Page 111 of Lease to Love

"Roman…" I called, genuinely in awe.

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

I walked toward it slowly and shook my head, smiling. "You never told me you had an actual record collection."

"I told you I like old-school music."

"You neglected to mention that you apparently have a private record store in your living room."

My fingers ghosted over some of them… Teddy Pendergrass. Donny Hathaway. Phyllis Hyman.

Yeah, I was definitely fucking him to at least two of these records.

He laughed softly and crossed to the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. I’m getting you something to drink."

He disappeared into the kitchen.

I smiled to myself and turned back toward the room… And that's when I noticed the photographs.

They were everywhere.

Not staged photographs of Roman in suits shaking hands with politicians or standing beside buildings bearing the Sterling Group name. Those were there too, scattered among awards and newspaper clippings and framed articles about the first company he'd built.

But the personal photos caught me.

One showed what I guessed was Roman and his brother, sitting beside a Christmas tree. They looked young—maybe eight and two—and while Erik was grinning directly at the camera, Roman wore the smallest smile I'd ever seen on a child.

I moved to the next.

A couple sitting at a kitchen table. His parents, I assumed, as Roman's face was easy to recognize in both, though he seemed to have gotten more of his mother's features. His father was looking at his mother, and his mother was laughing at something he had said.

Then I saw it.

His mom, standing outside with a little Roman in a soccer uniform, his clothes covered in grass stains and dirt. She had both arms wrapped around him, beaming at the camera with the kind of pride that made her entire face glow.

Roman was smiling so hard, I almost doubted that it was him. But I knew those dimples.

My heart gave an inconvenient little squeeze.

"That was Fort Greene Park."

I turned, and Roman stood behind me, a glass of wine extended toward me.

I took it, and he came up behind me, wrapping one arm loosely around my waist.

"That your mom?"

"Yeah."

I looked back at the photograph. “You were so little."

He nodded. "Eight."

"You played soccer?"

"Yeah. I practically lived at that park."

I smiled. "You?"