Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

to him, and he gave her your email. I don't, uh, actually know him."
    "You're probably better off," Connor says, and Lewis quirks a smile.
    "You were college roommates?" Lewis asks.
    Connor nods and takes a sip of beer, wondering if it's worth trying to make conversation over the noise of the bar. It's strange being out so casually on a date with a guy. His experiences in college were more about fumbling in dorm rooms than actual meetings in public.
    The hostess comes by to collect them, and Lewis waves Connor to precede him as they follow her to the table. It's quieter in this part of the restaurant, though the decor reminds him of old world torture devices. A gothic-looking wrought iron candle holder sits in the center of the table, stark against the white tablecloth.
    "Wow," Lewis says, eyeing it. "I didn't think this place would be so...."
    "Frightening?"
    "Yeah," Lewis says with a smile. "Someone recommended it to me. Sorry about that."
    "It's okay," Connor says. "I'm sure the food is good."
    Lewis smiles again. It's a nice smile, Connor thinks. Not one to set his insides fluttering, but nice. "So what do you do?"
    They talk about Connor's work for a while— Lewis is more interested in it than Connor feels it deserves, considering what his usual day consists of— then switch over to Lewis. It's kind of intimidating, actually, once Lewis starts talking about this article he's writing about stay-at-home dads, inspired by a documentary he recently came across. That segues into some of the other work he does as a freelancer. It's not a world Connor knows much about, and Lewis seems so impassioned by it.
    "Sorry," Lewis says with an apologetic look. He must have caught Connor's attention wandering. "I've been rambling."
    "Not at all," Connor says. "It's really interesting."
    He's not sure how convincing that is, because Lewis changes the conversation to a recent movie release, which at least Connor has seen. He does think Lewis's work is interesting; he just feels so out of depth talking to him about it.
    He has a nice time, though, and the food is surprisingly good. "So, uh," Lewis says as they're waiting for the bill. "My place is only a few blocks from here."
    Connor folds his napkin over, placing it on the table. He's not sure why he's hesitating. Lewis is smart and good-looking, and more down-to-earth than Connor expected. And there's a spark— maybe not a full-out flame, but he's not immune to it either.
    "I have to be up early tomorrow," he finds himself saying. "For work, I mean."
    Lewis looks disappointed, but he nods. "Of course," he says. "I hope, uh, that we can do this again sometime. Maybe someplace a little less... you know."
    "I'd like that," Connor says.
    ****
    There's a stack of drawings waiting on his desk the next day, with a note written in a familiar scrawl. Connor's getting better at deciphering it.
    He leafs through the drawings— Rafe seems to have almost the entire first floor done— and starts with the living space. There are drafting tables in the middle of the office space, but almost everything's done on computer these days. The office is quiet enough that it's easy to get into a rhythm of transferring Rafe's sketches and jotted measurements into renderings on his laptop, referencing the house's original plans as he goes.
    He's deep enough in that it takes a moment to notice the shadow over his desk. "It's Connor, isn't it?"
    Connor blinks and looks up. Seeing Julian at IMK is like coming home to find all the furniture rearranged. "You're here for Rafe?"
    Julian leans against Connor's desk in the same relaxed posture as he had in the Ashburn kitchen. It makes Connor feel out of place at his own desk.
    "We're going to lunch," Julian says. He nods at the drawings fanned out next to Connor's laptop. "May I?"
    Connor hesitates. They're all proprietary to the firm, but Julian will have to see them sometime if he's the one doing the interior design. So he nods and gathers them up, holding them out for him.
    Julian takes his time over them. He's got that slightly vague expression that Connor recognizes as someone expanding two-dimensional sketches into a three-dimensional mental space, probably layering on his own visuals of the house and whatever plans he has for it. At least he seems to know what he's looking at.
    "He certainly hasn't lost anything," Julian says after the final one. His eyes linger on the stack. "How long have you been working with him?"
    Connor's not sure working with