Page 59 of The Love Syllabus

He isn’t the grumpy, no-personality having man everyone assumes him to be, at least not with me. With me, he lowers his guard just enough for me to catch glimpses of what’s beneath the veil.

We have great conversations with laughter and sometimes even flirtation, but I want more. I want intimacy.

Not sex or anything but deeper than that. I want him to know all of me. Not just the happy-go-lucky Kerry he sees every day but the woman who exists beneath the surface. The one who has scars and stories, weaknesses and fears. The one who isn’t always strong, or good, or pure.

I want to know him too. Not the CEO, not the legend in the kitchen, but the man who still mourns, who still questions, who still wonders if he deserves happiness again.

I guess we’ll see what we learn tonight because the girls are finally asleep, and it’s time for wine and whiskey.

So, I close my laptop, shutting off the list of lesson plans I’ve been tweaking for the week, and stretch my arms above my head, to ease the aching pains from a long, busy day.

I already know how this night is going to go.

Vic will be waiting downstairs, whiskey in hand, sitting on the couch in his usual spot. The only light will be the dim glow of the fireplace, whose warmth always makes our evening feel more intimate. I’ll settle into my usual spot beside him.

And just as I expected, when I arrive in the great room, he’s already there, leaning back on the couch, glass in hand, staring into the flames. And, like always, my seat awaits.

He looks up when he hears my footsteps with an unreadable expression for a split second before softening. “Took you long enough.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I sink down beside him, my fingers brushing his when I take my wine glass from his hand.

That small, fleeting touch sends a spark up my arm, and judging by the slight shift in his breathing, he felt it too.

We start off with our business-as-usual conversation, discussing the girls’ academic progress, reviewing their dance and soccer schedules, and planning our next staged outing together. Then, we venture off into more personal conversation.

“So,” he starts, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “what’s been your takeaway from the last three months?”

I raise an eyebrow, pretending to think as I take a slow sip of my wine. “Well… I learned that I can fake a relationship pretty damn well.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “That you can.”

“And you?” I challenge, turning to face him fully.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he thinks. “I learned that my daughters are friendship magnets who have made five new best friends, which is five more friends than I’ve made in my entire life. And that not only does the town love us but apparently so does half the country. Have you seen our social media? My PR team was on the verge of quitting on me four months ago. But look at me now. You made me famous, Kerry Kind.”

He laughs, then takes out his phone to scroll through some of the comments of the posts we’re tagged in.

Commenter #1: Whoa! Chef Vic is such a hot dad!

Commenter #2: I stan Chef Vic for dating regular folk. I think I want him even more!

Commenter #3: Forget the chef. I want Kerry Kind!

I steal his phone from his hand, scanning the comments myself. “Well, well, well. Looks like the internet thinksI’mthe prize in this relationship,” I tease, nudging his knee with mine.

He huffs out a laugh, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before settling deeper into the couch. “Because you are.”

The words come out so casually, so effortlessly, that for a second, I think I imagined them. But then I look up, and Vic is watching me. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers idly trace the rim of his glass.

His playfulness lingers, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something heavier. Something that makes my skin prickle with curiosity.

I swallow, then grip his phone tighter and shift the conversation. “You know… PR-wise, this is all good news. People are loving the idea of us. I mean, theHot Chef and Small-Town Sweetheartis trending.

He hums; his gaze still locked on mine. “And how do you feel about that?”

I shrug indifferently. “It’s fine, I guess. Though, I wish people would stop calling me a sweetheart! I’mnotthat innocent. I can get pretty wild, if you know what I mean.”

The words are out before I can snatch them back.

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