Page 17 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)

Sarah hadn’t expected to see Matt the next night. She was in yoga pants, hair in a messy bun, face bare. The kids had just gone to bed after a long day of whining, giggling, and demanding snacks as if their lives depended on it. She was halfway through a glass of red wine and a British baking show when the doorbell rang.

She opened the door to find Matt standing there with a sheepish smile and a pizza box.

“I brought bribes,”

he said.

“And garlic knots, which I’m told are legally required.”

She stared at him for a long beat.”

What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. I just... I wanted to talk. But not like a dramatic porch scene kind of talk. More like... pizza and regret.”

She stepped aside.

“Regret is the house special.”

They ate at the kitchen table like old times. Like before. The conversation was easy, too easy, and Sarah hated how quickly her guard wanted to drop. He was funny. He listened. He complimented her on her ridiculous slippers.

And then there was that look. The one that used to mean we’re going to bed early, but not for sleep. She caught him looking at her that way. The way that said he still remembered every inch of her. Every laugh. Every fight. Every night they had closed the bedroom door and left the world outside.

“Matt,”

she said carefully, the air shifting between them.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you forgot who blew up this marriage."

His expression changed. Not a look of guilt, just quiet.

“I never forgot. I think about it every single day. Besides, you were giving me the same look last night.”

The silence stretched. Then Sarah stood.

“I’m tired,”

she said.

“You should go.”

He rose too, slowly. “Okay.”

She walked him to the door. He paused there, one hand on the frame.

“Can I ask something?”

he said.

“You just did.”

He gave a half-smile.

“Can I kiss you goodnight?”

She blinked.

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t say make love to you on the stairs while the pizza box watches. I said kiss.”

She hesitated. Then, against her better judgment, she nodded.

It was brief. Careful. One of those kisses that feels like a question, not an answer.

When it ended, Sarah opened the door.

“Goodnight, Matt.”

He nodded, stepping into the night air.

“Goodnight, Sarah.”

She shut the door and leaned against it, heart hammering.

Matt walked to his car in a haze, every nerve ending alive. That kiss had been nothing and everything. It hadn’t satisfied anything, only awakened the ache he’d been trying to ignore.

He got behind the wheel, turned on Cruisin’ by Smokey Robinson, smiled widely, and just sat there. He stared at the steering wheel, fingers twitching with the urge to turn back. But he didn’t.

Back inside, Sarah pressed her fingertips to her lips, stunned by how much she still felt. The kiss had been soft, almost innocent, but it cracked something open.

She sank onto the couch, wine forgotten, show paused, the echo of Matt’s kiss lingering like the hum of a song she wasn’t ready to forget.

Matt got home and dropped his keys onto the counter, still caught in the orbit of that kiss. It looped in his mind like a highlight reel, every tiny detail amplified. The curve of her lips, the way she smelled like red wine and lavender, the quiet way she said goodnight.

He pulled out his phone and typed:

Matt: How can something so innocent make me feel so naughty?

He hesitated for half a second, then hit send.

Almost instantly, he remembered their phone call the other night. The way her laugh filled the silence. The way it felt like coming home.

So he took a shot.

Matt: Can you call me?

She called within seconds.“Miss me already?”

she teased, breathy with the kind of smile he could hear.

“I knew you were sitting there just waiting for an excuse,” he said.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was actually...”

“Watching a baking show. Drinking wine. Wearing those fuzzy socks with the sheep on them.”

She laughed.

“Okay, stalker.”

“You sent me a picture of your socks last week. I’m just proving I pay attention.”

She fell quiet for a beat. Then, softer.

“That kiss... it got to me.”

“Me too,”

he said, voice low.

“I didn’t expect it to hit that hard.”

“It was like remembering something and discovering it all over again at the same time.”

He let out a breath.

“You always did talk pretty when you were a little tipsy.”

She laughed again, this time so hard she snorted.“

There it is,”

he said.

“The snort laugh. God, I missed that.”

“You’re an idiot,”

she murmured, but she was smiling.

“Do you remember that time we got kicked out of that cooking class?”

Matt asked.

Sarah laughed.

“Yes. You said saffron was a scam and tried to make risotto with beer.”

“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’s Wicked 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.