I grabbed napkins, frantically blotting the mess. “Are these important? Please tell me they’re just doodles.”
“Just preliminary sketches for a client presentation.” He helped me mop up, our hands occasionally brushing. “Tomorrow.”
I stopped mid-blot. “Tomorrow? As in, the thing you need for work tomorrow?”
He nodded, still unnervingly calm. “It’s fine. I have the digital files. These were just for my own reference.”
“I feel terrible.” I surveyed the soggy papers. “At least let me buy you coffee for the rest of your natural…” I paused, then added, “and supernatural, life.”
“How about we start with one and see how it goes?” He extended his hand. “Skyler Thompson.”
“Harley Matthews. Professional document destroyer.”
His handshake was firm, his smile transforming his entire face. “What brings you out in this biblical deluge, Harley Matthews?”
“Studying. Social work certification exam tomorrow.” I gestured to my soaked backpack. “Though my notes might be swimming by now.”
“Social work?” Interest flickered in his eyes. “My mother always said I should have been a therapist instead of an architect. Apparently, I ask too many questions.”
“Architect? That explains the fancy drawings I just ruined.”
We talked for three hours. About his firm’s focus on sustainable urban housing. About my passion for helping foster kids navigate the system. About how we both preferred breakfast for dinner, and could quote entire episodes of The Office. The rain stopped, but neither of us noticed.
When we finally left, standing awkwardly outside the café, he asked for my number. I gave it, certain he was being polite. But then my phone chimed before I’d even reached the corner.
Dinner tonight? I know a place that serves excellent breakfast.
The memory dissolves as Skyler sets our plates on the kitchen table. I snap the lids onto our lunch containers and join him.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks, buttering his toast. “You had that look.”
“Just thinking about the day we met. The great coffee flood.”
He grins. “Best ruined presentation of my life.”
“Your client might disagree.”
“Worked out fine. They loved the revised design I stayed up all night creating.” He takes a bite of his eggs. “Though I did go through about twelve espressos to finish it.”
“My contribution to your architectural brilliance.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, the rhythm of our forks against plates mixing with the rain outside.
“Henderson project’s going to be challenging,” Skyler says eventually. “Dad’s pushing for changes that will drive us over budget.”
I hear the tension in his voice. Robert Thompson isn’t just Skyler’s father; he’s also the primary investor in several of his architectural firm’s largest projects. A complicated dynamic that I’ve watched Skyler navigate with mixed success.
“What kind of changes?”
“Higher-end materials, more elaborate design elements.” He sighs. “Things the client hasn’t even asked for.”
“Because, heaven forbid, a Thompson project look merely excellent instead of extravagant.” The words slip out before I can catch them.
Skyler’s mouth tightens slightly. “He has his standards.”
“I know.” I reach for his hand. “But it’s your design. Your vision.”
“Collaborative vision,” he corrects gently. “That’s how firms work.”
