Hello, all!

Long time, no post! I spilled wine all over my laptop and killed it. Took me a while to save up for a new one. I have four chapters (two for "Haplessly Ever After," one for "Delivered Unto Evil," and one for "doMINION") that are sitting on that hard drive, and I am not as technologically adept as I'd like to be. But I will work on getting those transferred over to my new 'puter ASAP.

So, too annoyed to redo/restart those chapters, I decided to do what I normally do: start a new fanfic!

I binged "The Vampire Diaries," recently, and I loved it. Only made it to 5x11 (an episode that is memorable to be mentioned by numbers alone), before I gave up. To be honest, I saw and heard too many spoilers about my favorite couple of the series. I know there are awesome, redeeming aspects of the subsequent episodes, but I don't care. I'm so done. I know what I wanted to happen…and that's the whole point of fanfiction.

Here's my first of three stories that I have planned for TVD: The Vampire and Ms. Forbes. It's heavily influenced by the 1947 movie, "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir." I watched it, after watching Klaus and Caroline's antagonistic flirtation and thought… well… sure! There are strange spellings, but please know that they're intentional. I'll reveal why soon enough.

Happy reading!

Jenn

"But…you can't go!" Elena's eyes were brimming with tears, clearly shocked at the news her sister-in-law and life-long friend divulged. "You belong here! With us!"

"I've lived with you and Damon for a year, now," Caroline calmly reminded her. She sat on the leather sofa, uncomfortable and gaudy as it was, with her hands folded neatly. One thumb pressed against the palm of her other hand, a silent and unseen gesture of her nervousness. "Stefan is dead, and I need to move on with my life. I have so much that I'd like to do. I have more years of happiness ahead of me, and I'd like to begin as soon as possible."

"But we're sisters!" the fair-skinned brunette pouted. She sat next to her blonde friend, and she reached a hand out to squeeze both of Caroline's.

Damon stood stoically in the corner of the room, his arms crossed. He looked bored. Caroline had never truly warmed up to Stefan's older brother, but the bond between the siblings was always evident between them. Damon held most of his grief within, but Caroline could tell that Elena was the only remaining person left on earth that was of any worth to him.

"By marriage," Caroline muttered under her breath.

She regretted the words as soon as Elena's tears began to flow. Truth be told, Caroline didn't mean for the fragile woman to hear that little truth.

"Elena," she said with a sigh, "I'm sorry. I only meant that…I've always loved you. You're my best friend! But I need my own life!" She stood and dropped Elena's hand. Elena immediately used it to wipe the moisture from her cheeks. Damon was making his way to the couch, and his reassuring hand went to rest on his wife's dainty shoulders. "I don't want to live within a home that isn't mine to run or decorate. I want to be able to come and go as I please, with whom I please, and eat and listen to music whenever I feel like it."

"But you can-" Elena sputtered out.

"No," Caroline interrupted her firmly. "No, I can't. Because this is your home. And it's time for me to find my own."

"Care," Damon spoke up, using the nickname Elena had given her in grade school. "Where would you even go? Think about it. Is this what Stefan would've wanted?"

She wanted to sneer at the thinly veiled insult. Damon didn't care for her, either. He just wanted his wife to stop crying.

"Stefan would want me to be happy, Damon." Her jaw ticked and she felt her anger bubble within. She refocused her attentions on her genuine friend. "I can visit, Elena," she gently placated. "And you can visit me, too, once I'm settled. I'll write to you, too. It'll be better this way, you'll see."

The tears had mostly subsided. Now, her brown, soulful eyes were red and puffy. Elena looked down, away from Caroline's penetrating stare. "I don't see how…"

In the end, and for the first time in her life, Damon had advocated on Caroline's behalf. Most likely because he wouldn't miss her in his home, in his life. She was a reminder of the brother he'd lost too soon. Perhaps he blamed her, in some twisted way.

She packed what little belongings she needed and called for a cab. She'd lived in Virginia for every one of her 24 years. It was time for something new. An adventure.

Caroline met Stefan in college and, although he'd originally pined for her roommate and best friend, he'd quickly given up pursuing the lovely Elena…once he saw where her own heart pointed. Damon and Elena were infatuated with each other from the beginning. And Stefan and Caroline developed their own relationship. A friendship at first, to be sure, but it strengthened over the years. Damon graduated first, being the oldest of the foursome, and moved straight to Mystic Falls, where Elena's family resided. Elena, Caroline, and Stefan graduated two years later, with Damon and Elena's wedding held the very same summer. The brothers worked remotely for their family's software company, and the nepotism yielded financial benefits that most young graduates could only dream of.

