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‘Bit of an occupational hazard. Architects are supposed to interpret things: dreams and ideas into reality, awkward situations into… not. Interpretation is sort of what we get paid for. That and making sure buildings don’t fall down around people’s heads.’

Despite herself, Amrita laughed.

‘Or trip them up and wreck their recovery,’ he added, looking so sheepish that she found herself re-evaluating their first conversation. Maybe she had been too harsh…

‘It is something we try to avoid.’ She grinned. ‘They teach us that in physio school. You know, instead of architectural terms.’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that too. I can get quite… focussed on my designs and am aware I came across rudely. I really do want this to be the best home for Sylvie that I can possibly make it.’

‘Even if that means listening to someone else’s opinions?’

‘Even then.’ He nodded firmly.

‘I might have been a little quick in jumping to Sylvie’s defence,’ Amrita admitted. ‘My patients usually have hard enough lives without red tape and funding restrictions making them harder. I hadn’t meant to take my professional frustrations out on you…’

‘But I came across as an arrogant architect full of lofty ideas who doesn’t want to listen.’

‘Maybe a little.’ Amrita winced, feeling guilty about how nice he was being. ‘But I’m starting to think you might not be that bad. On the second impression.’

‘So, do you think we can start over?’ His grin – slightly lopsided – was infectious, making her smile back.

‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘Good, because I’m guessing we’ve got quite a bit of work to do.’

He held open another door for her, and she stepped into a large office that seemed to have been decorated by an explosion of paper: designs, scribbles and notes were pinned to the walls, scattered over the desk and table and spilling onto the floor. She was surprised to see so much mess and chaos. Didn’t most people use computers for stuff like this?

‘Sorry about the mess. I like working on paper.’ Again, Jamie answered the question she hadn’t voiced. ‘There’s something about the feel of it that seems to encourage my creative flow more than a computer.’

‘Careful, you’re starting to sound a bit like an actual artist. If you carry on, I might struggle to keep finding you unbearably arrogant.’

‘I thought you said I was lofty and arrogant.’ He chuckled, and she found herself smiling too. ‘My latest designs are on the table. Do you want a drink while you have a look?’

‘Coffee would be good, thanks.’ She sat down and pulled the drawing to her, glad he was giving her the space to look at the designs without hanging over her shoulder protectively.

When he sat down, it was opposite her. With a battered Superman pencil tin.

‘Cute.’

‘It was my first drawing set.’ He grinned, slightly sheepish, and she found herself liking him even more. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘The entrance is beautiful.’

‘But?’ Jamie prompted.

‘But it’s terrible for someone like Sylvie.’

‘Ouch.’ He clutched a hand to his chest dramatically. ‘I thought the slope would be a good thing… you know, access-friendly.’

‘The idea and curve are lovely, but – unless I’m reading this wrong – I think the gradient is far too steep. It’ll work for now, and maybe even for a few years, but unless we ease the slope, as Sylvie’s strength and balance deteriorate, she’s going to find it harder and harder until she ends up hating you every time she tries to get to her door.’

‘I definitely don’t want that.’

Amrita drew her finger across the plans in an arc, aware of Jamie’s eyes on her. ‘If you extended the ramp and curve, like this – pulling it back further into the garden – it would look more like part of the approach, instead of an afterthought.’ She saw the shift in his expression: not defensiveness or pride but understanding.

‘Show me?’

She hesitated, then reached for the Superman tin. He pushed it towards her. Another point in his favour.