Page 90 of Rags to Royals

I’m glad he’s dealing with flashbacks too. “Okay. Then let’s go. Quickly.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “The way you want this too is so fucking sexy.”

“Then prepare to be turned on for however long this takes,” I tell him. “Because I really want this.”

I try to tell myself that I’m just using him for sex, the way I told myself, and Ruby, andhimpreviously. The sex with Cian issogood.

But I’m a damn liar. Every minute I spend with him, I like him more and I’ve found that I’m also really enjoying having him at home when I get there after work, hearing him talk and laugh with Ruby and Mariah, and the little smiles, touches, and special, flirty words he always has for me.

And as much as I like having him in my day-to-day life and comfortable with Mariah and Ruby, I’m very much looking forward to having him to myself this weekend.

Cian holds the door open for me again, and we head back down to the hotel lobby. He calls for an Uber, rather than asking Henry to go with us, which is interesting in a what’s-going-on way.

It takes us twenty-five minutes to get to the older neighborhood where the car drops us off on a corner that seems unremarkable.

There’s a florist in the building on this corner. Across the street is a deli. There’s a convenience store a little further down. I can also see a market, a coffee shop, a dog groomer, and an urgent care office. But beyond the businesses are houses and apartment buildings.

“This way.” Cian links his fingers with mine, starting down the sidewalk. We walk for two blocks before he stops. “Right here.”

I look up at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

He grins down at me, then points. “There.”

I follow his finger. He’s pointing at the building complex across the street. It’s a group of townhouses. There are three buildings arranged in a U-shape. Each building has four townhouses in it. They each have a porch, some with kids’ bikes leaning against the railing, some with potted plants, one with a swing. There’s a yard in the middle with play equipment. A tall wrought-iron gate closes off that yard from the sidewalk that runs along the front of the property.

“What am I looking at?”

“Scarlett Park.”

I frown. “Okay.”

“It’s the community for single moms we brainstormed.”

I look at up at him. And just stare as I process that. Then I look across the street again. I really study it this time. There are lights glowing from some of the windows. I take in the well-kept grass in the yard. I note that each building is a different color—one is sky blue, one is a butter yellow, and one is seafoam green—with white shutters and white porches with steps and railings. There are flower beds, baskets of flowers, and flowering bushes. So many flowers. So much color.

I feel choked up as I look back up at him. “Really?”

He tucks his hands into his pockets and nods. “I bought it about three months after our weekend. We renovated and remodeled. I hired a woman, Joann, who is a social worker, to manage it. She helps figure out what the women and kids need, helps explain to new residents how things work, and acts as the go-between with them and me. She lets me know what’s needed and I make it happen. She’s pretty great.” He gives me a smile.

“Tell me more,” I say, watching his face instead of studying the building now.

He seems thrilled that I asked. “There are two or three women in each townhouse, each has one to three kids. They get to decide how many people they want to live with. Joannmanages who fits best together—the ages of the kids and the women’s schedules and stuff like that They have weekly community meetings, and the guiding principle is that they all have to work together to make it function. Like a family would. The kids and their school schedules need to be covered. Their work schedules need to fit together. They deal with meals and shopping and household chores together in whatever way works best for everyone. Sometimes one woman cooks for a couple of houses if those women help her out with other things. That’s all up to them. We cover the housing costs fully. They don’t pay rent or utilities or any maintenance. But they take care of everything else. Unless Joann lets me know they need more.”

“That’s…” I don’t know what to say really.

“We also have on-call maintenance twenty-four-seven and there’s security that routinely drives by and a female officer does walk throughs. They can be reached directly and are only two minutes away in case there are ever any issues. Three of the women work shifts where they get home after midnight and a security guard meets them to walk them from their cars to their doors.”

“That’s amazing, Cian,” I say softly. We’d talked about security when we’d brainstormed. He really had included everything.

“And we’ve only had two move out in the year and a half,” he says quickly. “One moved to another city and one ended up falling in love and moving in with her boyfriend. Everyone loves living here.”

I lift his hand, pressing it against my heart. “I’m sure they they do. Cian, it sounds perfect.”

“It’s what we came up with together,” he says. “Exactly.”

I nod. “I know.”

I’m stunned. But as it sinks in, I realize I’m not shocked, actually. Remembering how excited he was about the plan whenwe came up with it and how easily he gives money when he discovers a need, this makes complete sense.

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