Page 44 of The Love Syllabus

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Exactly. But she wasn’t a fool. She’d never give them her real recipes. Swapped ingredients and watered things down. Then she’d go back to Harlem and cook for the real stars—Beauford Delaney, Aaron Douglas, Josephine Baker. Eventually, she met my grandfather. They opened their own restaurant, blending his Southern roots with her Trinidadian flavors.”

“Your family’s like Black history royalty. Now Ihaveto visit one of your restaurants. I want to try every Southern Trini dish you have.”

His smile falters slightly, his fork pausing mid-air. “Well… the thing is, I don’t have any of those dishes on my menus. Not even one.”

“Oh,” I blurt, unable to hide my surprise or the judgment in my voice.

He sets his fork down, his gaze distant. “I haven’t thought about those recipes in nearly two decades,” he admits quietly. “In culinary school, I focused on classical techniques. Then I traveled around the world, building my brand, focusing on fine cuisine.” He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I abandoned everything that got my family here. You’ll find I tend to do that a lot…abandon people.”

And just like that, I realize we’re no longer talking about food.

The air between us shifts. He clears his throat, adjusts his already loosened tie, downs his whiskey, and forces a weak smile.

“We should call it a night, huh?” His voice is low, tinged with a hint of regret. “I think I said too much, felt too much.”

“Are you sure?” I ask softly, hoping to extend the moment. “It’s nice, just sitting here and talking. Don’t you think? I mean, I talk to kids all day while you bicker with colleagues and, apparently, your brother, too.”

He lets out a chuckle that he didn’t seem to expect and nods.

“This is relaxing, and I’d like for us to talk more.” I admit, feeling the connection between us strengthening.

“I agree,” he finally says, his gaze softening after a long pause. “It’s nice to be in your company. Besides, I guess wedoneed to get to know one another. I have no idea how we’re going to convince the world we’re dating.”

Though he’s stumped, I’m not. I instantly perk up. “Leave that to me! I created a formula for success!”

Vic blinks. “A what now?”

I repeat, grinning as I dramatically pull a folded piece of paper from my pajama shirt’s square pocket and unfold the paper. “It’s a love syllabus!”

“A love syllabus?” His brows shoot up.

“Like the ones I create for my classes!” I tap the page. “A step-by-step guide to fooling everyone into thinking we’re in love.”

“Well, that won’t be hard to do. I mean…you’re clearly attracted to me.” He says with a cocky smile.

I playfully roll my eyes, “Just because I think you’re handsome and are well on your way to becoming a sexy silver fox doesn’t mean I’m attracted to you. Besides, don’t the girls always say you’re the one giving me googly eyes?”

He chuckles. “Alright, professor. Hit me with the curriculum.”

I clear my throat and hold up the paper, reading it dramatically:

The Love Syllabus

Intimate conversations – Get to know each other more, childhood trauma, irrational fears, middle school horror stories. The whole bonding package.

Build an Online Presence – Couple posts and flirty comments.

Ooze Chemistry – Stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes. Enough tension to make onlookers uncomfortable but intrigued.

---