Page 42 of The Love Syllabus

His words land like a warm flutter in my chest that I swallow. “Um…oh yeah! Thank you for the amazing breakfast and lunch—and for the reading nook. I absolutely adore it.”

His smile grows, genuine and lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m glad you do,” he says softly. After a brief pause, he adds, “Maybe we could sit down for a drink this evening? It’d be good to get to know each other a bit more, like you suggested.”

A ripple of excitement stirs in my chest. “I’d like that,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “I don’t want us to act like strangers when we go out in public.”

He chuckles, the sound low and comforting. There’s a brief silence, more comfortable than awkward, before he gives a small shake of his head as if snapping himself out of it. “Right. I actually called to speak to the girls.”

We both laugh.

“Of course, let me get them for you.” I say, still smiling as I hand the phone to an eager Syd and Ari.

They chat for what seems like forever, sharing details of their day and weekend plans. After lunch, our day passes like clockwork, with school outside soccer drills and impromptu dance sessions.

As evening falls, the house settles into a quiet hum. I start dinner, determined to surprise the Grimes gang with one of their family recipes—a Trini beef pelau I found tucked in an old cookbook from the library.

I immediately regret picking this hell of a complicated recipe.

By the time the food is ready, I’m frazzled but triumphant. I wrangle the girls into the tub, then take the fastest shower of my life, mindful of the family’s strict 6 p.m. dinnertime. However, I do allow myself a few extra minutes to primp in eager anticipation for mywine downwith Mr. Grimes.

I wash my hair, letting my tight, bouncy curls air dry. Then I embark on an internal fashion crisis, cycling through five outfit changes before settling on a soft blush satin two-piece pajama set—tasteful yet form-fitting in all the right places.

At 5:50 p.m., I rush back to the kitchen to set the table for four.

But there are still only three of us.

“Don’t worry, Syd. He’ll be here,” Ari says, her voice steady as she reassures her sister.

But when 6 p.m. comes and goes, it’s still just the three of us, and the girls’ faces grow gloomier with each passing minute.

Ari’s voice wavers with worry. “Breakfast, yes. Lunch, yes. But Daddy hasnevermissed dinner. Is this how it’s always going to be now, Ms. Kind?”

I feel a pang of disappointment in my chest, seeing their distress and gently cover their hands with mine. “Absolutely not. Your dad wants nothing more than to be here with you. Sometimes, though, work will keep him longer than he’d like.” I try to soften the blow of reality with a hopeful tone, but their frowns deepen,pushing me to lighten the mood. “How about a special treat after dinner? Ice cream and 45 minutes of screen time. Syd, you can catch that dance competition you love, and Ari, isn’t there an Atlanta United game on tonight?”

Their expressions instantly brighten, and after dinner, I set them up with their ice cream and tv shows in their rooms, but as I wander through the quiet, sprawling house, a wave of loneliness creeps in, and I retreat to the library, curling up in my reading nook.

Engrossed in my book, I lose track of time and doze off until phone notifications awaken me at 8:00 p.m.

“Holy crap! The girls’ bedtime,” I gasp, scrambling to my feet and rushing down the hall.

Relief washes over me when I find them both fast asleep in Ari’s room, snuggled next to Tum Tum with the TV playing softly in the background. I switch it off and lean down to press gentle kisses on their foreheads.

“Sweet dreams, girls.” I whisper softly.

As I turn to leave, Ari stirs, her sleepy voice tugging at my heart. “Daddy never came home, did he, Ms. Kind?”

The question knots my stomach. I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “He’ll be in to kiss you goodnight soon.” I answer, hoping it’s not a lie.

Back in the kitchen, I tidy up and put away the plates I’d prepared earlier, but my thoughts are heavy with concern for the girls and the promises I hope their dad can keep.

Just as I’m reaching for the last plate, I hear the door open and sharp voices pierce the quiet, the clash of raised tempers echoing through the house.

“No, Mom! I don’t care what Hudson did for the company before. He isn’t the CEO. I am! This game he’s playing needs to endnow!” Vic’s voice thunders through the hallway, sharp and unyielding.

Curious yet cautious, I slip behind the kitchen doorway, peeking out from the shadows. There, in the dimly lit hall, he stands face-to-face with his mother, their silhouettes tense in heated debate.

“Son, try to see it from Hudson’s perspective,” Ms. Vicky calmly pleads, a striking contrast to her son’s clear frustration. “He managed the business with your father for years while you focused on the restaurants. He knows the company inside and out. It’s as muchhisbusiness as it is yours.”

“But itisn’t!” His chest heaves with every breath, his voice cracking under the strain, and fists clenched at his sides. “Dad left the company tome,and the least I could do—to make up for what I did—”

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