Stefan proposed to Caroline six months after seeing his brother tie the knot. The black-tie affair was the highlight of the small town's year, and everything about the joyous event was reminiscent of a fairy tale.

Love, money, marriage… all too good to be true.

The day the newlyweds returned home from their honeymoon in the Maldives, Damon insisted on seeing his brother. As Caroline was used to, Stefan gave into the peer pressure and drove over to the larger residence. She'd waited patiently, but as the hours passed, she fumed at the idea that she would be spending their first night back in Mystic Falls alone.

"Seriously?" she'd asked into the phone.

"Sorry, Care," Stefan had replied. He sounded decently guilty, she thought. "I'll come home right now; I promise."

She didn't know he'd spent most of the time taking shots with his older brother. She didn't know that Damon had already insisted that he spend the night. She didn't know that, for the first time, Stefan chose her wishes over those of his brother's.

The red and blue flashing lights were visible from the master bedroom on the second story of their home. She was less alarmed and more annoyed. For a heartbeat, she wondered if her mother, the sheriff of sleepy Mystic Falls, would be knocking on her door.

The knock was steady. Not hesitant. Not quiet or thundering. It was impersonal and polite. She'd already thrown on a robe, and she was making her way down the stairwell, when she heard it. It made her heart skip a beat.

At the turn of the doorknob, her heart finally sank. It wasn't her mother.

The officer was a man, someone she'd never met. He swallowed, looking pained, and cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Salvatore?"

She nodded.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there's been an accident. Your husband's car was found in a ditch near mile marker 47 on highway…"

She nodded, dumbly. Part of her, the resourceful, diligent, confident young woman who had tackled every hurdle, listened and understood. The darker half, her insecure, over-compensating self, heard nothing. Understood nothing. Couldn't comprehend the reality that her life, as she knew it, was utterly and irreparably changed.

Stefan was buried alongside deceased family members in a reserved plot. The house, at Damon's insistence, was sold. Caroline thought about moving into an apartment, but the prospect of being alone, at that time, was too awful to attempt. Elena brought her sister-in-law to the other Salvatore home, and Caroline was too numb to argue.

Now, a year later, her courage and determination to reinvent herself welled up within her. She wasn't afraid to be alone. She was eager. Honestly, she wasn't sure what Stefan would expect her to do without him. She wasn't sure that mattered, either.

There was the little problem about money…

The Salvatore family was wealthy and well-represented. No one joined without signing a prenuptial agreement. Elena and Caroline both signed the contracts without any qualms. There was a stipulation, archaic as it was, that greatly affected the settlement received by the widow. If the marriage lasted less than one year, regardless of circumstance, the former bride was to receive nothing.

Fortunately for Caroline, Stefan's family had no doubt of her ardent love for their son. They gave her a hefty sum of money, enough to live comfortably on for at least the next few years, and half of the stock that was in Stefan's name. Another benefit of being a son of the business owner.

So, she had a few years to figure out what to do next. Her degree in fashion merchandising was something, but she had yet to use it. She didn't have any connections in the world of fashion, unfortunately. For the past two years, since she had graduated college, she had flitted from one job to the next, searching for a satisfying path. Retail, consulting, clerical work, personal assistant… she had naturally excelled at each challenge, but she'd walked away before taking that next step up the proverbial ladder.

If she wasn't needing to move for a career, she supposed that she might as well move to a desired location and let the answers find her. Before going to bed at night in the Salvatores' home, she'd search up and down the east coast for inspiration. She wanted a smallish town, similar to Mystic Falls; somewhere near the ocean and tucked away from most tourists.

She'd stumbled upon a site that had pictures of exactly what she was looking for.

Rebecca Bay, Delaware.

It had taken her a little over a week to make all the necessary preparations. It took even longer for her to quietly pack and then, finally, to announce her decision to Elena. Elena had cried on and off for the rest of her stay, up until she was heading out the door.

The brunette beauty grabbed Caroline and enveloped her in a fierce hug.

"You know that you can come home, whenever you're ready," Elena whispered in the widow's ear.

Never, Caroline silently mused. "I know," she actually said aloud. "Thank you, for everything."

The somber moment was halted, as Caroline pulled away. She glanced at her brother-in-law, who stood behind Elena. He gave a curt nod and a smirk. She returned the disinterested goodbye with her own tight smile. Thanks for nothing, she thought, grabbing her suitcases and bringing them to the cab driver herself.

