Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

but were able to keep most of the façade. We designed the apartment layout for them."
    They enter through the center house and Rafe hands him a hard hat from the pile on the table just inside the door. Not that there's anything going on; the crew must be at lunch. Most of the south end is still in construction, but Rafe takes him the other way, through a maze of wooden frames and piles of insulation. It's hard to picture what it will look like when it's done.
    "They have a couple of finished apartments to show, if you want to see," Rafe says, reading his thoughts.
    Connor figures Rafe probably has better things to do than give him the tour of the place, but when Rafe opens the door into one of the apartments, Connor can feel his eyes on him as if he's actually interested in Connor's opinion of it.
    The apartment's small, but the rooms fit together efficiently with a modern, stylish touch. His time at the firm and a degree are enough for him to know how difficult small spaces are to work with. That it looks effortless and balanced is a testament to the design.
    "Did you do the layout?"
    "Yes," Rafe says. He doesn't look self-conscious but as if he's waiting for Connor's reaction. "Frank helped." He smiles a little. It turns his coolly professional demeanor into something warm and accessible, if only briefly. "He's a good architect when he's not reeling in clients."
    "It's great," Connor says, eyes sweeping the living room that opens up to the kitchen. The hallway to the bedrooms provides separation without making it feel closed off. Light streams in from the front windows, reflecting off dust motes and the hardwood floors. "Really nice."
    Rafe leans back against the wall. "How are you liking IMK so far?"
    "I'm learning a lot," Connor says, which is true, if not entirely the kinds of things he expected. He ended up in architecture because it was either that or engineering, and the architecture classes didn't interfere with soccer practice. Not that it mattered after junior year, but by then he was committed. And he liked the exactness of it, the way vision could be laid out in neat lines and angles.
    What they didn't tell him was that he'd end up spending most of his day on the phone with contractors or looking up zoning codes, and sometimes a shot at a construction document. He doesn't mind the work; all jobs have their tedium. But he's seen what the principals do. He can't picture himself in their shoes. He can't imagine himself designing something like this, seeing the finished product and knowing it came from him.
    He doesn't know how to articulate any of that. Rafe is watching him like he can read some of it on his face, so maybe he doesn't need to.
    They both startle as a shout carries in from the other side of the building. The construction crew.
    Rafe disappears to talk to them. Connor wanders the rest of the site. He's glad they're not just knocking the row down to start over. Even crumbling and vacant, the rowhouses are part of Philly's architectural history.
    Rafe looks distracted when he comes to collect Connor, likely caught up in the project. "I should have some drawings for you at the end of the week on the Ashburn house," he says when they get back to the office. "If you're free to put together some designs."
    Connor wonders if he just imagined that moment. "Sure," he says.
    ****
    The place is trendier than Connor would normally pick, but it's not like he's familiar with Philly's finer establishments. Lewis suggested it and Connor at least knew where it was, so he was just as happy to agree.
    From the description Lewis gave him over email, Connor spots him by the bar— shorter than he expected but good looking with an open, boyish face and carefully styled sandy hair. He smiles when he sees Connor, eyes flicking over him in appraisal, and Connor's a little gratified by the way his smile broadens.
    They shake hands, which feels weirdly formal. "They said the table might be a few minutes," Lewis says, raising his voice over the dull roar of music and conversation. "Can I buy you a drink?"
    Connor opts for beer, and Lewis orders two. Connor glances around the place. There's a lounge to the right of the bar with overstuffed couches and large square tables. It's packed, some of the patrons eating there instead of the surrounding tables; it must be a popular place to be this busy on a weeknight.
    "How do you know Zach?" Connor asks, when the beers come.
    "My sister works with him. I guess she mentioned me