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

the pasta. The boiling water bubbled aggressively, and I realized I

in all at once, some of it

grumbled, pushing the stiff

hot water onto the counter and my arm. "Ow! Damn

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

the bacon grease caught up with me. The smell of smoke hit my

no, no!" I yelped, grabbing the handle and moving

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

voice was closer now. She was coming

dish towel

appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips and

"What's going on

"I'm cooking.

bacon, the pasta water boiling over, the egg yolks dripping onto the counter. She

her arms. "Looks like

insisted, though we

stove, peeking into the

whisk to mix the egg yolks with the grated cheese. "I've got

leaned against the counter, clearly amused. "You know, I

This

taking a seat

sauce came together without scrambling, and the bacon,

spaghetti carbonara with a flourish, sprinkling parsley on top for good measure. "Voilà," I said,

noodles. "Let's see if it tastes as

take a bite, my heart pounding like I was awaiting a Michelin star

asked, relief flooding

mean, the

there."