Settled in the back seat, she breathed a sigh of relief. The car pulled away from the front of the Salvatore home, and there was no temptation to steal a final look at the extensive property. It was beautiful, woodsy, but too manicured. Caroline appreciated order and consistency, but not at the expense of genuine beauty. Damon, on the other hand, asserted his control over every aspect of his surroundings. From the overly worked lawns and grounds, to the uncomfortable leather sofas and sterilized kitchen.

No wonder it never felt like home, she mused. There was nothing there that was mine…

The ride was a long one, unfortunately. Little Mystic Falls was an hour and a half from the closest airport. Caroline mostly played on her phone, watched the scenery, and politely answered the driver's occasional inquiries.

The flight to Delaware was even shorter than the drive to the airport. She stared out the window, purposefully enjoying the seat she'd purchased. From above, the town already looked to be as picturesque as it had in all the photos she'd scoured online. Dressed in a pair of chambray slacks and a yellow halter, she was ready to be barefoot on the shoreline.

Another taxi took her to the business of Donovan, Fell, and Maxwell LLC. The small agency was located in the heart of the town, and Caroline wistfully glanced at the tidy shops and eateries, as she exited the cab. She sighed and wished that she was already settled. But there was no time to peruse her new township. With a suitcase in each hand, she used her hip to push open the door.

A bell rang at the same time as her entry. Caroline couldn't suppress the smirk that alit on her lips. How quaint.

A man was already seated at the single desk at the far end of the room. There wasn't much to take in. There were two large tweed chairs that sat near the entrance, with a side table between them. The chairs were in decent shape, if one didn't stare too long at the edges of the burgundy fabric. The table housed magazines of several genres. None of them appeared to have ever been read. Caroline set her luggage onto the floor and made her way over to the desk.

She noticed, approaching one of the two simple chairs meant for customers, that she'd interrupted the gentleman's lunch. His half-eaten sandwich lay on the lid of the Tupperware that it must have originally fit neatly into. The man, himself, simultaneously stood and brushed any straggling crumbs off his dark grey suit. His short blonde hair was carefully styled, but the light blue shirt under the jacket was unbuttoned to the top of his chest.

He's quite handsome, she thought with a smile.

"Mister-" she said and then immediately hesitated. Fell? Donovan? Maxwell? Which one is he, again? A quick glance to his desk was exactly what she needed. "Donovan?"

"Ah, yeah," he sheepishly smiled. "Matt Donovan." He stuck out a hand for her to take. She crossed the short distance and grasped his hand with hers. "You must be… Mrs. Salvatore?"

"It's Ms. Forbes, now, actually." She looked around, again, after releasing the handshake. "Are you the only one in this office?"

"Um, well, my grandfather founded this company, along with his two partners. They've all since passed, and I was the only descendant who took an interest in working here. Please, Ms. Forbes, have a seat."

Caroline sat in one of the two wooden chairs and calmly waited for Mr. Donovan to sort through the stack of papers in front of him.

"You'd mentioned on the phone that you wanted something secluded, but are you going to be living alone?" He picked one page out from the dozens and stared, still talking. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to live nearer to the center of town?" He set the paper down and pushed it across the table to his client. "There's a well-priced, newly renovated condo that just became available on Mulberry Street. It's only six blocks from the nearest market, and there's a beautiful little park just down the street."

She glanced down at the paper, but only used her hand to slide it to the side of the desk.

"No, thank you. I want to live in a quieter location. Being so close to the shops, the traffic, other residents… it's not what I'm looking for," she finished with a tight smile.

He frowned and looked back down to the stack of papers.

"Very well," he cleared his throat. "There's one…" More shuffling. "It's a larger home, and it's within walking distance of the closest beach. The contract requires you rent for at least two years, but there is an option in the lease for you to extend at any time to lock down the cost of your rent."

That paper, too, was set down in front of Caroline. She picked it up, but quickly set it on top of the other discarded sheet.

"I'm afraid that's a little out of my price range," she whispered. "I'd like to stay within budget, please."

If Matt Donovan was frustrated, he didn't show it. His eyes softened, and he refocused on the papers.

"There's one that's been on the market for a while. It's a little above budget, but I think the owner could be persuaded to come down on the price of rent."

He kept speaking about the merits of the third property, but Caroline couldn't help but lose interest as, once more, it didn't fit much of her criteria. There were framed pictures of houses that boasted ocean-front property. Each were lovely, although they appeared to represent different eras of architecture. There was one that held her attention longer than the others.

