Winning Back His Ex's Wife's Broken Heart
Chapter 61

Sarah's

POV

After the fair, things between Richard and me felt... different. We were still trying to figure out whatever this was, but I wasn't carrying that old weight anymore.

It was like, for the first time, I was actually seeing the side of him I'd always hoped to see. There was no tension, no carefulness, just us being us. And it felt good.

A few days later, he showed up at my door with a grin, holding up a small flier for a cooking class.

"Cooking class?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Since when do you cook?"

He shrugged, feigning casualness, though I could tell he was nervous. "I figured, if I'm going to make it up to you, I should at least learn to make something better than instant ramen."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, Chef Richard. Let's see what you've got."

The cooking class was in this cozy, little kitchen downtown, where a cheerful instructor greeted us with aprons and a kitchen full of ingredients.

The place smelled amazing-garlic, herbs, and fresh bread. I looked over at Richard, who was carefully tying his apron, eyes darting around like he was trying to figure out what exactly he'd signed up for. "Ready?" I teased, nudging him as I grabbed a knife.

He gave me a confident smirk. "I've got this. Just watch."

We started on a simple pasta dish, chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the instructor giving gentle reminders about not burning the garlic or overcooking the pasta.

But Richard, of course, was determined to go big or go home.

"Here, let me add a little more oil," he said, pouring what seemed like half the bottle into the pan.

"Uh, I think that's enough," I warned, trying not to laugh as he raised an eyebrow, still so sure he was right.

"Trust me," he replied, swirling the oil around like a pro. "I've got this."

But as he dropped the veggies into the pan, they started to sizzle... then pop, then-fwoosh-a small flame shot up, and Richard nearly jumped back.

"Whoa!" he yelped, staring at the flames as if they'd betrayed him.

I covered my mouth to hold back a laugh, but I couldn't hide it for long. "Nice going, Chef Ramsey," I snickered. "Next time, try not to burn the place down."

He shook his head, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to make it... flavorful."

The instructor quickly put out the small flame, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Just a little less oil next time," she said, and Richard's cheeks turned a light shade of red.

We went on, working through the recipe, and he stuck closer to the instructions this time. But every so often, I'd catch him sneaking glances at me, and I couldn't help but give him a hard time about his "culinary skills."

By the end of the class, we somehow managed to plate a decent-looking pasta dish, and as we sat down to eat, I couldn't stop teasing him.

"So, thoughts on your debut as a chef?" I asked, swirling a forkful of pasta.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. Maybe I'm not ready for my own cooking show."

"No kidding," I laughed, nudging his shoulder. "But you did alright. I mean, I didn't die from food poisoning, so that's a win."

He laughed, this warm, easy laugh that made my chest feel lighter than it had in a long time. "Good to know I didn't poison you," he replied, his tone playful. "Thanks for trusting me with your life, I guess."

As we ate, we fell into a relaxed conversation, one that felt natural, like two old friends rather than two people with a history full of regrets and what-ifs.

Every so often, his eyes would meet mine, and I'd feel a little flutter in my chest, a quiet thrill that maybe, just maybe, we were moving past everything that had weighed us down before.

Later, as we walked out of the class, still laughing over his "master chef" attempt, Richard cleared his throat, looking unusually bashful.

"So, um... what about karaoke?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck. "You mentioned it once, and I thought..."

I laughed, surprised he even remembered. "Karaoke? Really? You'd actually do that?"

He chuckled nervously. "Maybe I need a drink or two first, but... yeah. Why not?"

I didn't think he'd actually go through with it, but sure enough, an hour later, we were at a karaoke bar, a place that looked like it hadn't changed since the '90s.

Neon lights flickered above the stage, and a small crowd was gathered, cheering each other on as people took turns singing.

"Go ahead," I teased, nudging him toward the stage. "Show me what you've got."

He shook his head, laughing. "Oh, no way. You first. I need to see how it's done."

I rolled my eyes but went up, grabbing the mic and flipping through the song list. Settling on something easy, I sang a little pop tune, laughing as I got the crowd to sing along. When I came back to the table, he was clapping, giving me a mock bow.

"Alright, your turn," I said, my eyes daring him.

He took a deep breath, glancing around the room as if he was about to face a firing squad. "Fine," he muttered, standing up. "But don't laugh too hard."

I stifled a laugh, trying to look serious. "I'll be respectful. Promise."

He rolled his eyes but made his way up to the stage, flipping through the song list. Then, with a grin that told me he was trying to look cool, he selected a goofy '80s song, something ridiculously upbeat with dance moves.

As he started singing, I lost it. He was completely out of rhythm, swaying awkwardly, and his voice was... well, let's just say he wouldn't be getting a record deal anytime soon.

But he was trying, giving it his all, and the crowd was loving it. Halfway through, he even tried a little dance move, and the whole place erupted in laughter.

When he finally came back to the table, breathless and red-faced, he was grinning from ear to ear. "Happy now?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Very," I laughed, wiping a tear from my eye. "That was amazing. Terrible, but amazing."

He laughed too, looking both relieved and embarrassed. "Glad I could entertain you."

And then, without thinking, I reached across the table and squeezed his hand, a quiet thank you that didn't need words. He looked down at our hands, then up at me, his smile softening. The night went on, filled with more laughter, more songs, and more stories than I could remember.

Somewhere between his rendition of "Living on a Prayer" and my awful attempt at a Celine Dion ballad, I realized that this was exactly what I'd missed.

Not just the fun, but the ease of it, the feeling that I could just be myself with him.

When we finally left, the streets were quiet, the night air was crisp as we walked back to the car. Richard walked beside me, hands in his pockets, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. "Tonight was... fun," he said, his voice soft, almost like he was afraid to break the spell.

"Yeah, it was," I replied, smiling up at him. "I had no idea you could be so... ridiculous."

He chuckled, shrugging. "Guess I had to keep

some surprises."

We reached my car, and for a moment, we just stood there, neither of us wanted the night to end. Finally, he took a step closer, his eyes meeting mine in that way that made my heart skip a beat. "Thanks, Sarah," he said, his voice sincere. "For giving me another chance. For... all of this."

I felt a quiet happiness that I hadn't felt in a long time. "Thank you, too," I whispered back. "For actually trying."

For a moment, I thought he might kiss me, his gaze was locked on mine, and his hand just brushed my shoulder. But then he pulled back, giving me a soft smile.

"Goodnight, Sarah," he said, stepping back.

"Goodnight, Richard."