Page 50 of The Love Syllabus

Our first stop is the ice cream shop, a tiny but mighty piece of history nestled in the heart of downtown. From the outside, it just looks like an old historic building with a painted mural of kids licking dripping cones. Stepping inside is like stepping back in time.

The warm and sweet scent of freshly baked waffle cones greets us first. Then, I notice an old jukebox humming in the corner, playing an old Sam Cooke record. Then, I observe the walls alive with history, including a faded “Est. 1950” stamped beneath the shop’s name. Photos line the shop; some are yellowed with time, and some are sharp and new. They capture decades of families, children with messy faces, Black joy, history, and excellence at its finest.

There are snapshots of sit-ins, protesters gathered right outside these very doors, and even civil rights leaders like John Lewis and Robert Abernathy laughing over double scoops.

“This place is… special,” I say aloud, mostly to myself.

Kerry watches me, a soft smile playing at her lips. “Yeah,” she says, eyes flickering over the pictures, soaking in the history like she’s done a hundred times before. “It is. Coming to Greer from Beverly Mills as a kid was always a treat. There are places like this everywhere, still intact, still filled with beauty and pride. There’s no place like Greer.”

Syd and Ari are just as amazed. They press their little hands against the glass display and point at every colorful swirl of ice cream like they’re ready to order the entire menu.

Before they can get too carried away, Kerry grins then turns toward the counter to announce, “Mrs. Frazier, myso-calledculinary genius of a boyfriend over here seems to believe he makes the best homemade ice cream in the world. And while I deeply respect his talent,” She pauses, throwing me a playful side-eye. “I must respectfully disagree. So, would you do me the honor of serving him and his two adorable sous-chefs a scoop ofthegreatest ice cream known to man?”

A wave of laughter andaww’sripple through the shop.

The ice cream shop owner, Mrs. Frazier, grins. “Oh, Kerry, Ilovewhen out-of-towners step in, all high and mighty, only to have their lives forever changed by a single scoop of my magic.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “No offense, Mrs. Frazier, but I highly doubt there’s a sundae on this planet that could shake my confidence.”

She just laughs as if I’m some teenager talking trash. “Famous last words, Chef Grimes.”

I roll my eyes between chuckles. There’s no way in hell anyone’s ice cream is better than mine.

Mrs. Frazier scoops “thebestice cream in the world” into a few of her handmade waffle cones and hands them over. The warm, buttery, and sweet scent alone should’ve been my first warning. “Now, everyone, take a bite, and let’s see if Chef Grimes has any room left in that ego of his for a scoop of humility.”

I take a bite of the rich, velvety butter pecan goodness, and—sweet hell—it melts on my tongue like a dream. The balance is perfect: nutty, creamy, damn near sinful.

“Umm, this can’t be ice cream. This is—”

I don’t even get to finish because Syd beats me to it, bouncing on her heels as she takes another lick of her scoop. “The best ice cream in the world!” she declares, voice full of pure joy.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch Kerry’s giggle, her arms crossed as she gives me the smuggest damn look, her eyes practically daring me to admit it.

And then there’s the knowing smiles from the other customers, watching this showdown unfold.

I cave, chuckling at myself for being so easily bested. “Alright, alright, I’m a man of my word, and honestly, this might just be…the best ice cream I’ve ever had.”

The shop bursts into cheers, and a couple of patrons even whip out their phones to capture the moment. “You heard it here first! Chef Grimes has given his stamp of approval. Get down to Main Ice Cream, folks!”

While a few customers line up for photos, others shower Syd and Ari with affection, as Kerry remains by their side, her presence both protective and warm while she chats with the locals.

“Kerry, how could you and your charming gentleman keep these little angels from us?” I overhear someone say. “You gotta bring them to the Summer Block Party.”

After snapping selfies and exchanging light-hearted conversation, I finally join Kerry and the girls at our table. They’re all smiles, and while we talk and laugh, I find myself caught up in the easy flow of our faux family. Kerry and I share a few meaningful glances, the kind that linger a bit too long. Pretending feels almost too natural, stirring a wish that things could be real under different circumstances.

“Dad, what’s next? Ms. Kind mentioned you had a surprise for us?” Ari’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

Kerry and I exchange a mischievous look. “Well,” I draw out the moment, grinning at her impatience.

“Aww, come on! Tell us!” she pleads.

“Patience, short stack,” I tease. “Let’s head to your surprise right now.”

We stroll through downtown Greer like any other family, enjoying the weather and exchanging friendly nods with locals. Some stop us for pictures. Some even comment on what a beautiful family we have.

“See, getting out isn’t so bad, is it?” Kerry nudges me playfully.

I exhale, half in resignation, half in amusement. “I suppose not.” It helps that I’ve bumped into a few familiar faces, celebs, and famous folk I used to run the New York scene with back in the day. “Greer’s gonna surpass Atlanta pretty soon. I’m starting to like the small-town to big city vibe.”

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