The house was of modest size, no larger than 1500 square feet, most likely. It sat atop a cliff, but the view was stunning. The wild grass seemed to move within the picture. Caroline could smell the air, feel the salty breeze. A shiver went down her spine. Next to the photograph was another framed picture, but this was a painting. It was done from somewhere near the porch. More of the detail could be seen, and she marveled at the customized columns and intricate carved accents. So much effort put into such a small home. The different angle allowed the painter to draw a path that appeared to work its way down the cliff. Possibly to the ocean?

"Ms. Forbes?"

She snapped her head back to Mr. Donovan and blushed. There was another paper laid in front of her, and he had another waiting in his hand.

"I'm so sorry, I was admiring the homes featured on your office walls!" she blurted out.

"Oh," he glanced over his shoulder, as if he needed to be reminded of the pictures that solely served to add ambience. "Yes, all of those were already there, when I took over."

She stood and walked past him to take a closer look at the two depictions of the cliffside home.

"This one is quite beautiful," she spoke to the wall.

Mr. Donovan also stood, but he didn't approach her.

"That's Rebecca Cliff, overlooking the like-named bay. The home is still there. Now, back to the Headley Lane location, I know that the owner is only willing to lease for one year, and then an evaluation will be-"

"Is this one available?" She'd interrupted his pitch, she knew, but she couldn't help but ask. When he didn't answer, she turned halfway to see him and point toward the painting.

"The home on Rebecca Cliff? I'm not sure. I'm fairly certain my grandfather had a couple of interested renters, back in his day. I've never personally seen it-"

"Can we go?"

"It's isolated. I mean, it's as isolated as you can be, in Rebecca Bay. You don't have a vehicle, do you?"

"I still want to see it, Mr. Donovan," she emphasized, stepping back toward the other side of the desk. "Are you able to take me, now?"

He frowned and let his eyes stray down to his desk.

"Would you mind if I finished my lunch, first?"

Fifteen minutes later, Caroline and her agent were in his bulky truck and headed to the cliffs. He'd secured her luggage in his storage room, before locking up his office and placing a sign on the door to let prospective clients know how to reach him. The drive took another forty minutes, to navigate the winding roads that led to the property. There was pleasant conversation, mostly highlighting his favorite things about his hometown.

Parking behind the home, it was evident that the painting was truthful about a pathway. Caroline desperately wanted to follow it, to see if her assumption about it being the route to the beach was correct. Instead, she allowed Mr. Donovan to lead her up the steps of the front porch to the home.

"Hmm…" he broke the silence. "We won't be able to see the inside, but you can glance through the windows and walk around the home, if you'd like. No one lives here, but I believe there is a caretaker that periodically comes by."

The blonde pouted, but she stepped up to the closest window and held her hands to cup around her eyes. Gazing through, she saw a fully furnished living room. The furniture was old-fashioned, with deep green fabric wingback chairs that made Caroline want to curl up and relax with a cup of coffee. There was a seafoam green sofa, with what looked like tiny golden embroidered leaves or something similar. A Persian rug centered the furniture and provided cushion against the dark wooden floors. There were paintings on much of the wall space, as if it was meant to be a gallery. A fireplace was at the far end of the room, against the outside wall. It held wooden logs and a brass tool set that awaited use. Everything was immaculate. It was out of the pages of a magazine from a bygone era.

She reluctantly stepped away, off the porch, and stared up. There were clearly two stories, although the top floor was quite a bit smaller than the main level. As she slowly walked the perimeter, she appreciated the beauty of the home and the view. There was a balcony outside the bedroom of the second story that hadn't been visible from the picture or painting. She imagined herself leaning against the railing and watching the moonlight dance upon the water. The grass tickled her ankles, and the breeze tousled her hair.

When she finished her walk around the house, Mr. Donovan was waiting for her. One hand in his pocket, the other scrolling through something on his phone.

"I'm not sure why, but there's no online application for this home," he shared, looking up at her and then back down at his phone. "I know that my grandfather only rented it out two or three times, but then never again. I think I asked him about it once, but he just shook his head and told me that the pictures of it were for decoration only. When we get back to the office, I'll see if I can find any old paperwork, if you'd like. But you see how secluded it would be," he trailed off, stepping toward his passenger door and opening it for her.

"I wonder…" she refocused on the house and strode back to the porch and door.

