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Chapter One
Seraphine
“Come on, come on,” I whisper to myself as my van tries to climb the twisting uphill roads heading into Asheville.
It’s beautiful being so close to the Blue Ridge Mountains, and also a bit daunting when trying to chug a renovated, live-in van up a steep climb. At least it’s not winter yet, and at least I’ve got a job waiting for me. Working on the road and living as an artisan in my van isn’t exactly the stereotypical dream of every girl after graduating college with an art degree, but I wanted to travel way too much to just settle.
At least, I did.
Now, the hardship of being all alone in a van while trying to earn enough money to live off of, is starting to get to me—thus the newly revised plan of relocating to Asheville and settling down for a bit with a stable income. I’ve traveled for a year or so, managed to do my own repairs on the van and sell enough artwork to put food in my mouth, but now I’m ready for a paycheck and a place to rest my head that doesn’t have wheels beneath it.
As I pull into the quirky little village area that is nestled between the base of the mountains, I pat the dashboard to praise the van for making it. This place is beautiful. There are wildflowers growing along the side of the road and the first hint of autumn is showing in the trees. Considering that I did everything, including buying a little fixer-upper cottage and accepting a job via the internet, I’m glad to see that Asheville is as pretty as all the online photos made it out to be.
I chose this particular area because of the rep it has as a small haven for local artisans and mountain folklore. I have literally no knowledge of mountain folklore, having originated from upstate New York, but it sounded appealing enough to be artistically inspiring. The only thing that so far isn’t inspiring, is the job that I’ve accepted.
Some tech company, reportedly owned by a billionaire CEO who brought his elite staff with him to create a satellite headquarters in this small town years ago, after his wife died in a freak car accident. It sounds a bit eccentric to me, but then again, I only know what I read about it on social media. The position is legit, an assistant for the CEO of this multi-million-dollar company, and I am lucky that they hired me considering I have close to zero experience doing anything secretarial or administrative. To be honest, I’m still not exactly sure why they hired me.
Regardless, I’m here.
I step out of my van and walk up the small path to the front door of the cottage. It’s every bit as quaint and cute as I had imagined from the pictures that the real estate agent had sent to me. She left the key under the mat, and I help myself and go inside.
Shit.
I don’t really consider myself an emotional person, but as soon as I step inside the house and see what I have gotten myself into, the waterworks start to flow. This house needs much more work than I thought, and I am suddenly keenly aware that I may have gotten myself in over my head. Renovating a live-in van is one thing, but a whole house?
I have no one here—no friends, no family, hell I haven’t even met my realtor or my boss in person yet. I am completely and utterly on my own with this.
I set my bag down near the door and take a few minutes to walk around the little cottage. A “fixer upper cabin” was how it had been listed online. Boy was that an understatement. It’s cute, and quaint, and it has a definite charm to it. But there are cracks in the floor as I walk over it, holes in the roof that I can see sky through, and I’m pretty sure there is a squirrel living inside one of the cabinets judging from the noise. At least I’ll have a furry friend as I work on renovations.
The biggest problem is that there are a lot more repairs to be done on the house, than money at my disposal. “This is definitely going to be a pay as I go reno.” Sighing loudly, I head back out to unpack my van. I have a few days before I have to report to my new job, which gives me time to get the cottage in somewhat livable condition.
By the third day, I am exhausted but I’ve made a lot of progress. I need to make a trip into the small town to pick up a few things—food, enough wine to save my sanity, and maybe some nice bubble bath for the very old clawfoot tub that I managed to restore. I think at this point, I deserve a nice, hot bath.
The downtown area is just as I pictured it would be—small, eclectic, and filled with artisan shops and the kind of people that have years of wisdom in their eyes. The pace is different here, not slow but not fast either.
“Can I help you with something?” the man behind the counter asks as I take my time looking at everything in the small but crowded shop.
“I was just admiring all your stuff,” I say with a smile. “I’ve never seen some of these brands of paints before.”
“That’s because they’re locally sourced.”
“Like you mean someone here in Asheville makes them?” I don’t know why, but that seems so strange to me.
“Yep,” he nods, chuckling at my obvious disbelief. “Lorna. You must be new here because everyone knows Lorna. Are you an artist?”
“Aspiring one, yes,” I laugh as I stick out my hand to shake his. “I’m Seraphine. I just moved here and have been trying to unpack and get settled in, but I haven’t yet seemed to be able to unbury my paints from whatever box they are in. Which is surprising since everything I own fit into a small, converted van.”
“Ah yes, we saw you pull into town a few days ago,” he laughs with a nod. “I’m Tom. And let’s get you hooked up with some paints. A true artist can’t be without their tools for long, and I can tell that you’re a true artist.”
I raise a brow suspiciously at him.
“Is that what you tell everyone who comes in here looking for art supplies?” I joke.
“Nope, I mean it. I can see it in your eyes.”
For a second, I don’t know whether to believe him or not. Either way, it’s flattering.
Tom hooks me up with a brilliant array of single-tubed paints, and also manages to convince me to try some chisel-tip paint markers, which I’ve never used before. I’m on the tightest of budgets now, especially with the expense of repairing the cottage and not even having started my new job yet. But he tosses a couple of the markers in for free, so I can’t resist.
