My In-Laws Put My Parents At A Tiny Table By The Kitchen. When I Asked Why, My Mother-In-Law Said Loudly, We Didn't Want Them Embarrassing The Important Guests. My Fiance Just Shrugged. So I Walked Straight To The DJ Booth, Took The Microphone, And By The Next Morning Their Perfect World Was Cracking Because...

Six months later, spring had returned to Chicago.

The tulips along Michigan Avenue were blooming in brilliant shades of yellow and red, and the lake was a deep, sparkling sapphire under a warm April sun.

I was standing in the middle of a dusty, light-filled brick loft in the Fulton Market district. The exposed timber beams stretched fifteen feet overhead, and giant industrial windows looked out over the skyline.

Beside me stood Julian Vance—no relation to the disgraced senator, but a thirty-two-year-old independent lead architect who had recruited me away from my old firm three months ago.

"So," Julian said, unrolling a large set of architectural blueprints across a wooden sawhorse table in the center of the room. "The client wants a community-focused culinary center. Cooking school on the ground floor, event space on the second floor, rooftop garden for neighborhood youth programs."

I leaned over the blueprints, my eyes tracing the clean, thoughtful lines of the design. "Who's funding it?"

"A coalition of local neighborhood non-profits and a community development grant," Julian smiled, leaning his arm against the sawhorse. "No corporate donors. No political action committees. Just people who want to build something good for the city."

I looked up at him. Julian was tall, with messy brown hair, warm brown eyes, and a easy, genuine smile that had become my favorite part of the workday over the last ninety days. He was the kind of man who wore work boots to meetings, brought coffee for the site workers every morning, and had spent his last two weekends helping build a community park in Pilsen.

"It's perfect, Julian," I said, running my fingers over the paper layout.

"There's one more thing," Julian said, reaching into his leather bag and pulling out a smaller architectural rendering. "I took the liberty of adding a specific detail to the second-floor event space layout."

He slid the rendering toward me.

It was a perspective drawing of the main dining hall. In the center of the room was a wide, beautiful wooden head table surrounded by natural light from the high windows. And at the front of the room, right beside the main entrance where every guest would enter, was a large, circular family table labeled: VIP Family Table 1.

I looked up at Julian, a warm, sudden lump forming in my throat.

"Nobody sits by the kitchen in my buildings, Emma," Julian said softly, his brown eyes holding mine with a quiet, steady intensity that made my heart jump. "Ever."

I looked at him for a long moment, the warm spring breeze blowing through the open industrial window, carrying the smell of fresh earth and city life.

"Julian," I smiled, my eyes crinkling at the corners. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Julian scratched the back of his neck, a faint, handsome flush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, I was going to wait until we finished the Fulton Market proposal, but... I figured an architect shouldn't waste time when he sees a foundation he believes in."

I laughed—a real, rich, joyful laugh that echoed off the high brick walls of the loft.

"I'd love to go on a date with you, Julian," I said. "On one condition."

"Name it."