Page 71 of Singled Out

As I drove along the road out of town, following the directions from my phone, I turned my thoughts to my meeting with Cambria. Dakota would join us as soon as she got off work. I’d brought a bottle of wine to soothe my nerves as much as anything.

Business meeting? Me?

The situation seemed kind of crazy, but the more I imagined working with these two women to build something unique and hopefully lucrative, the more I warmed up to the idea.

My map app directed me to a gravel driveway surrounded by tall trees. I drove past the remains of a building that looked to have burned down long ago and pulled up to an adorable cabin that appeared either newish or extensively refurbished. There was an old barn a few hundred feet away that looked like one strong wind would destroy it. That must be where Cambria made her candles; there was no way she could find space for that in her tiny home.

I got out and headed to the front door. There were two steps up to a cute porch with a high-top table and four chairs on one side and two rocking chairs on the other. Before I could knock, the door opened, and Cambria came out with a welcoming smile, a brown-and-black dog darting out ahead of her and a smaller white-and-brown one sauntering after.

“Hey, Harper. It’s good to see you.”

We hugged. “Thanks for having me, Cambria. Who are these guys?”

“That’s Roscoe,” she said, pointing at the bigger one. “Slowpoke here is Jethro.”

I let Jethro sniff my hand, then scratched his ears. “Such a handsome boy.” I stood up. “Your house looks incredible.”

Her smile told me she loved it. “It was a long road to get it looking like this. Do you want a tour? It’s only six hundred square feet, so it’s more like a minitour.”

“I’d love to see it.”

As she showed off her place, she told me how it’d come to be hers. “This land was part of a farm years ago, but most of it was sold off, and the farmer died, leaving it abandoned. There used to be an old farmhouse, but it burned to the ground after a lightning strike.”

“I saw the remains of it,” I said.

“It happened years ago. The grandson of the farmer inherited the property and finally decided to unload it as is, with the building remains, the ancient barn, and this, which, at the time, was a hundred-year-old, no-frills but solid bunkhouse. I’d been saving for a house, but I didn’t want to be right in town, and I wanted something, well, kind of funky.”

“This is funky in a very good way.”

The main floor consisted of a living room with a fireplace, a kitchen with an island and two stools, a small bedroom she used as her office, a bathroom, and a laundry closet. A wooden ladder went up to the loft, which was a gorgeous bedroom with large windows, rustic ceiling beams, and a sitting area opposite her bed.

“I got the property dirt cheap, so I was able to use my savings toward a complete refurbishment. They gutted it and started from scratch. I’ll be paying it off for a while.”

“Worth it. But I can’t imagine going through that process,” I said.

She’d obviously taken a big risk, and it appeared to have paid off.

“It was stressful to have construction going on for so long,” Cambria admitted. “We came up against so many challenges due to it being a rustic, century-old building.”

“You can’t tell it now. This is amazing.” I laughed. “To think I was nervous to sign a one-year lease on Mrs. Karasinski’s apartment a few days ago…”

“Talk about location though. Do they have her belongings out yet?”

“This weekend.” I remembered the bottle of wine and held it up. “Do you like moscato?”

“I do. Let me get glasses. We can take them to the barn, and I’ll show you where I work. You’ll see why I need a better space.”

With our glasses full, Cambria and I walked to the barn, the dogs accompanying us.

“When my house was finished three years ago, this place was in a little better shape. It’s taken a beating from the weather and needs a new roof. It’s the one thing I miscalculated in moving here.”

She showed me her supplies, all in waterproof containers because the roof leaked.

“What are you working on?” I asked. A few dozen identical cylinders I suspected were silicone molds sat on the worktable.

Cambria stepped up to the table. “I got a huge order last week at a craft fair. They’ve been setting overnight, and I need to take them out, do a quality check, wrap each one in cellophane, and get them ready to ship. I promised they’d go out by tomorrow.”

“That’s a tall order. Need some help? If you show me what to do, we can work on them while we wait for Dakota.”