Page 31 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)

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.

Matt rested his forehead against hers, both of them still breathing hard, their lips tingling from the kiss that Sarah initiated.

He whispered, his voice raw and reverent.

“What was that?”

Sarah kept her eyes closed for a moment, like she was memorizing the feel of him this close. Her voice came out quiet but sure, stripped of any armor.

“That was me being honest. With you, with myself. I’ve missed you, Matt. Not just in the way people miss what they used to have, but in the way that your absence feels like something’s gone wrong in the world.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“I’ve missed the way your mouth tastes. The way you smell like cedar and home and the way your presence makes my shoulders drop without me realizing it. I’ve missed your dumb jokes and your kind eyes and your heart, even when it’s been messy and broken. Especially then.”

Matt didn’t speak. His eyes were locked on hers, wide and stunned.

“I’m still angry,”

she said.

“I still have pain to sort through. But that kiss... I didn’t think about the hurt. I just felt you. And I didn’t want to pull away.”

She touched his cheek.

“So that was from the part of me that still believes in us. The part that’s starting to forgive you. The part that still loves you.”

Matt closed his eyes, and this time, it wasn’t fear or guilt in his silence. It was hope. Thick and rising. He was not going to push her, even though he wanted to rip her clothes off and spread her out on the couch to devour. Patience was his most prized skill set. Act normal, he thought.

After a few quiet minutes, Matt stood to change, his shirt still damp from the afternoon’s water-gun ambush.

“I think I’m still wet in places I didn’t know existed,”

he said, tugging at his collar.

Sarah smirked.

“Want me to grab you a dry shirt?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

She ran up the stairs to Matt’s room, padded toward his overnight bag, still smiling, still warm. She reached for the zipper, her fingers brushing over the worn leather handle. As she pulled it open, something thick shifted inside. Her breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, she hesitated. A part of her, uninvited but instinctive, whispered: Divorce papers? Did he bring his own copy?

But as she pulled out the envelope, her eyes scanned the bolded type. Not legal forms. Not final signatures.

She read the header and froze. It wasn’t a divorce decree. It was the relocation proposal. Matt Taylor. New city. New title. New life. The smile slid from her face. Her stomach dropped. Her breath felt thin like she’d walked into high altitude without warning.

Her hand trembled around the envelope, the paper suddenly heavy, like it carried weight far beyond its pages. She stared at the words again, willing them to change into something else, something safe. But they did not. It was all there. His name. The company logo. The relocation details. A pitch for a new beginning in a new city.

Her chest tightened. A flush rose to her cheeks, the sting of betrayal. He had made plans. Quietly. Privately. Life-altering plans.

And he had not told her. Not one word.

She clutched the envelope like it might burn her. The joy of the day, their laughter, the firelight, the kiss, the feeling that maybe they were becoming something again, fractured all at once.

He hadn’t told her.

To be continued...