for simple and uncomplicated, Jamie here is definitely more your speed."

"Hey," Jamie protested mildly, but he was smiling. "I can be complicated."

"You put smiley faces in foam art," Maya pointed out. "You're about as complicated as a golden retriever."

Despite his lingering embarrassment, Nate couldn't help but smile. There was something appealing about the easy banter between Maya and Jamie, the kind of comfortable friendship that suggested this place might become a regular stop even without romantic motivations.

"So what's the verdict?" Maya asked, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Stick with your original plan and ask Jamie here for coffee, or are you curious about the mysterious baker who finally waved back?"

Nate found himself glancing toward Blue Moon Bakery again.

Through the window, Ari was visible in profile, working with the kind of focused intensity that spoke to real craftsmanship.

There was something compelling about watching someone completely absorbed in their work, especially work that required both strength and delicacy.

"I think," Nate said slowly, "I should probably apologize for months of inadvertent stalking behavior and see what happens from there."

"That's very mature of you," Jamie said, pulling a shot of espresso with practiced precision. "And this is on the house, for emotional distress."

"You don't have to?—"

"Trust me, after that story, you've earned it. Besides, Maya photographed my latte art for her Instagram last week, so I owe her a favor, and she clearly wants to see how this plays out."

Maya didn't deny it, just grinned and started wiping down the counter with suspicious enthusiasm.

Nate accepted the coffee gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma and using the familiar comfort of caffeine as an anchor while his mind raced.

The morning hadn't gone at all as planned, but somehow he felt more excited about the prospect of talking to Ari than he had about his imagined conversation with Jamie.

Maybe it was the challenge of it, or maybe it was simply the relief of finally understanding what had actually been happening across the street.

"Any advice for approaching the prickly baker?" he asked as Jamie handed him a sleeve for his cup.

"Be genuine," Maya suggested. "Ari's got excellent instincts for people trying to bullshit him, but he responds to honesty."

"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.