Monday morning brought a sudden drop in temperature down to twenty-six degrees.
The air was so cold it stung your lungs when you inhaled, and a thin crust of black ice coated the shady spots along the alleys.
Ethan arrived at the bakery at seven AM before his shift at the record shop started.
The kitchen was roaring hot, smelling of melted sugar, cinnamon, and roasting coffee beans.
Sarah was at the back counter, furiously kneading a massive lump of brioche dough, while Maya was near the front window, packing breakfast boxes for a local corporate order.
Ethan walked in, stepping out of the freezing wind, his dark green sweater zipped up to his chin.
"Hey," Maya said, setting down her tape dispenser as she saw him.
"Hey," Ethan said, walking over. He pulled a hot cup of coffee out from his jacket pocket—he'd bought it at the diner down the block—and set it on her packing table. "Brought you coffee."
Maya looked at the cup, then up at him, a warm smile breaking through her morning fatigue. "You're a lifesaver, grease monkey."
She took a sip, leaning her hip against the stainless steel table. "How was the trip to Jersey yesterday?"
"Got twelve clean boxes of vintage metal for fifty bucks," Ethan said, leaning against the counter next to her. "Leo almost cried when he found a Mercyful Fate album."
Maya snorted, taking another sip. "Sounds like Leo."
She looked at him carefully, noticing the quiet, thoughtful expression on his face. "What's on your mind? You look like you're overthinking something."
Ethan looked down at his dirty work boots, then back at her dark eyes. "Leo said yesterday I should open my own repair shop when Henderson's closes."
Maya stopped mid-sip, setting her coffee cup down slowly. She stared at him for three full seconds, her expression completely unreadable.
"And?" she asked softly.
"And... I don't know," Ethan admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "It takes a lot of capital. Leases around here are insane, especially with the redevelopment coming in."
Maya walked around the table, standing right in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes.
"Ethan," she said, her voice firm and steady. "You're the best repair guy in three neighborhood districts. People bring you stuff from forty miles away because they know you won't charge them nine hundred bucks for a ten-dollar capacitor."
"It's risky, Maya," Ethan said quietly.
"Everything's risky," she said plainly. "Sarah and I took out a thirty-thousand-dollar loan to buy this bakery three years ago, and we almost starved for the first six months. But look at us now. We're paying off the mixer."
She reached out, grabbing his jacket lapels gently with both hands. "If you open a shop, I'll help you paint the walls. Sarah will bake the opening party pastries. And Leo will... well, Leo can sweep the floor or something."
Ethan looked down at her hands on his jacket, then up at her dark, fierce eyes.
The cold weight that had been sitting in his chest since Friday morning suddenly felt a little lighter, a little less terrifying.
"You'd help paint?" Ethan asked, a tiny smile appearing on his face.
"I'll paint the front door purple if you want," she smirked. "Just don't make it squeak."
Ethan laughed out loud, reaching out to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her close in the warm, dough-scented kitchen as the cold morning sun shone through the frosted glass windows of 4th Street.
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