All Chapters of A Sketch Away From Perfect: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

*Harper*I stare at the dining table, wondering if I’ve overdone it. I’ve definitely overdone it. McKenzy, Melody, and I are the only three having dinner, but I’ve cooked enough for a small army. Roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, a side salad, and fresh bread with this fancy herb butter that McKenzy made sit on the table ready to be consumed. I even baked a peach cobbler because I remember Melody liking peaches when we were kids.I know it’s ridiculous since this is just a dinner to discuss baby shower plans, but my anxiety has forced me to create something that feels warm and welcoming, even if this entire situation is about as awkward as it gets. McKenzy peeks over my shoulder as I straighten a fork for the fourth time.“You want to tell me why you’re acting like you’re hosting the damn royal family?” she asks sarcastically.I snort. “Because I have no idea how this is going to go, and if it’s a disaster, at least I can feed her into a food coma,” I tell her honestly, laying

*Damien*Harper sits across from me on the jet, barefoot, her legs tucked up under her like we’re on her beat-up couch instead of a leather seat that probably cost more than her apartment. She fits in my world about as well as a paint-splattered easel in a corporate boardroom, yet I still find her absolutely irresistible. I love the way she cracks me open, lets in sunlight where there used to be nothing but polished surface and empty space.She catches me staring and grins, her hair a messy halo around her face. “What? Did I spill soy sauce on my shirt again?”“No.” I sip my scotch, savoring the burn, the way it sharpens my focus. “I’m just admiring the view.”She rolls her eyes, but there’s a blush rising to her cheeks, and it kills me how easily I can get under her skin. No one else blushes for me. Not the models, not the debutantes, not the socialites who’d sell their souls to spend a night in my bed. Only her.San Francisco glows under a soft sunset by the time we land, and inste

*Harper*The studio is packed, with dozens of people filtering in and out, drinking champagne, admiring the work, and talking in hushed tones. McKenzy stands beside me, her eyes wide as she watches a well-dressed couple argue over who gets to buy one of her handmade pieces. Across the room, a small cluster of critics and collectors linger in front of one of my paintings, nodding thoughtfully. I feel like I might burst into a thousand bright, brilliant colors all over one of my canvases. After weeks of planning and stressing, we’re watching our dreams come true in real time.Damien, true to his word, has invited half the city… the important half, at that, the art world elite, the socialites, the people with bottomless bank accounts and a thirst for status are walking around our space, bidding for our work. I exhale, trying to ground myself, but McKenzy grabs my arm, squeezing hard.“Harper,” she whispers, “Michael Fucking Vernon is here.”I blink at her, confused for half a second bef

*Rafe*I immediately spot Harper through the wall of bodies at the baggage claim. Her hair is pulled back in that messy knot she always does when she’s not trying too hard, and her smile is radiant. My chest goes warm immediately. I’m home.Harper begins frantically waving the moment our eyes meet. She’s wearing jeans and a navy hoodie that says “Minneapolis Art Girls” across the front in cracked white letters. I already know there are probably specks of paint all over it. I grab the strap of my carry-on tighter and weave through the crowd to get to my little artist.“Hey, superstar,” she teases as I get close, grinning up at me. “Catch any touchdowns lately?”I lean in and kiss her before I say a word. Her mouth is soft and warm and familiar. She tastes like cinnamon gum and vanilla lip balm, a specific combination of hers that always makes me a little weak. I linger on her lips, giving her all the passion I’ve been saving up since she last visited.“Hi,” I say simply when we break a

*Harper*The baby shower is basically perfect, if I do say so myself. Tomas and I did an amazing job transforming the art studio into an explosion of pastel pinks and blues. Melody decided to wait until the birth to find out the sex of the baby, so we made sure to balance both.Melody, despite being eight months pregnant and visibly exhausted, is glowing. Her cheeks are flushed as she smiles at the many people who’ve come to wish her well… the same people who make sure to tell me how everything looks.I can’t help but beam and text Tomas to thank him for helping me string pastel garlands and assemble handmade paper flowers to decorate the long buffet table. Damien came through with a contact who would do the food as a personal favor. There’s a ridiculous tower of tiny sandwiches, platters of charcuterie arranged in the shape of a heart, and even a mimosa bar, though Melody’s glass is filled with sparkling apple cider and garnished with three strawberries and a paper umbrella.It shoul