Shades of Love (Harmony Glen #20)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DOES THE FOREST HAVE EYES?

CARSON

I set my suitcase down once I’m inside the rental cabin. It’s cozy and quaint, just as I expected. A bit dated, but the fresh paint brings some new life to the older aesthetic.

These cabins are much more inspiring than a boring old hotel room. Booking at Green Glen Cabins was a no-brainer when I was planning my trip to Harmony Glen. Right across from the lush conservation area? Couldn’t be better. I won’t have to lug my art supplies across town.

I think the most exciting thing so far has been meeting the tree-man who owns the cabins. The big city I come from is full of many different kinds of monsters, but no tree-men.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Harmony Glen is going to have lots of new things to show me—and that’s why I’m here.

My inspiration has been running dry. The grays of the city don’t flood my mind with ideas, and the sky is blocked by the skyscrapers that surround me.

Here, nature and life flow freely. Everything feels brighter and more colorful. Even the air seems to be easier to breathe.

I can tell this is the place I will find my muse. Hell, maybe Harmony Glen itself is my muse. I can’t wait to check out the conservation area. There’s no doubt it’ll be bursting with artistic energy.

Before I do that, I need to finish unpacking the finished pieces I brought. The town has a beautiful center with a fountain, and that’s where I’ll host my art show.

Heading back out to my car, I take a deep breath of the fresh air. It really does beat the city, plus it’s free of any looming expectations.

I push the creeping thoughts out of my mind, open the trunk and grab as many canvases as I can—without damaging them, of course. These are my babies, my livelihood.

At least they will be my livelihood. I will make it as an artist. Never again will someone tell me my art lacks meaning or emotion.

After a few trips, I’ve unloaded all my artwork into my cabin, strewn across every available surface carefully. Pricing can come later. I’m antsy to explore the woods.

Taking my sketchbook and pencil, I lock the cabin behind me. The walk to the woods isn’t long, and soon enough I’m on the main trail of the conservation area.

The tall trees hide some of the sunlight, casting shadows wherever the sun doesn’t shine through. It’s beautiful, the way nature has formed itself.

I venture off the path, venturing through the terrain as I search for the spot. Somewhere I can sit down, enjoy an inspiring view, and let the art flow onto the page.

Later, I’ll paint proper illustrations onto my empty canvases. As much as I’d love to paint on-site, in the moment, I have too many supplies to lug through the trails and woods.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I slow my movements. Looking around, I don’t see anything besides trees, shrubs, and maybe a squirrel.

“Hello?” I call out, doing another scan, just slower.

Everything is completely still.

There’s no response, but I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. It would be concerning if someone were watching me, and if they are, I’d like to know why. No one from home knew where I was going, but it feels like there are eyes on me.

Trying to shake the feeling, I walk deeper into the woods, enjoying the serenity and silence of nature. Somewhere ahead of me, I hear a twig snap.

My steps falter once more. “Anyone out there?”

Still no answer.

Likely another squirrel. Nature makes lots of sounds, and it is a conservation area. It’s probably just my nerves.

I push forward, stepping over rocks, branches, and shrubbery until I reach a small stream. The delicate sound of water trickling is calming, and I sit down next to it.

In my open sketchbook, my pencil moves across the page as if on its own. An abstract version of the scene in front of me. Tall trees surrounding a swirly stream, sunlight illuminating the area.

While it’s not exact, this is the style I’ve been enjoying sketching and painting recently. I find realism difficult when I’m not deeply invested in the topic.

But that’s what I’m here to do—find my deep connection.

It’s here in Harmony Glen, I just know it. Even when I passed through the exterior parts of town, I felt like something deep within my bones changed.

My art is here. My magical touch. My muse.

There’s a lot to discover, and hidden within is what I’m looking for. The conservation area might hold the secret, or maybe the town itself.

Hell, maybe it’s where my meant-to-be muse lives.

The weight of a stare from some unknown source returns, but I don’t react. I continue sketching, the sensation bringing shadow into my art, warping the corners.

I whip my head around, but there’s still no one. As I scan, I don’t see anything except leaves rustling from a small breeze flowing through.

My mind must be playing tricks on me. I need to be an established artist around the world if I’m going to go mad.

Shrugging my shoulders, I focus on the page. I need to put everything I’m feeling into the sketches.

There’s nothing watching me other than earthworms and chipmunks. This weird sensation is just because I’m in a new place, in the forest, all alone.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it go.

As I open my eyes, my hand begins to flow across the page.

Back in my cabin, I lay down a tarp below my easel. I’m very careful when I paint, but this is a rental, and you can never be too careful.

I left the conservation area as soon as the sun started to set. I didn’t want to get lost in the woods on my first night here.

After dipping my brush in the paint, I drag it across the canvas. Every so often, I glance over at my sketch from the woods while bringing it to life through vibrant colors and precise strokes.

When I finish a painting, I set the respective canvas aside carefully to dry before prepping my next one. Paintings of the town’s own forest are sure to sell if my other pieces don’t grab anyone’s attention.

I go from painting to painting without losing my flow of creativity. At least, not until I reach my sketch with darkened corners. This one is the most different from all of my others.

Usually, I take an abstract approach, disregarding where shadows should properly be. Not in this sketch, though. Each shadow is painted exactly where I could see them being cast by the leaking sunlight.

All except for the corners, which represent that strange, lingering feeling of being watched.

I clean my brush, eyeing the almost completely untouched darker palette poking out of one of my suitcases. In my art, I tend to steer clear of grays and blacks, unless I’m painting tiny details.

Bright colors are always my way, though I’m not sure why that is. The vibrancy of each color, the multitude of shades and variations just makes everything so eye-catching.

Pulling my eyes away, I dip my clean brush back into the colorful palette in my right hand. I’ll stick with what I know, my bright colors splashing together on the canvas.

I paint away, deep into the night, letting the art take its form. But something still feels like it’s missing.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go into town, take a look around. For now, I need to sleep.