Page 21 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)
Sarah had agreed to the date mostly out of principle. James had been kind, steady, and always available, but it was becoming obvious that their connection wasn’t going anywhere meaningful.
Carter was not emotionally available. So, when her friend Chloe casually mentioned that her husband’s friend from work was single, attractive, emotionally literate, an.
“definitely not a cheater,”
Sarah had hesitated for only two seconds before saying yes.
Which is how she found herself sitting at Sneaky Pete's, a charming rooftop bar in a soft green dress, sipping a lavender gin cocktail, wondering if this was what moving on was supposed to feel like.
Enter Jordan.
He was tall, with an easy smile and brown eyes that didn't just see you, they heard you. That was the first thing she noticed, he listened.
Not the fak.
“smile and nod while checking out your legs” kind.
The real kind.
He asked about her job, her kids, and her favorite books.
And he remembered the answers.
He laughed at her dry jokes.
He didn’t interrupt.
He didn’t try to impress her with stock tips or car specs.
Jordan was... normal. Alarmingly so.“You’re a good listener,”
Sarah said, twirling her straw between her fingers.
Jordan smiled, amused.
“That’s a low bar these days.”
“I’ve had dates where I could’ve recited the ingredients of antifreeze and they wouldn’t have noticed,” she said.
“Sounds like Carter,”
he teased gently.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Who told you about Carter?”
“Chloe. She didn’t spill details, just hinted that the last guy might’ve confused confidence with charisma.”
Sarah laughed.
“That’s uncomfortably accurate, but I am also still a rookie in the dating scene.”
He smiled, setting down his fork.
“You’re doing great. I mean, unless that comment about your daughter using nail polish to glue puzzle pieces together was supposed to scare me off.”
She laughed.
“She’s five and a tiny sociopath.”
“She sounds like a visionary.”
Sarah blinked. Then smiled again. It felt weird. Good weird.
Halfway through dinner, Jordan leaned back with a grin.
“Okay, serious question. Have you ever watched MasterChef and suddenly believed you could make a croquembouche?”
Sarah laughed, caught off guard.
“Only every season. I even Googled how to make spun sugar once.”
“Did you try it?”
“I nearly set off the smoke alarm. Twice. Ended up eating a spoonful of Nutella over the sink instead.”
Jordan held up his glass in mock toast.
“A classic culinary pivot. Respect.”
She smirked, twirling her fork in the Caesar salad.
“What about you? You strike me as the kind of guy who watches cooking shows and actually tries the recipes.”
He leaned in slightly.
“I’ve been known to attempt a risotto. I take my carbs seriously.”
“Risotto?”
she raised an eyebrow.
“That’s bold. Most guys can barely scramble eggs without Googling it.”
He gave her that confident half-smile again.
“I do own a whisk, Sarah.”
“Oh wow. A man with a whisk and opinions about arborio rice. Be still my heart.”
They laughed, easy and warm, the kind of laughter that settled low and lingered.
And somehow, the conversation kept going. From their worst takeout disasters to their dream travel meals, to whether or not cilantro was an herb or a personal attack.
At some point, Sarah glanced at the time and blinked.
“How is it already past nine?”
“Good conversation,”
Jordan said, without missing a beat.
“Time doesn’t stand a chance.”
He reached for his glass, then paused.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
"Sure,”
Sarah said, picking up her glass, too.
“What’s something you’ve learned about yourself recently?”
She considered it.
“That I can be angry and grateful at the same time. That grief and hope can exist in the same breath. And that I’m allowed to take up space, even if it’s messy.”
He nodded, taking that in.
“That’s... a powerful answer.”
She glanced up, meeting his gaze.
“What about you?”
Jordan’s expression turned thoughtful.
“That it’s okay to start over. And that starting over doesn’t have to mean starting from scratch. Sometimes it just means choosing better.”
Sarah didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, softly.
“Are we choosing better?”
“I hope so,”
he said.
“Even if it’s just for tonight.”
Dessert came, a warm brownie topped with melting espresso ice cream, and Jordan took the first bite like it was sacred. He let out a quiet, satisfied sound that made Sarah laugh.
“This might be the most spiritual experience I’ve had all year,”
he said, licking a bit of chocolate from his thumb.
“I’ll alert the Vatican,”
she replied, smiling around her spoon.
He glanced at her, eyes warm.
“You know what’s wild? I read this article that said sugar lights up the same part of your brain as falling in love.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“So you’re saying this brownie is manipulating my emotions?”
“Exactly,”
he said, grinning.
“You think you’re having a casual dessert, but really, your brain is screaming, this is the best moment of our lives.”
She laughed.
“That actually explains a lot. I’ve cried over cupcakes before.”
“See? Dessert is a scam. A delicious, sticky scam.”
Sarah tilted her head, mock serious.
“So does that mean I can’t trust any of my feelings right now?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But if you suddenly feel a strong urge to name our future children after dessert toppings, maybe wait till the sugar crash.”
She laughed again, the sound coming easier this time.
“You’re hilarious.”
He leaned in just slightly.
“But in a charming, mildly educational way?”
She nodded, still smiling.
“Yeah. You’re surprisingly charming. And I didn’t even need the brownie to notice.”
He smiled but didn’t press. He let the quiet linger for a moment, comfortable and unrushed.
When the check came, he paid without comment, then walked her to her car.
At the door, he looked at her.
“I’d like to see you again. No pressure. No weird follow-up memes.”
Sarah smiled.
“Tacos and more science facts?”
“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me over cheesecake.”
“I make no promises.”
“You sure you can make it home without another lavender gin cocktail?”
he teased.
“I’ll manage,”
she replied.
“But only if you promise not to judge me when I text Chloe for your last name like a total stalker.”
“Only if you promise not to Google me before our second date,”
he grinned.
“Too late,”
she said, opening the car door.
“But you passed. No mugshots. Just an embarrassing photo of you in a bowling league.”
“Hey,”
he said, mock-wounded.
“That was a championship team.”
She laughed.
“Goodnight, Jordan.”
“Goodnight, Sarah. And for the record, I’d totally lose to you in bowling. On purpose. Just to impress you.”
“Now that’s a real gentleman,”
she said, slipping into the driver’s seat.
Sarah sat behind the wheel for a moment before starting the engine. She didn’t feel fireworks. But she felt calm. And after everything with Matt, calm felt like a revolution.
Still, as she drove home, her thoughts wandered back to the soccer field. The way Matt had clapped for Tommy. The way he’d said he hoped the new guy treated her well.
Although she still loved Matt, she wasn’t ready to lose herself to him again. But maybe she wasn’t ready to write him off either.
Somewhere in the chaos, she had options now. And she planned to explore every single one.
Especially if tacos were involved.
She scrolled through her playlist until she landed on wanted by Willow, the version with Kamasi Washington.
As the voice kicked in, she turned up the volume and let the sound fill the car, drowning out everything but the road and the music.
For a few perfect minutes, she wasn’t a divorcée or a mom or an ex-wife, just a woman, windows down, carried by a song that made her feel like something new or different or wonderful was still possible.