THE SWEETEST DEAL - Chapter 5 : The Edge of Sweet

Lisa didn’t sleep that night.

She tried. She lay in bed, eyes closed, body still, but her mind wouldn’t quiet. It kept replaying Malik’s words, the way he’d stood in her bakery like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t afraid of the mess beneath her surface.

Because there was a mess. One she’d spent years cleaning up, hiding behind perfect pastries and polite smiles.

But Malik? He didn’t flinch.

And that terrified her more than anything.

By morning, the sky was bruised with clouds, and the scent of rain clung to the air. Lisa stood at the window of her apartment, coffee in hand, watching the city stir. Her phone buzzed on the counter.

Malik:
8pm. Rooftop. One last tasting. No pressure. Just… come.

She stared at the message for a long time. Then she typed a reply.

Lisa:
One last.

And hit send.

The rooftop was empty when she arrived.

No music. No crowd. Just the city lights flickering below and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. The tasting table was set again — two chairs, a bottle of wine, and a single plate covered with a silver cloche.

Malik stood at the edge of the rooftop, hands in his pockets, eyes on the skyline.

“You came,” he said without turning.

“You asked.”

He turned then, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he gestured to the table. “Sit with me.”

Lisa hesitated, then crossed the space and took the seat opposite him. He poured the wine — red, bold, the kind that lingered on the tongue — and lifted the cloche.

On the plate was a single dessert: a lemon ginger tart, her signature, but with a twist. The crust was darker, the filling richer, and a thin shard of caramelized sugar arched over the top like a crown.

Lisa blinked. “You made this?”

“I tried,” Malik said. “I watched your videos. Took notes. Burned the first three.”

She stared at the tart, then at him. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to understand what it feels like to create something that holds your story.”

Lisa’s throat tightened.

“I don’t want to just taste your work,” he said. “I want to know what shaped it. What shaped you.”

She looked away. “That’s not a light ask.”

“I’m not a light man.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.

Then Lisa spoke. “His name was Daniel. We met in culinary school. He was charming, brilliant, and he made me feel like I was the only person in the room. We opened a bakery together. He handled the business, I handled the baking.”

Malik didn’t interrupt.

“He cheated. With a supplier. Then with our accountant. Then with my best friend. And when I confronted him, he told me I was too intense. Too much. That I should be grateful anyone wanted to love someone like me.”

Her voice cracked. She didn’t care.

“I walked away. Left the business. Started over with nothing but a mixer and a dream. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. That I was safer alone.”

Malik reached across the table, his hand covering hers. “You are intense. You are a lot. And it’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

Lisa blinked hard. “You don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I believe you… I’ll want more.”

Malik’s voice dropped. “Then want more.”

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain and something electric. Lisa stood, her heart pounding.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“So am I,” he said, rising to meet her. “But I’m still here.”

And then — finally — she let herself fall.

Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t soft or tentative. It was heat and hunger and everything they’d held back. His hands slid to her waist, hers tangled in his shirt, and the rooftop disappeared.

There was only this.

Only them.

Only the taste of something too sweet to be safe.