Three Days To Fall In Love (Real Life Rom-Coms #2)

Chapter 1

Nate

“You realize once I take this ring off, I’m never putting it back on again,” I say to Iris.

“I’m well aware,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the goal.”

I set the ring on the table, my gaze drifting to the stack of papers. One signature. That’s all that’s left. Years of my life. Months of separation. All reduced to a scribble of ink. Before I look like I’m hesitating, I sign.

“I’ll be in touch about the kids,” I sigh.

“Don’t forget they’ve got swimming lessons. And they need new uniforms too.”

“I know. We’ve covered this,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

Daniel and Beatriz. Our little kids. The real collateral damage.

“I’ll probably arrive around nine this Saturday,” I add, moving toward the door.

She hands the paper to the lawyer without looking at me. “Okay.”

I head for the elevator, eyes fixed straight ahead. I can’t get out of here fast enough.

I’ve cried my share of tears over this marriage—mostly for my kids. I fought for Iris, tried everything to patch it together so Daniel and Bea wouldn’t grow up in a broken home. But she’d been gone long before today. One foot out the door, chasing some version of freedom I couldn’t give her.

How do years of marriage boil down to this? Adventures and love, reduced to separate rooms and moving boxes.

I moved into the apartment a few weeks ago. It’s beautiful—high above the city, sweeping views of the ocean. Recife: sun-drenched, sprawling, always expanding. High-rises lining the shores.

Thankfully, the lawyer’s office is close. I’m home within five minutes. I step out of the elevator into silence. As always, the place feels too big. Too quiet.

All I want is to hear the sound of my kids tearing through this hallway.

I want to tell them to keep it down just so I can hear them laugh harder.

I want Bea to climb into my lap—still small enough to fit there—and roll her eyes while I remind her no boy will set foot near her until she’s thirty.

I want Daniel next to me on the couch, comparing football stats before bed.

But in Brazil, the courts rarely favor the father—especially not over a mother who says she wants out. It doesn’t matter that I was blindsided, or stable, or desperate to raise them. It doesn’t matter that I stayed.

I slip off my shoes and collapse onto the couch.

“How did it go, boss?”

Camila walks into the living room, concern stitched into her brows. She’s been with us for years—our housekeeper. But she’s more than our housekeeper, she’s a part of the family.

I let out a long breath.

“That bad, huh?” she says before I can answer. She knows me. Usually I’ve got something to say.

“Well, it wasn’t good. But it’s done,” I say, pushing myself up and heading for the kitchen.

“I could think of one or two things to tell that lady,” she mutters under her breath.

“Camila,” I say. “We all know your thoughts on my divorce.”

She points a finger at me. “I still want to give her a piece of my mind. Maybe a piece of my sandal too, right to her forehead.”

I laugh. “Let’s not get violent.”

“Who said anything about violence? Sandals can slap some sense into a person very gracefully.” Her eyes sparkle.

I shake my head, a smile cracking. Camila knows how to get a good laugh out of me. That’s Camila—sixty-something, Brazilian, fiery. Basically the human embodiment of sass. I didn’t even know what sass was until Bea explained it to me. Now I know Camila probably invented the word.

“I’ve left you some dinner ready for you to eat. Feijoada and some rice,” she says, grabbing her keys.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“Boss, you eat rice and beans every day.”

“Yeah, but your feijoada isn’t just rice and beans. That stew is next-level. What do you put in it?”

My mother taught me my way around the kitchen, and Camila has helped me for a good number of years.

If I see her in the kitchen cooking something, I find myself gravitating to find out what delightful concoction she’s coming up with.

And her feijoada—the famous Brazilian black bean stew that can be made with different seasonings and added ingredients—is simply the best.

She pats my shoulder like she always does—gentle but firm. “Soon, boss. Soon.”

She says this every time I ask. Maybe someday she’ll willingly tell me her magic secret ingredient.

“I’ll see you later, boss. Make sure to not wallow too much. You’ve done enough of that the past few months,” she eyes me from the side.

I glance at her sideways. “Camila, you know the wallowing stopped a while ago. When Iris made it clear she was done trying—done with me—I stopped.”

I stopped eating.

Stopped hoping.

I even lost twenty pounds.

“Maybe it’s time we start praying for a new woman for you. I think you need a fiery brunette this time.”

I sigh. I’m not averse to being out on the market again. This divorce is no news to me. It’s been months leading to this day. We even attempted marriage counseling, but nothing stopped Iris from wanting out.

