Page 31 of What Broke First
“It was innovative.”
“It was inedible.”
“Still think about that poor instructor’s face when the foam exploded out of the pan.”
“He looked like he wanted to call the authorities.”
They both laughed, and something in the air shifted. Lighter. Looser.
“You know,” Sarah said, “We used to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Easy. Stupid. Funny.”
Matt went quiet for a second. “It’s still in us. The good parts. They didn’t burn.”
Sarah didn’t respond right away. Then, softly, “I want to believe that.”
They talked for nearly an hour. About nothing. About everything. About the kids, work, and stupid things that made them laugh. The kind of conversation that only happens when history and hope collide.
Eventually, they said goodnight, both of them stretched out in separate beds, hearts full and aching.
Matt stared at the ceiling and whispered to no one, “She still loves me.”
And miles away, Sarah lay in the dark, listening to Chris Isaak’sWicked Game, clutching her pillow, whispering, “I still love him.”
Neither of them heard the other. But maybe that didn’t matter.
Sometimes, love speaks even in silence.
Chapter 17: The Line Between Want and Shouldn’t
Sarah spent the next day walking around, as if her skin didn’t fit right. After sleeping on it, she realized that the kiss had been a mistake. A delicious, toe-curling, make- you-reconsider-every-boundary-you have-ever-set kind of mistake.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just the way Matt kissed her, but the way he didn’t push. The way he pulled back like a gentleman with a broken heart and a shred of dignity. That restraint made her angry. And curious.
By noon, she’d re-watched the same 30 seconds of a recipe video four times without hearing a word. By evening, she’d deleted three texts she’d drafted to him. One had said, “I forgive you.” Another just said, “Come over.”
She settled on silence. Until he showed up again.This time, no pizza. No excuse. Just him, “Tommy forgot his tablet,” he said, holding it up like Exhibit A. She didn’t even look at it. “Did he, or did you want to see if we could keep spiraling toward mutually assured emotional ruin?”
Matt smiled, slowly. “It can be both.”
She let him in. Of course she did. The house was quiet. Kids with their grandparents. No distractions. Just them.
That stupid, perfect tension filled the air again like static before a storm.“Want a drink?” she asked. He blinked. “Are we drinking?”
“I’m drinking. You can just stand there and smolder if you want.”
He followed her to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of wine and slid him a beer. They drank in silence for a moment.
“Why are you here, Matt?” she asked, voice low.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Habit. Hope. Some stupid part of me thinks that if I keep showing up, I’ll stop feeling like a ghost in your life.”
She crossed her arms, holding herself together. “You can’t heal a wound you caused just by standing near it.”
“The hell I can’t,” he said.“I’m not walking away this time. Not from you. Not from the kids. Not from the mess I made. I’m trying to be the man who never would’ve cut you open in the first place.”
