Page 57 of The Love Syllabus

There is blackened shrimp ceviche, crab-stuffed avocado halves, and fresh fruit platters arranged like they belong in a damn art exhibit. Fancy bottled water glistens in ice buckets, and servers move about, making sure not a single flute of sparkling lemonade goes empty.

Vic raises a brow. “Thisis lunch? I’m impressed.” He eyes the spread as if he’s picking apart every ingredient used.

Serena smirks. “This is a Southern beach brunch, Chef. Keep up.”

We eat. We drink. And then, when the socializing dies down, Vic and I find ourselves tucked away in the private lounge area, where the waves crash softly in the distance, and our conversation flows from left to right.

“You know,” I say, swirling my drink, “your tattoos and your personality don’t match.”

Vic lifts a brow, acting offended. “Excuse me?”

I gesture to the black and gold ink covering his chest and arms, the script curling over his ribs, the symbols of something deeper, untamed. “You’re a super serious businessman and broody chef. But this?” I drag a finger over a design near his wrist. “This tells me you used to be a little reckless.”

He smirks, stretching his arms behind his head, leaning back like a king on his throne. “The most reckless of them all.”

My mouth falls open. “No way. You? Victor Grimes? A wild one?”

“Frat boy. Party boy. Playboy. College legend. Take your pick.”

“Say what, now? I gasp, clutching my imaginary pearls. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Your fuckboy ways still peak through sometimes.”

He laughs. “And you? Let me guess. You were the sweet, studious, rule-following, college girl still dating her high school sweetheart.”

I glare and groan, mortified but impressed. “Okay, yes,but to be fair. My journey is no different than most in this town. You go to school, get married young, and then have kids. It’s a peaceful life. A good one.” I pause, then snort. “But clearly not for me!”

We laugh. But then, the conversation dips into deeper waters.

Vic’s voice softens. “By the way, I heard your mom ask if I could prepare a quick meal for her Bible Study group. Consider it done. Your daily calls with her are hilarious. Reminds me of how my family used to be.” His voice shifts, something distant in his gaze. “I was always closer to my mom, and Hud was closer to our dad. But together, our family just fit.”

He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. And then, so quietly, he slips.

“I miss them,” His voice trembles. “Both of them.”

I know exactly whothemare. His dad. His wife.

I gently reach for his hand. “Vic, I’m here if you ever need ta—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t want to talk about it. I never will.”

The warmth between us vanishes like snapped string. I nod, pulling my hand back slowly, unsure what to do with the silence that settles between us.

Vic doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay locked on the waves in the distance, jaw tight and shoulders rigid.

I wrap my arms around myself and glance out toward the bright, shimmering water. It’s beautiful, filled with people laughing in the distance – the kind of day most people dream about. But between us, the sun might as well have gone out.

But when his eyes flicker to my arms and he notices the goosebumps on my skin, his demeanor changes.

“You’re cold,” he says. Gruff. Quiet. But not unkind.

Before I can respond, he reaches into the bag beside him, pulls out the blanket, and holds it open. His body stays tense, like he’s still wrestling with something inside him, but his voice softens just enough.

“Come here.”

I hesitate.

“Kerry.” His voice is low and rough. A demandanda request all at once.

I go. I slowly slide into his lap.Not all at once, not with confidence but with hope. And when he wraps the blanket around me, then his arms around the blanket, I melt into the heat of him.

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