THE SWEETEST DEAL - Chapter 4: Cracks in the Glaze

The morning after didn’t come with tangled sheets or whispered promises.

It came with silence.

Lisa stood alone in her bakery, the early light spilling through the windows in soft gold streaks. The scent of vanilla and yeast filled the space, familiar and grounding. Her hands moved on autopilot — kneading dough, prepping trays, setting timers — but her mind was still on the rooftop.

On Malik.

On the way his voice had dropped when he said he wasn’t walking away. On the way he hadn’t kissed her — not quite — but had come close enough to make her forget every rule she’d written for herself.

She hated how much she’d wanted him to close that last inch.

The bell above the door jingled.

Lisa didn’t look up. “We’re not open yet.”

“I’m not here for a croissant.”

Her heart stuttered.

She turned.

Malik stood in the doorway, dressed down in a charcoal T-shirt and jeans, a coffee in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes. He looked different in the daylight — less polished, more real. And somehow, even more dangerous.

“You’re early,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel.

“You’re surprised I showed up.”

Lisa shrugged. “Most men disappear after the first taste of resistance.”

“I’m not most men.”

She didn’t argue. He wasn’t.

He walked toward the counter, setting the coffee down in front of her. “Flat white. No sugar.”

She raised a brow. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.”

The words landed with a weight she wasn’t ready for.

Lisa turned away, busying herself with the dough. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my space. My rhythm. I don’t let people into this part of my life.”

Malik leaned on the counter, watching her. “You let me in last night.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

She looked up, flour dusting her cheek, eyes sharp. “You think because we shared a moment — a few words and a glass of wine — that you know me?”

“No,” he said. “But I think you want me to.”

Lisa froze.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that terrified her.

She turned back to the dough, pressing her palms into it harder than necessary. “You’re used to control, aren’t you?”

“So are you.”

“That’s the problem.”

Malik was quiet for a beat. Then, “You think we’d destroy each other.”

“I think we’d burn too hot to survive.”

He stepped around the counter, closing the distance between them. She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I’m not here to take anything from you, Lisa,” he said, voice low. “I’m here because I see something in you I can’t ignore. And I think you see it too.”

She looked up at him, her breath shallow. “What if I don’t want to be seen?”

“Then you wouldn’t have let me this close.”

His hand hovered near hers — not touching, just there. A question. A promise.

Lisa’s voice cracked. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Good,” Malik said. “Because I’m not interested in something you’ve done before.”

The timer dinged. The spell broke.

Lisa stepped back, grabbing the tray from the oven. The scent of cinnamon and butter filled the room, but the air between them was still thick with everything unsaid.

She set the tray down, not looking at him. “You should go.”

Malik didn’t move. “I will. But I’ll be back.”

Lisa finally met his gaze. “Why?”

“Because I want more than a taste.”

And then he was gone.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but the echo stayed.

Lisa stood in the middle of her bakery, heart pounding, hands trembling.

She didn’t know what scared her more — the fact that he’d come back.

Or the fact that she wanted him to.