THE SWEETEST DEAL - Chapter 6: Something Beautiful

Six months later, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla still clung to the air — but now it mingled with something new.

Laughter.
Jazz.
And the quiet rhythm of two hearts learning how to beat in sync.

Lisa’s bakery had grown — not in size, but in soul. The walls still wore their soft cream paint, the counters still bore the daily dusting of flour, but now there were signs of life beyond survival. A second espresso machine gleamed in the corner, a gift from Malik after she finally admitted her old one sputtered more than it steamed. A framed photo of the rooftop tasting night hung near the register — her in red, him in black, both of them caught mid-laugh, unaware the moment had been captured.

And behind the counter, next to her apron, hung his.

He didn’t bake. Not really. But he was there. Every morning. Every late night. Every moment she needed someone to lean on — or push her forward.

Lisa had never believed in partnerships. Not after Daniel. Not after the betrayal that left her rebuilding from flour and fire. But Malik didn’t want to own her kitchen. He just wanted to stand beside her in it.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

Today, the bakery buzzed with quiet energy. A soft playlist hummed through the speakers — a mix of soul and old-school R&B. Customers sipped lattes and nibbled on lemon ginger cookies — the new version, with Malik’s darker crust and her signature filling. They called it the “Firestarter.” It had become a bestseller.

Lisa stood behind the counter, piping buttercream onto a tray of cupcakes, her hair tied up in a messy bun, her cheeks flushed from the oven’s heat. She wore a navy apron with “Whisk Taker” embroidered across the front — a cheeky gift from Malik that she pretended to hate but wore every day.

The bell above the door jingled.

She didn’t look up. “We’re out of croissants until—”

“I brought the labels,” came Malik’s voice, warm and familiar.

Lisa smiled before she even turned. “The ones with the gold foil?”

“Only the best for Nairobi’s most dangerous baker.”

He walked behind the counter like he belonged there — because he did — and kissed her cheek before setting the box down.

“You’re late,” she teased.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied.

She paused, looking at him. “You always do that.”

“What?”

“Say the one thing that makes me forget what I was mad about.”

He grinned. “It’s a gift.”

They worked side by side for a while — labeling boxes, arranging pastries, stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It was easy now. Natural. Like they’d always been this way.

But they hadn’t.

They’d fought. They’d stumbled. Lisa had pulled away more than once, afraid of losing herself again. But Malik never pushed. He waited. He listened. And when she was ready, he was still there — steady, patient, and just stubborn enough to match her fire.

Now, they were planning a second location. A rooftop dessert bar. Her vision, his investment. Their dream.

Lisa looked around the bakery — her bakery — and felt something she hadn’t in years.

Peace.

Malik slid a cookie across the counter. “Taste this.”

She took a bite. Paused. “You added cardamom.”

He nodded. “Thought it might surprise you.”

“It does,” she said, licking a crumb from her lip. “In a good way.”

He leaned in, voice low. “That’s how I like to surprise you.”

She laughed, swatting his arm. “Behave. We have customers.”

“Then close early.”

“Tempting.”

He kissed her then — soft, slow, the kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. The kind that said: We made it.

And they had.

Lisa had once believed that love was a risk she couldn’t afford. That letting someone in meant losing herself. But Malik had shown her that the right person doesn’t dim your fire.

They feed it.

Later that evening, after the last customer left and the lights dimmed, they sat on the floor behind the counter, sharing a slice of chocolate tart and a bottle of wine. Her head rested on his shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her knee.

“Do you ever think about how it started?” she asked.

He smiled. “You mean when you accused me of not wanting cupcakes?”

“You didn’t.”

“I wanted you.”

Lisa rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw flour in your face.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kiss you right there in front of your customers.”

She looked up at him. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew,” he said, brushing a curl from her cheek. “That once I started… I wouldn’t stop.”

Lisa’s breath caught. Even now, months later, he still had that effect on her.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his — slow, deep, certain.

When they pulled apart, she whispered, “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Not that night.
Not the next.
Not ever.

Because this wasn’t just a sweet deal.

It was the start of something beautiful.