"I don't have the key!" he shouted. "If you'll just get back in the car, I can show you at least two more locations on our way back to my office!"

She stopped at the door and grabbed the knob. It turned in her hand, not a breath of resistance. With caution, she pushed it open and stepped over the threshold. She heard the slam of a truck door and footsteps hurrying to join her.

"Well, that's a stroke of good luck! I can't believe it would just be open, like that!"

Caroline nodded, but she didn't reply. She slowly walked through the home.

"Wow…fully furnished. If I'd known that, I'd have been showing this property before now!"

His voice was unwelcome, in her surroundings. She wanted so badly to take everything in by herself, but she stilled her annoyance.

The living room was as inviting as it had seemed from outside the window. The paintings were beautiful. Most of them seemed to be painted by the same artist, but it was as if the painter had experimented with multiple styles before finding his or her own.

The kitchen was tidy and clean. Most of the surfaces were white, but there was a healthy number of wooden pieces and sage green accents. The brass hardware matched the living room, and the dark floors appeared to run throughout the home. The dining table was modern, but it was obviously made decades ago. At least. There were different woods joined randomly together, with very hard, clean, rectangular edges. The chairs were of similar design.

There was a sitting room on the other side of the home, along with a powder room that had the most beautiful antique mirror Caroline had ever seen. There was also a full bathroom and adjoining bedroom. It held a queen bed, large chest, dresser, and even a vanity. A portrait of a gorgeous blonde woman hung over the vanity. Her apparel and hairdo suggested that it was a woman who lived the prime of her life in the 1920s. How fun, to be a flapper! The bathroom was small, only having a shower, but everything looked to be in working order. The tile couldn't have been older than ten years.

Mr. Donovan was nearby, following at a slower pace, taking in what the property had to offer. He spoke almost continuously, but Caroline found it rather easy to tune him out. She headed up the stairs, holding onto the wooden banister.

Upstairs, she took a deep breath. There was only a small hallway with three doors. Off to her left, there was a large linen storage closet. Straight ahead, the second door led into the master bathroom. It was large enough to contain a bathtub, separate shower, double sink, vanity, and an enclosed toilet. On the wall to the right, across from the vanity and sinks, there was another door. It led straight into the master bedroom.

The floor was carpeted, and the carpet looked to be freshly vacuumed. Her footsteps were silent, as the padding absorbed each step further into the room. There was a king-sized bed, two mahogany nightstands, a bench that doubled as a storage chest against the window, a sizeable gentleman's chest of drawers, and a built-in bookshelf. On the wall, again, there were paintings of different landscapes and city skylines. Tokyo, Rome, Peru, Mount Everest…and one of a man. She stared at the likeness. It appeared to be in the same style as the blonde woman in the bedroom below.

The hair was styled short and wavy, with the blonde hair frozen in the perfectly coiffed way that was so popular with the men of the time. His suit jacket was a navy blue, with a matching vest, white shirt, and burgundy tie. There was a golden tie pin that looked like a family crest. His hands were at his sides, but neither were visible. The picture stopped right above where his pants would be. He was trim and rather handsome. As Caroline stared into the grey-blue eyes, she tried to imagine them with a twinkle of life. His face was haughty, proud. He might be pleasant to look at, but she didn't imagine she would have liked the man himself.

"Now that's a suit, huh?" Mr. Donovan had made his entrance as silently as she had, surprisingly. She whipped around to face him. "What a time to be alive. Prohibition would've sucked, though, am I right?"

"Yeah," she disinterestedly agreed. She turned and walked to the French doors that led to the balcony. The view took her breath away. She leaned over the railing and took in the sea air.

"Be careful, please!"

She startled a bit and stepped away, turning to admonish the man who'd unintentionally scared her, but she saw genuine fear on his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He forced himself to calm down and nodded. "I'm just not a fan of heights."

Caroline pitied the agent and walked back into the room.

"This is it! This is perfect!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands once together.

His face hardened, then.

"Let's talk on the way back, if you don't mind."

Well, that was an unexpected change of attitude, she thought. "Fine," she acquiesced.

They went back down the stairs, closed the unlocked front door behind them, and walked back to the truck. On the drive, Caroline waved away Mr. Donovan's suggestions to see other houses. He laid into her about the unlikelihood that he would be able to secure the home on the cliff.

"I don't know who the owner is, I don't know where to find an application, and I have no idea if it's within your budget. I doubt that it is, if I'm being honest, judging by how well it's been maintained and the fact that it's fully furnished…"

She sat and fumed.

