Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

days, so he has to ask the building reception what level the spots reserved for IMK are on. To his relief he finds Rafe in sight of the elevator, leaning against an ancient two-door sedan. Connor's not sure why he expected something flashier.
    Rafe stands when he catches sight of Connor, his expression unreadable. He gestures to the passenger door. "Ready to go?"
    "Sure," Connor says, the word coming out surprisingly normal. "Uh, where?"
    Rafe's already slid into the driver's seat. Connor crosses to the passenger door. "Good, you brought the project info," Rafe says, nodding at the folder in Connor's hand. "You can look at it while we head to the site." He puts his hand on the top of Connor's seat to back out of the parking spot. If Connor turns his head, his cheek will touch the edge of Rafe's thumb.
    Then it's gone as Rafe shifts the car into drive. "So you signed it?" Connor asks, daring to breach the distance a little.
    "Frank can be persuasive when his back's to the wall," Rafe says, a grim note in his voice.
    Connor can read between those lines. The industry's been hit pretty hard. He's lucky to even have a job. He's surprised Rafe would even consider turning down work.
    Which reminds him of the folder on his lap. He lifts the flap and slides the contents out. Mostly handwritten notes from the initial meeting with the client. They seem to be in Rafe's hand if that Post-It note is any gauge, so he must be familiar with the project.
    Connor picks through the scrawl, wondering if there's some message he's supposed to be getting. "It looks standard enough to me," he says cautiously. Home renovation and interior architecture— the firm has been doing more of that lately. The house is out in Bryn Mawr; more like an estate at seventeen thousand feet and twenty acres. Colonial Revival, built in 1870, and newly bought by someone whose name Connor doesn't recognize. Walter Ashburn. Not a repeat client. "Maybe a little like he doesn't know what he wants."
    "Which nine times out of ten results in the firm losing money trying to please a dissatisfied client."
    Connor figures Frank would be willing to gamble on even those odds. He dares a little more. "Can you really afford not to take it?"
    "Apparently not," Rafe says. "Which is why we're going to meet him again."
    It's the we that Connor doesn't get. He knows he should be thinking about how it's an opportunity to meet with a client— and relieved that he went with a dress shirt this morning— but he's mostly just aware that he's in a car with Rafe Kinlan, their shoulders less than a foot apart.
    The city shifts into wooded suburbs and train track crossings, a convolution of streets and neighborhoods as familiar as his reflection. Ten minutes down the Main Line, Rafe pulls into a drive. Connor has plenty of time to study the house at the end of it. It's huge, but he expected that. Three outbuildings flank the main house, forming two sides of a square. The whole thing is blinding white. A pond sparkles at the bottom of the hill. The taxes are probably higher than the cost of his apartment.
    Rafe pulls in behind a Mazda, frowning a little. But he doesn't say anything as he turns the car off and gets out. They're met at the door by a tiny man with neat grey hair, his eyes lighting up with what Connor can only describe as fervent enthusiasm.
    "It's beautiful, right?" he says, waving to encompass the vastness around them.
    "It is," Rafe agrees, though Connor gets the sense that, like Connor, he thinks it's all a bit much. Rafe steps forward and holds out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Ashburn. Thanks for agreeing to meet."
    "Please, it's Walter." Ashburn is still glowing from pride of possession. "I'm so pleased you'll be on board, Rafe. You came highly recommended."
    Rafe introduces him, but Connor can tell Ashburn's more excited by his new architect than a lowly assistant. He trails behind them into the house, Ashburn offering a litany of the house's history and previous owners. "I thought we could knock out these walls," he says, as they navigate the maze of living and dining spaces to the right of the foyer. "Open it all up."
    Rafe nods and points out the load-bearing walls, which does nothing to deflate Ashburn's enthusiasm. They reach a set of stairs at the end of the wing, narrow and steep enough to be servant stairs at one time in the house's history, and Connor wonders where the main ones are. "Let's go up," Ashburn says. "I can tell you what I'm thinking