*Harper*
My third cup of coffee sits half-finished on the table, paint still clinging to the edges of my nails from a morning spent lost in my latest piece. McKenzy’s out running errands, the apartment is quiet, and I’m riding the kind of creative high that only comes when everything just clicks.
I’m about to dip my brush into a streak of deep teal when my phone buzzes. I grab it without thinking, expecting McKenzy or Scott or maybe one of the guys.
It’s the gallery in Chicago.
My stomach flips.
“Hello?” I answer, trying not to sound like someone who just inhaled a cinnamon roll while juggling a paintbrush between her teeth.
“Harper! It’s Stephanie at the Whitney.” Her voice is bright, almost bubbly. That’s already a good sign.
“Hi!” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, scr
