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// Chapter Twelve: In Which Things Fall Into Place 
// Story: A Blank Canvas 
// by Bardsworth Brony 
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	Sketch didn’t get any sleep that night.  He tossed and turned, his brain refusing to let go of the statement, "She’s in love with you!"  His stomach twisted and ached; it was a worse feeling than when he had been going without food for long stretches.  Normally he would take the time to go out into his studio to paint, to use the emotions in a creative way, but they were too strong and kept him rooted firmly in bed, unable to fall asleep.
Finally, when the sun broke the horizon line, Sketch forced himself to throw his coat on and he left the farm house.  Everypony else was still sleeping, but would be up shortly.  He didn’t want to be around.  He had some thinking to do.
When he arrived in Ponyville, he realized that he hadn’t actually done any thinking on the walk there, but his head felt clearer.  The walk had helped to use up the nervous energy and he had been able to let his mind rest a bit.  But he still couldn’t force himself to think about the situation easily.  He needed someone to talk to.  Should he wake up Twilight Sparkle?  No, she had been out as late as everypony else and he'd feel terrible about waking her up to dump his problems on her.  But who else could he go to?
The smoke from Sugarcube Corner’s chimney caught his attention.  The Cakes were always up early, gearing up to meet the morning customers with fresh goodies.  And, Sketch realized, they would be the perfect ponies to talk to.
The warmth of the bakery wrapped around him like a sweet-smelling blanket when he entered, and Mrs. Cake looked up from the counter and smiled.  "Good morning, Sketch!  I haven’t seen you in here in a while!  How are you?"
"Good morning, Mrs. Cake.  I’m… I’ve been better."
"Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.  Is there anything I can get for you to make you feel better?"
"No, thank you.  But… would you mind if I asked you a sort of personal question?"
"Oh," the mare said, taken aback.  "I suppose so."
"You and Mr. Cake seem very happy together.  I was wondering… how… how do you know when you’re in love?"
The question caught Mrs. Cake even further off guard and she took a moment to think about it.  "Well, I’m sure it’s different for everypony, so I can only speak from experience.  But I guess it’s… it's when you feel your heart race at the sight of that special pony.  When you realize that you want to spend lots of time with that pony.  And when you find yourself attracted to everything about that pony, flaws and all.  That's how I knew I was in love with Carrot."
Sketch thought about the mare’s words for a moment and nodded.  "Thank you, Mrs. Cake.  And you know what?  I’ll take a dozen doughnuts."
As Sketch left the bakery with the doughnut box dangling from his mouth, he pondered Mrs. Cake’s words more deeply.
I guess it’s when you feel your heart race at the sight of that special pony.
Sketch remembered the feeling he got when Applejack had appeared at Fluttershy’s cottage while he was being nursed back to health.  He had been happy, elated even, despite how ashamed he had felt at receiving the orange pony’s admonishments.
When you realize that you want to spend lots of time with that pony.
He recalled the moment in the farmhouse kitchen when Applejack had asked him if he wanted to stay on the farm, and how logic had told him to say no.  But his emotions had been stronger, and he had known in that moment that he wanted to be as close to Applejack as he could, and for as long as he could.
And when you find yourself attracted to everything about that pony, flaws and all.
The memory of walking with Applejack to the barn the night of his welcome party surfaced, and he remembered studying Applejack, burning the sight of her into his mind, dust, dirt, and everything.  And he remembered the words he had said to her - Anything and anypony is worth painting.  The trick is to capture the beauty of the subject within the canvas.  Dirt and all.
Sketch stopped and dropped the box as his mouth went slack.  The lightning bolt of realization had struck him twice in succession.  He had finally resolved a long-standing problem that he had been dealing with.  But more importantly, he realized at that moment something that he should have known all along.
He was in love with Applejack.


***


That afternoon Applejack was fixing one of the hinges on a cabinet door in the kitchen when Sketch found her.  He stood by, watching her for a moment, before gathering the courage to open his mouth.  "Applejack?"  The pony didn’t respond.  "Applejack, I need to talk to you."
"Ah’m a bit busy, Sketch," the pony muttered brusquely.
"I know, but I wouldn’t bother you unless it was important.  Please."
Applejack set down her tools and looked over at Sketch, eyeing him with an impossible-to-read expression on her face.  "All right.  What is it?"
"Would you follow me out to my studio first?  I have to show you something before I start talking."
Applejack heaved a sigh and stood up, stretching.  "Let’s go."
The two walked, in that uncomfortable silence that Sketch hoped would disappear forever after he was done telling Applejack what he intended to.  The inside of the barn wasn’t as cold as the air outside was, and the walk up the stairs warmed the two ponies up a tad.  When they reached the landing, Applejack said, "All right, now what did you…" she trailed off, her eyes growing wide.  Lined up on the worktable were six different paintings, each one a portrait of Applejack.  "You didn’t… you didn’t do these last night, did you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," Sketch shook his head.  "In fact, the one all the way to the left there, I did that one only a week or so after I joined you ponies here on the farm."  The painting in question was Applejack in a static pose, her head turned at a three-quarter view, looking at something beyond the canvas.
"So you… you did paint me?  But you never… ah mean, you had to sit with Twilight and Fluttershy to do their portraits!"
Sketch nodded.  "But I didn’t need you in front of me to do yours.  I know you by heart, Applejack.  I can close my eyes and see you from head to hoof, every inch of you.  Only… only I could never get the painting quite right.  Each one of those, to me, is a failure.  Just like the portraits I did for Twilight and Fluttershy.  Something about all of them kept nagging at me, kept bothering me.  Until today."  
He turned around the easel that had been facing the wall and Applejack gasped.  The painting on the easel was another portrait, but this one was different.  There was nothing special about the content – it was another static pose of Applejack standing next to an apple tree – but Sketch could see in Applejack’s eyes that she sensed something was different about it.
"I said something to you long ago that I never fully took to heart.  I said that anything and anypony is worth painting, but that the trick is to capture the beauty of the subject within the canvas, dirt and all.  That’s where I was making the mistake.  With Twilight and Fluttershy and those six portraits of you I was trying to make them perfect.  I didn’t paint Twilight’s left ear the way it is, just a bit shorter than her right.  I didn’t paint the way the feathers on Fluttershy’s right wing are thinner than the ones on her left side.  And I painted you too clean, too perfect.  In trying to make the paintings perfect, I was preventing myself from getting them just right.  The trick is to paint something as it is, flaws and all, and convince the viewer that it’s beautiful."  He paused and looked from the painting back at Applejack.  "Like I said, I know every inch of you.  I know your physical flaws, from the near-permanent dirt stains around your hooves to the light blemish on your back right leg.  And I know your quirks; how you’re stubborn and sometimes quick to temper.  I know all these things and I find them beautiful.  I find you beautiful."
"Sketch, ah-"
"Please, I need to finish.  At first I thought I had just found a muse, a source of inspiration.  And I did.  As soon as I met you all I wanted to do was to paint, to channel the inspiration you gave me and create something as beautiful as you.  But now I know that you're more than just a muse to me.   
"I love you, Applejack."
The orange pony, who had tears in her eyes, tears different from the ones the night before, stood and stared at Sketch.  Finally, unsure of what possessed him, Sketch moved forward until he was a hair’s breadth away from Applejack, and he kissed her.  It was a quick kiss, a peck on the lips that was followed by a longer and firmer one.  When they paused to take a breath, Applejack whispered, "Ah love you too, Sketch."
A squeal of delight came from the direction of the stairs and the two ponies turned around fast enough to catch Apple Bloom’s ribbon disappearing down the stairs.