Back at the property agent's office, Caroline was able to convince Mr. Donovan to at least live up to his promise to check into the house on Rebecca Cliff. He called for a cab to take her and her luggage to the hotel in which she'd already booked a room. It was less than two miles away, so they agreed to meet up mid-morning to allow him time to find more answers about the mysterious estate.

Now that she had concluded her business for the day, she could finally explore the new town she'd call home. Unfortunately, like most rural towns, most of the shops were closed by sunset. She grumbled at the locked doors and darkened windows. Most of the diners were still open, thankfully, so she popped into one of them to have dinner.

When her head hit the pillow, later that night, she fell asleep smiling. She would awaken when she pleased. She could have anything for breakfast. She could plan her day without any interference or guilt that she was being an inconsiderate house guest.

Tomorrow was the start of the rest of her life…time to start dreaming of her future…

She was in an alley, outside a speak-easy. She knew that for certain. There was a dingy streetlamp that barely illuminated the door in front of her. When she looked down, she saw that her hands were covered by white gloves that covered her skin to the top of her elbows. Her dress was navy blue and absolutely decked in fringe. It fell to her knees, and then her beige stockings led down to bejeweled navy heels. A gust of wind blew against the back of her neck, and her hands instantly flew to her hair to find it rolled into a wavy bob. She could feel a headband on her crown, but she couldn't see it and there was no reflective surface nearby.

Where was she? Chicago? Yes…perhaps… She took a step forward, willing her dream to continue, and she knocked three times on the nondescript door. A small rectangular opening suddenly appeared, as the bouncer on the other side undid the latch. He looked her up and down, then around her.

"Who invited you?" he asked. Behind him, she could already hear the strains of jazz music and laughter.

"Um…Rebecca?"

She had no idea why she said the name. It just seemed like a smart answer. And it worked. The door opened and she stepped inside.

There were patrons everywhere. Most were enjoying illegal drinks. Champagne and bourbon seemed to be the most popular choices. There was dancing, gambling, and, most likely, a business exchange or two occurring within the club. She scanned the tables, looking for a familiar face, but most of the bodies were about as real to her as mannequins. The faces were undefined or blurred, even though their clothes were as detailed and distinguished as could be. She wasn't unnerved by the odd surroundings, though. She just felt lonely.

The lively song ended, and a slow ballad began. Many of the dancing couples left the dance floor, eager to quench their thirst or engage in other activities. Additional tables could now be seen, no longer hidden by the crowd. In one of the booths in the far corner of the room Caroline finally saw two faces that she'd seen before.

The woman was in a lavender silk dress, and her neck was laden with heaps of pearls. Her blonde hair was piled atop her head in pinned curls that looked perfectly sleek. Her male companion was leaned back into the crimson velvet of the bench. His hair was a darker blond, and his natural curls had obviously been tamed by copious amounts of pomade. His suit was a light tan, with a white dress shirt and a navy vest and tie combo. They surveyed the room with a kind of superiority. When the woman's eyes landed on Caroline, she smiled and waved at her to join them.

Caroline didn't know them. She'd seen them…where, again? Not in Chicago. Not in Mystic Falls. She had no business being in this club, by herself, without an escort. She should go home. Where was home?

But a combination of her feet and the magic of the dream soon led her to their table.

"Hello, sugar!" the woman called out in a cheery voice. "What's your name?"

"I'm Caroline," she automatically answered. The woman seemed friendly, enough. The man, however, looked like he knew a thing or two about trouble.

"Are you with anyone?"

"No, I figured I'd swing by and check this place-" she stopped speaking, because she thought the gentleman was about to interrupt her.

He leaned over to his companion and whispered something in her ear, his blue eyes never leaving Caroline.

"You're with us now, hon," the elegant blonde assured her. "And you look like you could use a turn on the dance floor." She smiled smugly, as her dashing friend scooted out of the booth and moved to stand directly next to Caroline.

He held out his hand and she tentatively gave into his wish. He lightly pulled her through the tables and to the wooden floor at the center of the room. A new ballad was playing, and her dance partner placed his other hand at the small of her back as the band opened the familiar tune. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and she tried so very hard not to blush, as the songstress began.

"Why do I do just as you say?
Why must I just give you your way?
Why do I sigh, why don't I try to forget?
It must have been that something lovers call fate
Kept on saying I had to wait
I saw them all, just couldn't fall, 'til we met…"

She wanted to ask him his name. But she knew, even in this dream, any answer he gave would be suspect. Because she didn't know it.

