Page 16 of The Love Syllabus

“Kerry, you okay? I didn’t mean to throw you off. I was just wondering how someone so…how you could fall for someone like that? You’re just…”

With my confidence completely depleted, I roll my eyes and interrupt, “A fool? Weak? A pushover? I’ve been called everything in the book, Vic. Gimme your best shot…” My voice trails off, searching for the right words.

Victor gently sets my foot down. His fingers brush against my skin like a farewell, but his intensely focused gaze pins me in place, like he’s trying to read every thought I’ve ever had.

“You’re just…so beautiful. Radiant. Vibrant. Mesmerizing. And clearly too damn good for him.”

His words don’t just fill the space between us; they create a new atmosphere, one that’s sweet, sensual, and filled with desire. As his affirmations enfold me like a warm blanket, soothing the raw edges of my vulnerability, we find ourselves inexplicably drawing closer to one another. In this bizarre, unexpected moment, his hands rest respectfully on my leg, and our lips become perilously close.

He whispers, his voice rough with desire, “Do you want me to kiss you, Kerry Kind?”

His question hangs suspended, our breath mingling, and our intentions clear yet unacted upon. But just as the distance between us nearly closes, promising what I think would be the most magnetic kiss of my life, an unexpected interruption slices through the air.

Ahem.

Gary loudly clears his throat. “Ms. Kind, we’ve arrived at your home.”

The moment shatters like glass. No, no, no, no! I’m not ready for this night to end, not like this, not with a cascade of unsaid words and the tantalizing promise of unexplored acts of passion between strangers.

In mutual frustration, my head thuds against the window with a soft groan, and Vic sharply exhales beside me.

“Do you need assistance, Ms. Kind?” Gary asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

Victor quickly cuts in. “No, I’ll walk her to her door.”

He reaches for my hand with gentle firmness, easing me out of the vehicle. As we stand by the curb, his gaze sweeps over the modest facade of my home. It’s small but brimming with the warmth and comfort that I cherish…and occasionally share with my ever-present parents. A flicker of concern crosses my face, hoping they remain tucked away inside and unseen.

To preempt any assumptions, I turn to him with a slight defensive edge in my voice. “This is what you call quaint and cozy, Mr. Grimes.”

Escorting me to my door, he looks at me, eyes soft. “I love it.” The way he says it like he means it makes me comfortable. “It actually fits you. Beautiful,welcoming, warm, prim, andinterestingas I spot the two people looking at us through the blinds.” He laughs.

His compliment warms me, but the emergence of my parents peeking through the blinds injects a dose of reality. Ugh, my parents! I’m sure they’ve received a million texts by now from everyone in town.

I sigh. “Okay, so I’ve been living with my parents since the divorce. Just to save up and find my footing,” I quickly offer an explanation, feeling the need to justify my life before any judgments form.

“I understand. I was married once, too,” He shares, a touch of melancholy lacing his words. “But let’s save that story for another time, maybe when we meet again?”

Emboldened by his openness, I close the small distance between us, playful yet sincere, “And when might that be,boyfriend?”

His laughter rings out, genuine and contagious. “Maybe at the next town event? I actually have a few events lined up over the next two months. I really hate business dinners and stuffy gatherings, but you may just bring me luck, Ms. Kind. You know, with your local sweetheart status and all. I don’t know why, but it’s easy to play with you. I don’t usually play well with others.”

“Oh really? I find that very hard to believe,” I reply sarcastically. “So, we’re continuing this...charade?” I probe, half-hoping he’d suggest something more genuine.

But then his response is cut short by the abrupt ring of his phone. He pulls it from his pocket, and a flicker of tension crosses his face as he sees the caller ID:Syd.

My curiosity spikes. Is she the ex-wife? A current girlfriend? One of many, perhaps?

He steps back, his tone drops but still audible to my ears. “Uh, hey, hon. Everything okay? I’ll call you back soon. Love you, too.” He mumbles into the phone.

Dammit! My heart sinks. He’s a player, a charmer skillfully navigating through the vulnerabilities of my heart. The flush of humiliation burns my cheeks as the sting of disappointment and betrayal tightens around my throat. This is precisely why I’ve steered clear of dating since my divorce. As I watch him finish his call, his demeanor subtly shifts, already formulating an excuse, a justification for not disclosing who was on the other line.

“On second thought,” He begins, his voice casual yet cautious, “maybe we should just play things by ear. My life is complicated, and it looks like yours is too. Tonight was fun, but—”

“Don’t even bother,” I interrupt sharply, raising my hand to stop him mid-sentence. “I refuse to be just another name in your little black book. So, let’s just agree to avoid each other. Thank you for the escapade as my Grey Beard for the evening. I’ll let the townsfolk know we parted ways peacefully in a week or so. Until then, perhaps keep Syd under wraps?” I turn to face my door, swallowing the lump of sadness and thwarted hopes building in my throat.

“Wait, Kerry. It’s not what you think—” He tries to interject. “I really suck at dating.”

“Fake dating included.” I retort sharply.

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