LITMIR.BIZ

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A tree fell on it, so we had to do some structural repairs.”

      They stepped through a set of double doors into a gymnasium with a scuffed but decent floor. Royce, who had been silent the whole time, took in the group of children playing basketball. “This looks nice.”

      “It is—we use it for some after-school programs and there’s actually a men’s basketball group that meets here. Anyone in the building is allowed to participate.” She nodded toward the far corner. “But here’s the problem. This room has to serve double duty.”

      “Are those beds?”

      “Foldaway cots. We have a women’s dorm in the back, which has a leaking roof. The old chapel serves to shelter small family units when necessary. This is the men’s dorm. So every night we have to pull the beds out onto the floor and every morning they are stripped and put away.”

      “That’s a lot of work,” he murmured.

      “It is.” She took a deep breath, almost afraid to share her hopes for the fund-raising event. “The neighbors here were an elderly couple and they gifted their land to the mission upon their deaths. But there aren’t any funds to build on it.” She met his solemn gaze. “A fully functioning building with single-purpose sleeping quarters would make a big difference in this part of Savannah.”

      “Miss Harden! Watch this!”

      Jasmine glanced over as one of her little tagalongs, Oliver, jumped toward the basketball net. At five, he wasn’t tall enough to make headway, but he had enough enthusiasm to make his jump impressive. “Great job!” she yelled back.

      He dribbled the ball over to them, showing off his skills. “Look what I learned to do.” He grabbed the ball up and rolled it across his outstretched arms and along the back of his neck.

      Jasmine laughed. “Well, that’s pretty cool. But how is it gonna help you play basketball?”

      “Mr. Mike said it will help me learn dex—um, dexter—”

      “Dexterity?” Royce offered.

      “That was it.”

      “I see,” Jasmine said. “You are well on your way to being a professional ball player, in my opinion.”

      The little boy stopped moving and gave her a cheeky grin. “Didn’t you say you don’t know anything about basketball?”

      She brushed her knuckles against his cheek. “That’s true. But I know determination when I see it, and you have tons of that, my sweet.”

      He giggled, then dribbled the ball back toward the court. She smiled after him. “He’s such a cutie. His mama named him Oliver after a cocky, sneaky cat in a cartoon. I have a feeling he’s gonna live up to the name.”

      Instead of a chuckle, Royce said, “My mother named me after my father’s car.”

      She swiveled to face him. “What?”

      “My father’s Rolls Royce. He told her the only thing he’d ever loved was his car. Guess it was some kind of dig to remind him that a kid deserved love, too. Didn’t work so well.”

      “Or maybe it was to remind her that she got the better end of that deal.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Cars don’t give an awful lot of love in return, Royce.”

      * * *

      As they turned back toward the main building, Jasmine spouted facts about the various aspects of the homeless mission’s programs. Royce wasn’t tracking. Her words from the gym kept ringing in his ears. He couldn’t help but wonder—were they true?

      “Jasmine, ma fleur. So wonderful to see you.”

      Royce forced himself to tune in as they were approached by a man in khaki pants and a polo shirt. Jasmine introduced him as Francis Staten, the director of the mission.

      “So wonderful to meet you,” Francis said with a firm handshake that matched his calm, competent expression. “We are so grateful for what you are doing for us.”

      Royce was having none of that. “You know I can’t take the credit. Jasmine is the one who brought the need to my attention.”

      Francis smiled. “And you must know that with her running your event, it will be very successful.”

      “That’s my sincere belief, also,” Royce agreed.

      Francis gave an appreciative chuckle. “Before she combusts from that blush, shall I show you around?”

      Jasmine smiled in a sheepish way. “Well, we’ve already looked over the gym, front offices and lobby.”

      “Excitement got the better of you, huh?” Francis asked as they headed farther down the hallway toward the back of the building. “I’ve never had a more enthusiastic volunteer than Jasmine here. She was such a sad girl when she first came to us, and she has become the mission’s biggest asset.”

      “All of our volunteers are,” Jasmine insisted.

      That blush sure was cute.

      As they crossed through a large double doorway into a spacious banquet room, Francis explained, “This is our main dining area, with industrial kitchens on the other side of those serving tables. The kitchens were refurbished by a major pledge drive. We serve hundreds of meals per day. The kitchen updates made it so much easier to keep the food fresh, hot and plentiful.”

      The long room was broken up by rows of tables and chairs. Only about a third of them were occupied at this time on a Saturday. “We’ll start serving lunch soon,” Francis said.

      A lady sitting at the first table with a group of her friends called out to Jasmine and waved. With a smile, Jasmine excused herself to go over to them. Royce and Francis watched as she hugged each woman in the small group.

      “She’s incredible,” Francis said. “A young woman who lives her beliefs, rather than simply talking about them.”

      He glanced over at Royce, lowering his voice a touch. “Have you met Rosie?”

      Royce nodded. His stomach flipped as he imagined Rosie in this environment. Her birth mother had been a frequent guest here, so Rosie would have grown up with no stable, secure home base. “She’s a beautiful little girl,” he murmured. “It’s hard to tell she was adopted.”

      “Indeed,” Francis agreed. “Jasmine had known Rosie’s mother for several years. One thing you learn very quickly here—you can’t force your own beliefs or preferences on those who aren’t as fortunate. You can only offer them whatever you have. Some are on the streets because life has given them no other choices. Some are there because it is safer or more comfortable for them than the places they left behind.”

      “Was she very young?” Royce asked.

      “Twenty-six when she died.”

      Royce couldn’t bring himself to ask the obvious question.

      “She confided in Jasmine one night. She wanted so badly to have the child, but knew her health wasn’t all it should be. It took her a lot of courage to go to the doctor. By then, the cancer was too far advanced for treatment, even if they could have done anything while she was pregnant. When Jasmine offered to take her in, she agreed with great reluctance. She’d been on the streets so long, but she knew she had to overcome her fears for her baby to live.”

      “So she lived with Jasmine’s family before the birth?”

      “And after,” Francis confirmed. “Her health declined rapidly. But she was smart enough to make sure Rosie wouldn’t end up on the streets. They’d barely finished the adoption process before she died.”

      Jasmine glanced their way. Her smile here had a different, softer quality. Instead of the take-charge woman he’d butted heads with, in this environment, her leadership abilities seemed to be subdued

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