Sweet Temptation

The scent of warm cinnamon and rising dough curled around me like a hug. My hands worked quickly, kneading a stubborn batch of brioche with the kind of practiced ease only muscle memory could grant. Morning sunlight poured through the bakery windows, scattering gold across the flour-dusted countertops and illuminating the hum of early customers.

This place—Sweets Cakeshop—was my dream. A dream built on coffee-fueled nights, spreadsheets I didn’t understand at first, and a bank loan that still made my palms sweat. But it was real. Alive. And for the first time in years, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.

The bell above the front door jingled again. I glanced up, scanning for my sister.

Where is Melanie?

Missing, again?

I wiped my hands on a towel, sighing. “Where is she…” I muttered under my breath, pushing through the swinging kitchen door to the shop floor.

The small bakery was buzzing—nothing overwhelming, just the cozy chaos of regulars asking for their usuals, couples lingering over coffee, and that one guy who always asked if the croissants were “authentically Parisian.” I offered him a tight smile and headed for the back.

Melanie wasn’t behind the counter or anywhere in the room.

A strange prickle crawled up my spine as I crossed to the utility room—barely more than a glorified closet at the back of the shop.

I didn’t knock.

I should have.

There they were—Melanie, pinned against the wall, laughing breathlessly as Scott Kingston, her current boyfriend, kissed a path down her neck.

I froze.

“Oh my gosh--!” I hissed, turning away, cheeks burning. “Seriously?”

Melanie pulled away, breathless but unashamed. “Chlo, it’s not what it looks like!”

I shot her a glare over my shoulder. “Mel, it’s exactly what it looks like. We’re slammed out there.”

Scott had the decency to look sheepish. Melanie, on the other hand, just adjusted her shirt and shrugged. “You’ve got it handled.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. Because this was the difference between us. Melanie always had a boyfriend. Always found someone to distract her. I, on the other hand, had only had one real relationship—my college ex. And after him, I’d decided that heartbreak wasn’t something I wanted to taste twice.

I walked out before I said something I couldn’t take back.

Later That Night – My Apartment

I was relishing a rare moment of silence, finally curled up on the couch in my tiny apartment a few blocks from the shop.

A mug of lukewarm chamomile tea rested beside me, long forgotten. My body ached in the way that only a day of early mornings and nonstop baking could bring. But I didn’t mind. I loved it.

This little life I’d built—flour-stained, chaotic, and mine.

The ringtone shattered my peace.

I blinked at the unfamiliar number, then picked up. “Hello?”

“Miss Chloe Sweets?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Yes, this is she.”

“I’m calling from Stanton Hospital—”

The world shifted under my feet. The words blurred together after that.

Melanie. Accident. Hospital. I needed to come, now.

I barely remembered changing clothes or racing down to the curb to hail a cab. My fingers trembled as I texted one of my friends. My heart thudded louder than the sirens on the street.

When I reached the emergency room, breathless and wide-eyed, a nurse met me at the desk.

“I’m here for Melanie Sweets. I’m her sister. Chloe.”

“Room 520. I’ll walk you there,” the nurse said gently, signaling a colleague to take her place.

“Is she okay?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Please—just tell me she’s okay.”

“She’s going to be fine,” the nurse assured me as we walked down the hallway. “Just some scrapes. She’s stable now.”

Relief almost made my knees give out—until I saw the two uniformed police officers waiting outside the room.

Officers.

Something else was wrong.

I introduced myself quickly, and the taller one—Tate—nodded solemnly. “Miss Sweets, your sister and her boyfriend, Scott Kingston, were involved in a crash earlier tonight.”

I frowned. “A crash? Where?”

The officers exchanged a grim look.

“At your bakery.”

The world froze.

“I—I don’t understand. At Sweets Cakeshop?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Officer Brandon. “They were both intoxicated. Mr. Scott was driving the van. He lost control and hit the storefront.”

My stomach dropped.

“Upon impact,” he continued, “a fire ignited near the main gas line. It escalated into a full explosion. Thankfully, both were pulled from the vehicle before it blew.”

Explosion.

The word echoed like a siren in my head. My breath caught. I couldn’t even speak—just stared.

“We’re very sorry,” Officer Tate added. “Someone from the court will be in touch with them when they’ve recovered. But for now, you don’t need to worry about the legal steps.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

My bakery—my dream—gone?

And Melanie...

The nurse cleared her throat gently. “There’s more. During the interview, while gathering information, she mentioned that her period was late. With her consent, we ran a test—and we discovered that Ms. Melanie is pregnant. She’s seven weeks along.”

I blinked. “Pregnant?” My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. “Did she… did she know?”

“She knows now.”

“How about my sister’s boyfriend? I—I mean, Scott.” I swallowed hard. “Is he… is he going to be okay?”

“They’re monitoring him closely. He should pull through,” the nurse said gently.

When I stepped into the hospital room, my sister looked so fragile. Scraped up, face pale, eyes red from crying.

“Chloe…” Melanie’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to scream, to demand answers—but all I could do was walk forward and sit on the edge of the bed.

“What matters is that you’re alive.”

Melanie burst into tears. “The shop—I ruined it. We worked so hard.”

“Don’t.” I held up a hand, my voice firm. “Not now. Don’t talk about the shop.”

“They said… I’m pregnant.”

“I know.” My jaw clenched. “Did Scott know?”

“They said he’s still unconscious, but they’ll tell him. I’ll go to him once I feel better too.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and aching. I looked at her—really looked. And it hit me all over again, how young she still was. How much of the world she thought she could outrun.

God, she reminded me of Mom. The recklessness, the big feelings, the belief that everything would work out somehow, even when the odds said otherwise.

“How many second chances do you think we get, Mel?” I said quietly. “Do you even remember what it was like, that night they died?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, guilt twisting her features.

“You remember. Don’t tell me you don’t.”

She blinked fast. “I remember.”

“Our parents didn’t die in their sleep. It wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t fair. It was some idiot running a red light and not thinking it through. One second. That’s all it took. One moment of not caring enough.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the heat in my throat back down.

“And you—you’re doing the same thing. Crashing through life like it’ll all just catch you.”

“Are you mad?” Melanie asked.

“I just…” I exhaled, my voice raw. “I wish you’d stop being so damn reckless. Just once. Think before you jump. Think about me. About yourself. About your baby now, too.”

“I’ll change. I swear.”

I stared at her for a long moment. “You’ll have to.”

I squeezed her hand gently before standing. “Rest. I’ll check on the damage.”

As I walked out of the hospital room, I didn’t bother holding back the tears. They slipped quietly down my cheeks, burning hot.

The bakery was gone.

My sister was pregnant.

And once again, I—the younger one—was left to pick up the pieces.