Page 58 of What Broke First
Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes. She wiped one away as she laughed. “Once again, you’re such a dork.”
He stepped in close again. “Let’s take that trip. Cabin. Marshmallows. Stars. S’mores. The telescope. Just us and the kids. A little weekend where nothing has to be decided but everything can be felt.”
Sarah nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Let’s do it,” she whispered. And just like that, they began making reservations. Googling cabins. Searching for sleeping bags and butterfly nets. Packing up snacks and favorite books and flashlights and maybe a little bit of faith.
Not perfect.
But finally, undeniably, forward.
Chapter 30: Smoke and Stars
They pulled into the cabin driveway just before sunset, the sky throwing a full-blown emotional tantrum in peach and lavender.
It looked like nature had read their group chat and decided to stage a wellness retreat. Tommy leapt out of the car like it was a race and Emily yelled, “I win! I touched the porch first! That means I’m queen of the woods!”
Matt grinned. “Queen of the woods? What are your royal duties, your highness?”
Emily placed both hands on her hips, looking deadly serious. “Snack inventory. Pillow fights. And anyone who steps on a pinecone owes me one gummy worm.”
“Seems fair,” Sarah said, laughing.
They hiked a short trail just behind the cabin, a gentle loop lined with mossy stones and sleepy ferns. Tommy kept pointing at things with the authority of a wildlife ranger. “That’s a sycamore. I think. Or it’s poison ivy. But probably a sycamore.”
Emily, meanwhile, kept narrating their journey like it was a Disney movie. “And the brave explorers found...a stick! A magic stick! That definitely turns frogs into princes.”
Matt and Sarah walked behind them, arms brushing occasionally, falling into that easy rhythm of people who remembered what it meant to share space.
Over sandwiches and chips at a picnic table, Sarah looked at Matt across the mustard jar and whispered, “You ever think we’d be here again?”
“Not once,” he said, his voice warm. “But I thought about wanting it. Every day.”
She blinked, taken off guard. Then smiled. “Well. You clean up pretty well for a man who used to think Doritos were an acceptable dinner.”
He laughed. “We grow. We evolve. We buy actual groceries.”
By the time the s’mores were roasting and the fire was dancing high, Emily had marshmallow all over her face, and Tommy was trying to toast two at once without dropping them.
“You’re gonna burn it!” Emily shrieked.
“It’s called caramelizing,” Tommy said with pride.
Matt looked over at Sarah. She was already watching him. The firelight reflected in her eyes, softening the world. There was no pretense there. Just love and maybe the beginning of trust.
The kids crashed early. Too much fresh air, too many giggles. Sarah and Matt cleaned up the sticky aftermath and fell onto the couch, shoulder to shoulder. No kissing. No expectations. Just the kind of silence that says: I see you. I still see you.
The TV was on but muted, flickering shadows across their tired faces. A bowl of popcorn sat untouched between them. Sarah leaned her head back, the hum of night buzzing softly through the windows.
Matt’s laugh from earlier still echoed in her mind, it had been so unguarded, so real.
Then, without really thinking, Sarah shifted closer, turning to face him. Her hand found his on the couch cushion, fingers brushing first, then threading together.
Matt glanced at her, his eyes warm, tired, and careful. He didn’t say a word.
She leaned in and kissed him.
It was slow. Intentional. The kind of kiss that made time feel like it was holding its breath. Her lips moved against his with a familiarity that wasn’t nostalgic—it was current. Present. Like they weren’t recreating something they’d lost but discovering something new.
When she finally pulled back, her chest rose and fell with the same staggered rhythm as his. Matt stared at her, lips parted, breath unsteady. Then he let out a soft laugh, the kind that crumpled her insides.
