Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart by Hayley

Richard pov.

That morning, I woke up with a grand idea, one of those plans that felt brilliant in my head but had the potential to crash and burn in execution.

I was going to cook. Not just toast or scrambled eggs-no, I had my sights set higher. A real meal, one Sarah could enjoy without lifting a finger.

Lately, she'd been doing so much, and it didn't sit right with me. She was growing a human being inside her, for crying out loud, and still, she found time to organize the nursery, plan meals, and somehow keep the house running. The least I could do was take some of that load off her shoulders.

"Today, I'm a chef for a day," I declared to myself, pulling on an apron I'd found shoved at the back of a drawer. It had some cheesy slogan about grilling on it, but it would do.

Sarah was still upstairs, so I figured I had a solid hour before she'd come down. Enough time to whip up a feast. Or so I thought.

The first challenge was deciding what to make. My initial thought was something simple, but then I remembered her craving for Italian food.

Spaghetti carbonara sounded fancy yet manageable. Eggs, cheese, bacon, pasta-it couldn't be that hard, right?

I grabbed my phone and pulled up a recipe. "Step one: Boil water," I read aloud. Easy enough.

The trouble started when I tried to multitask. While the water heated, I thought I'd get a head start on the bacon. I threw a few slices into a pan, cranking the heat up high.

Almost immediately, the kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling and popping grease.

"Maybe not so high," I muttered, turning the burner down and dodging a flying speck of oil that narrowly missed my wrist.

The bacon, though slightly scorched, smelled amazing. Feeling confident, I moved on to cracking eggs for the sauce.

"Separate the yolks," the recipe instructed. Easier said than done. My first attempt ended with egg white dripping down my fingers and onto the counter. By the third egg, I'd managed to make a slimy mess of the entire process. "Richard?" Sarah's voice floated down from upstairs.

"Stay up there!" I shouted back, quickly wiping my hands on a dish towel. "It's a surprise!"

"A surprise or a disaster?" she called teasingly.

I said, though I wasn't sure I trusted myself at this

bubbled aggressively, and I realized I

all at once, some of

the stiff

splashing hot water onto the

my phone. The recipe said eight minutes for al dente, but I couldn't tell if the spaghetti

over the pot, the bacon grease caught up with me. The smell of

grabbing the handle and moving it

The smoke alarm blared, loud and piercing, as if announcing my failure

was closer now. She

lied, waving a dish towel under

appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a smirk

"What's

"I'm cooking. For you. Because

the scene-the half-burned bacon, the pasta water boiling over, the egg yolks dripping onto the counter. She tried to hold back a laugh but

crossing her arms.

I insisted, though we both knew

stove, peeking into the pot of spaghetti. "Are

I said, grabbing a whisk to mix the egg yolks with the grated cheese. "I've got a vision.

leaned against the counter, clearly

Sit down. Relax. This is your day off from

taking a seat

the sauce came together without scrambling, and the bacon,

carbonara with a flourish, sprinkling parsley on top for good measure. "Voilà," I said, setting the plate in front

a forkful of noodles. "Let's see if it tastes as good as

awaiting a Michelin star review. Her eyes

relief flooding

she said, grinning. "I mean, the bacon's a

there."