He moved with her gently, but he was able to gauge that she felt comfortable enough in her skills to up the ante. Soon, he was spinning them around the floor.

"It had to be you
It had to be you
I wandered around, and finally found
The somebody who
Could make me be true…"

Caroline caught a glimpse of the fair woman in the lavender dress, still sitting at the table and sipping champagne. She looked content. Unbothered.

Just as she began to feel light-headed, Caroline's head fell forward onto her partner's chest. He stopped and simply held her.

"For nobody else gave me a thrill
With all your faults, I love you still
It had to be you, wonderful you
It had to be you."

The band sounded distant. The singer was finished. The crowd began to dissolve around her. Caroline desperately looked up to stare at the man who still held her so tenderly. She could feel herself slipping away, but she wanted to stay!

"Thank you for the dance," she whispered.

He smiled and dropped his head to capture her lips with his own…

Caroline woke from the sounds of chatter in the hallway outside her room. She groaned, when she remembered flashes of the dream she'd been wrenched away from. The clock on her bedside table said 8:30. If she could guarantee that falling back asleep would plant her back into her dream, she would've said to hell with her morning meeting…but, no.

Instead, she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She picked out a raspberry sundress, tan sandals, and a pair of gold hoop earrings. She stared at the wedding and engagement bands on her ring finger. Last night, that was my first time imagining myself with someone other than Stefan. She shook herself out of the daze and applied some light makeup. Her hair could air dry, today. It would be flat, but she didn't have the time to worry about doing more. She grabbed her denim jacket and left the room.

Now there was a little less than a half hour to grab a breakfast and coffee. She called for a ride and asked the driver to stop at the best location for coffee that was on the way back to Mr. Donovan's office. The chosen shop was a locally owned business that made Caroline's new favorite latte. She was hungry, but she decided on a croissant to tide her over.

Arriving at the property manager's office, Mr. Donovan looked excited to see her.

"Ms. Forbes!" he greeted her with unbridled enthusiasm. "I have good news. But first, I apologize for my mood, yesterday. I was so certain that I knew more about what you wanted than you did. You, however, found quite the gem!"

Caroline perked up, her liking for the kind businessman improving ten-fold.

"Thank you, Mr. Donovan."

"Please, call me Matt! We're roughly the same age. It feels weird to for you to be calling me by my last name."

"Okay…Matt. You can call me Caroline, if you like." She didn't really want that level of familiarity with him, but she felt odd not returning the gesture.

He nodded and motioned for her to sit.

"So, Caroline, after you left, I dug right in to researching that house. I still can't believe that it was just sitting there, open and empty, waiting for an occupant! Anyway, the home is a private residence that is owned by a family that lives somewhere in Europe. England, I think? Or maybe Denmark?"

Caroline sat politely, taking sips of coffee and awaiting more valuable information to be shared.

"They refuse to sell, and they have a local caretaker, which is all very secretive for some reason. As far as I can tell, no one has lived there in decades. I was able to reach out to the family's lawyer, and we reached an agreement. They will allow for a tenant, as long as certain demands are met."

"Demands?" she frowned at the daunting word.

"Nothing major," Matt waved a hand through the air. "They want to discontinue the services of the current caretaker and have the live-in tenant be responsible for the home's upkeep. In doing so, they are willing to rent the house for significantly less than market price, which places it within your budget!"

"I take care of the house, which I would have to do, anyway, and I get reduced rent? Is that all?"

"Well," he hesitated. Her heart sank. "Their other demand is to have an escape clause written into the lease, in which they can end your tenancy at any time. In case they have another occupant in mind."

"Another occupant?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"I know," Mr. Donovan sighed. "I thought that was odd, too. I assume they mean that, if one of their rich little kids wants to move in, they reserve the right to kick you out."

"But you said it's already been empty for decades?"

"I believe so. The last instance I found where there was a renter was back in the days of my grandfather."

Hmm… so, it's mine until it isn't. And I can have it taken away at a moment's notice? Is this worth it? Should I keep looking? It's been decades, since someone has lived there…the family lives somewhere in Europe…why would they care to leave their home and come live in a boring, small, seaside community?

"I think that sounds acceptable," she nodded.

The contract took until the end of the week to finalize. Caroline paid three months' rent up front, as was required by the family's lawyer. She made arrangements to pay her rent at a local credit union that would wire transfer the money to the London bank used by the descendants. The Michaelsons, apparently, according to the paperwork.

