Page 199 of When a Soul Cries

The buildings stretched across the property, clean and new, with fresh landscaping, sidewalks, a playground, and families walking around with leasing staff.

“Damn.”

Rome smiled.

“This is yours?”

“Mine and Kai’s.”

I looked at him differently then.

I knew he had money.

His house told me that.

His SUV told me that.

The watches, clothes, office—all of it.

But this wasn’t something he bought.

He had built something.

People were going to raise children here.

Come home here.

Start over here.

“There are income-based units too,” he said as we drove farther onto the property. “We’re expanding that side.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Because people need them.”

For some reason, that answer stayed with me.

It showed me another side of him.

Not Rome with the big house.

Not Rome with the expensive SUV.

Not even the man who had stepped between me and Aunt Trice without hesitation.

This was Roman Devereaux the businessman.

The man who had taken whatever life he'd lived before I met him and built something people could actually call home.

And damn if that didn't make my little feelings problem worse.

Inside the leasing office, he didn’t rush me.

He showed me the desks, computer system, application area and the offices in the back. He explained what the job would actually require—answering calls, helping with applications, scheduling tours, learning the leasing software, dealing with residents and prospective tenants.