Wednesday evening brought a break in the clouds around five PM, leaving behind a crisp, cool dusk that smelled of wet earth and autumn leaves.
Ethan’s shift ended at six.
He stepped out of the shop, wrapping his heavy dark green wool sweater tighter around his chest, and walked toward the alley where his truck was parked.
As he reached the alley entrance, he saw Maya leaning against the red tailgate of his Ford, wearing her thick dark purple sweater and her heavy work boots. She was holding two paper cups of tea, steam rising into the cold evening air.
"Hey," Ethan said, stopping a few feet away.
"Hey," she said, holding out one of the cups. "Chamomile and honey. Sarah said you looked like you needed something without caffeine."
Ethan took the cup, feeling the warmth spread through his cold fingers. "Thanks. How was the bakery today?"
"Busy," she said, leaning her head back against the truck window. "We had three large catering orders for some corporate office down by the harbor. I spent four hours decorating thirty dozen mini tarts."
"Sounds tedious," Ethan said, taking a careful sip of the hot tea.
"It was," she agreed. "My thumb is cramped from the piping bag."
They stood in the quiet alley for a few minutes, listening to the distant hum of evening traffic on 4th Street and the soft caw of a crow sitting on the telephone wire overhead.
"Wanna walk down to the river?" Maya asked, looking at him sideways. "Before it gets completely dark?"
"Yeah," Ethan said. "I'm down."
They walked side by side down the sidewalk, their boots making quiet, rhythmic crunching sounds against the damp autumn leaves scattered on the pavement.
The sky above the river was turned a deep, bruised violet, with long streaks of orange near the horizon where the sun had just dropped below the hills.
They reached the iron railing near the drawbridge, leaning their elbows on the cold metal, looking out over the dark, slow-moving water.
"Julian came by the store today," Ethan said after a minute.
Maya turned her head slightly. "Yeah? What did he want?"
"His subwoofer broke a leg," Ethan said. "Bought two brass isolation studs off us."
Maya let out a short, dry laugh. "Karma."
"He looked pretty stressed," Ethan admitted. "Didn't even make any snide comments about dusty cardboard."
Maya stared at the dark water below, her dark hair blowing gently in the river breeze. "He's under a lot of pressure from his corporate bosses, Ethan. Sarah knows the guy who owns the building across the street. Said Sound Precision has to hit twenty grand a month in sales just to cover their rent."
Ethan blinked, looking at her. "Twenty grand?"
"Yeah," she said softly. "High-end retail is brutal. If they don't hit their numbers, the corporate owners just pull the plug and shut the store down."
Ethan looked across the river at the lights of the city reflection in the dark water. He thought about his own shop—small, dusty, low-stakes, owned by an old man who cared more about inventory integrity than corporate expansion—and realized how lucky he actually was.
"Still doesn't give him an excuse to be an asshole," Ethan said.
Maya looked at him, a warm, soft smile lighting up her face in the twilight. "No. It doesn't."
She reached out, her gloved hand sliding into his canvas coat pocket, her fingers finding his hand inside the warm fabric.
Ethan’s heart gave a steady, solid thud. He closed his fingers around hers, holding her hand firmly inside his pocket as they stood together near the iron railing under the darkening autumn sky.
They didn't say anything else for a long time. They just stood there, watching the lights of the city turn on one by one across the water, two ordinary people holding hands in a cold coat pocket on a quiet Wednesday evening.
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