In the next week, she took her time stocking the kitchen, purchasing toiletries to take the place of her travel ones, and unpacking her suitcases. She was given the set of keys to the house, which were turned over by the unnamed caretaker. Matt divulged that it was an older woman with gray, curly hair and a dark-skinned complexion. He'd asked for her name, but she'd only said that she owed him nothing, now that she was retired.

The thing that truly surprised Caroline was how quickly the house felt like home. It was her home to run. As it was the elder Salvatore brother's estate, nothing was truly hers, but, unlike with Damon, this house had all the charm and comfort that she had craved for so long. She wandered the rooms, looking at the paintings in awe. Some were signed by "Nik," some by "Klaus," and some were unsigned altogether. One of her favorites was a black stallion with two white socks and a stripe down its muzzle that galloped through a snowy field.

She revisited the paintings of the only people depicted within the many frames. The woman flapper in the lavender dress, her curls piled on top of her head. The man in his navy suit and bright accessories, with a mischievous, smug smile. Neither of these had the artist's name on the artwork.

The paintings in her room were equally intriguing. The places depicted were not from modern times. Tokyo had no neon lights. There were no cars or motorcycles in Rome. Not even a streetlight. And yet, every location looked as though it was painted in person. Most of these were signed by "Klaus" or "KM."

At night, she'd stare out at the ocean, enjoying the crash of the waves until her eyes began to droop. Lying in bed, the full-length standing mirror at the opposite end of the bed perfectly reflected the portrait of the unknown man. She'd fall asleep wondering if he was once a real person, and, if he was, was he a ghost that silently watched over his former home? Were his stormy blue eyes watching her, as she slept and dreamt of him?

And here she was, again. Outside the same door. The same hazy streetlight. There were little changes, though. Her gloves were absent, and her dress was gold. Her stockings were black, this time, and so were her heels. She touched her hair and found that it was straight and twisted into curls framing her face. Gone was the headband, but she felt a clip in her hair that held more weight than the pins holding in her curls.

She knocked on the door with confidence, and her dream self didn't mind rapping her bare knuckles against the thick wood. The bouncer, the password, and entering through to the speakeasy. It was passing quickly, this time. Her mind willed itself to pass by everything else in a cloud, wanting to see them, again.

"Caroline!" the blonde woman called out to her. This time, she wore a cherry-red dress.

She practically floated over to the same booth. He was there, too, still staring. He wore what he was wearing in his portrait. Too handsome for his own good.

"Hello, again," she smiled. "I wish I knew your names!"

"I could make up a couple, if you like!" the cheeky girl joked. "Let's see…I could be Rebecca! I think that suits me fine!"

Caroline laughed. "It does! Your picture is in a house on Rebecca Cliff that looks out over Rebecca Bay. Who knows, maybe you're the woman that has half of the town named after her!"

The mystery woman laughed, too. "What a delectable idea!" The man beside her just smirked. When they finished their giggling, the woman in red continued by addressing the other occupant of the booth. "And what shall we call you, darling?"

As always, he refused to speak. He cocked an eyebrow at Caroline expectantly.

"Maybe," she spoke up, "maybe…Nik? Or Klaus?"

He smiled but didn't give her a definitive answer.

The music concluded, and the band played a slower tune. Caroline's eyes lit up.

"I think they're playing our song," she purposefully hinted.

He quickly removed himself from the booth and led her to the dance floor. It was more self-assured, this time around. His hands were confidently holding her to him. He swayed them back and forth and occasionally threw in a turn or spin. Nothing to make her dizzy.

"It had to be you,
It had to be you,
I wandered around, and finally found
The somebody who
Could make me be true
Could make me be blue
And even be glad, just to be sad
Thinking of you…"

She studied him, staring into his eyes. He stared back but gave away nothing. It felt awkward, then, when she realized that, although both were merely imagined versions of paintings in her home, Caroline wasn't allowing herself to imagine what he'd sound like. He wasn't real. He was no more than paint on a canvas. She pulled away and he let her. When she looked to "Rebecca," the woman was frowning. "Nik" or "Klaus," or whatever his name was had a pained look on his chiseled face.

"I wish you were real," she whispered.

He smiled at that and reached for her. She gasped, feeling the touch so vividly along her jaw and cheek.

"Some others I've seen
Might never be mean
Might never be cross, or try to be boss,
But they wouldn't do…"

He held her against him, again, and she allowed the façade to continue. The chorus repeated until the dream ended, and she was pulled from his embrace.