Still… ‘I’m divorced’ were never words I thought would come out of my mouth—at any point, least of all in my thirties.

Especially as a man who has always been in love with God.

Those words are for the people on TV. Or those couples.

You know, the ones we always refer to as them—they’re statistics.

They don’t feel like real life people. But now, I’m another statistic.

It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s strange how time has passed and already my heart is numbed to Iris.

I didn’t get married to get divorced. I got married for life.

But I saw another side of her—the side that showed me her true colors.

She didn’t stand by her vows—there was no ‘til death do us part’ for her.

She’s averse to commitment. She wants to live her life without me.

And I’m okay with that now. But my heart hurts most for my kids.

I just want this to go as smoothly as possible for them.

I just want my kids to feel steady. Safe.

Somehow okay. As okay as any kid can be when their world is split down the middle.

I head to the shower, ready to eat some of Camila’s miracle stew, watch whatever’s on TV, and forget this day ever happened.

The next day unfolds without incident. Business as usual—or as usual as it can be when I still occasionally work with my former father-in-law.

My ex father-in-law. He knows all about the divorce and how it went down—that Iris wanted to chase life’s adventures without me beside her. So there’s no bad blood between us.

Still, I wonder if it’ll ever get awkward someday. Today, however, is not that day.

I run a meat distribution company, supplying supermarkets and local markets. Business runs in my blood—I’ve always had a knack for it. But lately, I’ve sensed God stirring something else in me. I’ve been invited to speak at church more than a few times now, giving sermons.

Still, I’m not ready for anything different just yet. This is what I know and I’m good at.

As I arrive home, I walk in to find Pastor John sitting on the couch.

“Hey Nate… Camila let me in,” he says, lifting his cup.

“She knows to always let you in.” I shrug.

“I thought I’d check in on you. How was yesterday?”

“As good as a divorce can go I guess,” I grimace.

“What about the kids?”

“I’m picking them up tomorrow.” I sigh. “My heart breaks mostly for them. How they’ll have to navigate us not being together. I know they’ve known things weren’t right for months, so it wasn’t a surprise… but no kid wants their parents to get a divorce.”

John places his espresso cup down gently. “It won’t be the easiest road ahead. It will probably be painful for a while. But I think God will surprise you.”

I run a hand through my hair. “I think the majority of the heartache is behind me now. I fought for the marriage, and I’m at peace about how it turned out—there’s nothing else I could do. I just worry about the kids.”

“You love them, that’s clear. Your kids know, too, even through all of this.”

“I hope so.”

A voice floats in from the kitchen. “Boss, you want a coffee?”

Camila knows me well. “Yes, please.”

“As black as your ex-wife’s heart, coming right up!”

“Camila...” I shake my head. She can’t say stuff like that. I look over at John—he’s laughing.

She comes over with the espresso quickly. “Really, you love my brilliance. It’s why I’ve been here all of these years.” She pats my shoulder with a motherly touch.

“You’re right. And for the coffee.”

She chuckles and disappears back into the kitchen.

“How’s Maria, John?” I ask as I sip what is probably my third espresso of the day. His wife is always his favorite topic.

“She’s good. Cooking up a storm at home as we speak.” He beams at the mention of her.

“Maria is a great cook.”

He pats his stomach. “My belly agrees.”

As we talk and catch up on life, I’m grateful for his company. He never mentions Iris again, sensing, I think, that I’m done discussing her for now. The worry about the kids lingers, stubborn as ever. I don’t know if it will ever fully fade.

After a while, John stands and we walk toward the door.

“I’ll see you on Sunday. But don’t be discouraged, Nate. Things will work out. Your kids will be okay.”

“Thanks, John. See you then.” I close the door behind him.

Camila pops out of the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon like a magic wand.

“Now, let’s get some more feijoada in you. You need lots of comfort food right now.”

“Not too much comfort food, Camila. I don’t want to fatten up after a divorce. How’s that going to look?”

“Like a man who enjoys good food. What else?”

I chuckle. “Okay, I’m happy with some feijoada. Leave some for the kids tomorrow too, please?”

“Already on it. I’ll be here for breakfast anyway.”

I sit down at the table as she brings me some of her wonderful black bean stew.

Maybe everything feels unpredictable right now.

I don’t like the uncertainty. Worry is clogging my brain up.

But one bite into Camila’s wonderful black bean stew has me relaxing.

Tomorrow will bring its own worry. Right now, I’ll soak up this comfort food.