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“Let me know how you like them,” he says as he hands me a little brown bag tied with a string. “And I’ll let Lorna know that we have a new artist in town.”
When I get back home, it feels strange to have a house now instead of my tiny home on wheels. I felt like a snail before, always able to take my shell with me wherever I traveled. Now I feel more rooted, and it’s going to take some time to get used to that new feeling.
But I really like this place so far. I love the nooks and crannies of the downtown area and the vibe of fellow artists all around. I take out my new paints and lift them to my nose. Something about new art supplies always smell so good. It’s the smell of inspiration, of creativity waiting to flow. I also managed to pick up some very delicious smelling bubble bath at a little apothecary shop next door to Tom’s art shop. The bottle of bubbles smells of cinnamon and mandarin and I absolutely can’t wait to try it.
As I soak in the tub, I feel more at ease with being here and the feeling of wanting to stay settles in. The house isn’t in that bad of repair, at least not enough that I can’t fix it over time, and the beauty of the area is definitely starting to grow on me. This is a place that I could see myself living in for a long time.
The next morning, after trying out the new paints and working a bit more on the cottage, I decide to take a walk in the surrounding woods. It’s beautiful outside with a cool, early autumn breeze and the changing foliage is a kaleidoscope of colors. And since tomorrow I need to report to my new job for my first day and my first chance to meet my new billionaire CEO boss, I could use some peaceful communing with nature first.
I walk along the dirt road that leads to my cottage, and eventually come upon the only other neighbor here. Most of my cottage is surrounded by woods, with only one other house within walking distance. That’s fine with me since I enjoy the peace and quiet of solitude. When I reach the dirt driveway that leads up to my neighbor’s house, I stop and stare at it for a minute.
This house is definitely in better shape than mine is. It’s bigger, newer, and from the road, it looks like it has vaulted ceilings inside. There’s a big chimney, which likely indicates an impressively sized fireplace inside, and in the drive, there is a very expensive car. Whoever lives here has money, unlike me.
I don’t really notice when someone comes up beside me because I am too lost in thought wondering what the inside of that house looks like and if it has a clawfoot bathtub too. I consider my tub one of the few redeeming factors of my cottage thus far.
“Don’t tell me, you’re the new neighbor with the glam camper,” a man’s voice says from behind me.
When I turn around, I find myself face to face with the hottest guy that I have ever met. For a second, I am so flustered that I can’t even speak to introduce myself. When I finally do find my voice, my words don’t come out exactly as great as they sounded in my head.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a glam camper.”
Why did I say that?
I try to recover, feeling mortified at how rude I sound while I am likely trespassing on this guy’s property.
“I’m Seraphine,” I say, forcing myself to get it together and jutting out my hand.
“The honor is all mine,” he says theatrically as he puts his lips to the top of my fingers and kisses my hand instead of shaking it.
I feel a bit like I am melting into the ground.
He doesn’t tell me his name though. And just when I get ready to ask for it, he starts to walk away.
“Is this your house?” I call after him, hoping to stall him long enough to look at his gorgeous eyes some more.
It’s not like I am looking for a guy. In fact, it’s been a long time since I have dated anyone and that is by my own choosing. I’ve had enough of shitty relationships and started my whole “have van will travel” thing because I wanted to find myself and feel comfortable in my own skin. But this guy is just too easy on the eyes for me to not want to talk to him at least a little bit more.
“Yeah,” he answers, pausing his leave to my delight. “So I guess that makes us neighbors. How are you finding that old cottage?”
“Umm, well, I’m finding it to be a lot of work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs at my answer. “I can only imagine. That place has been sitting vacant for a while now, and even when it was occupied it needed a lot of work.”
He stops talking and looks at me from head to toe as if he is sizing me up.
“You have any help fixing it up or are you all by yourself?”
My mother always taught me not to tell anyone if I was by myself. She worried that I would get absconded or molested in a dark alley.
“Yes, but I’ve made good progress already. I’m quite handy. I converted my van by myself and have already made a dent in the repairs to the house.”
He nods and I can’t tell if he is impressed or if he just doesn’t believe me.
“Well, if you ever need anything then just let me know. I suppose I’m the only one close enough around to help.”
“Ditto,” I say, thinking that it would be nice to make friends with my one new neighbor—my extremely hot new neighbor.
But he just chuckles as if he disregards my offer entirely. I guess he doesn’t think that girls like me can repair old cabins in the woods. That only makes me want to get back to work on the house.
