Page 6 of Paw Prints in the Sand (The Northern Shifters #2)

Chapter Six

Cannon Beach, OR

A small bell above the door jingles as I step over the threshold of the little wooden shack. It smells of damp neoprene and sea salt inside.

“Just a minute,” a man’s voice calls out from the back.

“No worries.” The wooden floorboards creak under my feet as I step further inside. Wetsuits and rash vests for sale fill racks to my left, and behind the counter is a wall covered with Polaroids of various people standing next to surfboards on the beach.

“Sorry about that—oh.”

“You…oh!” I reply, taken by surprise in more ways than one. The guy before me is completely gorgeous. Devastatingly so. Like a walking stereotype of a hot American surfer. His wavy shoulder-length blonde hair, sun-tanned skin, sparkling dark brown eyes, and perfect smile almost distract me from his scent. Almost.

He’s a shifter. A beta; he smells woodsy with notes of orange blossom.

“I’m Ethan, it’s nice to meet you.” He beams at me, and it’s kind of startling. His smile's so wide and genuine that it causes his eyes to crinkle in the corners in a way that makes my stomach swoop.

“Sam. That’s me. Erm… is anyone else here? Or can we…?” Very coherent, Sam. Quite the wordsmith.

“Hi, Sam. It’s just me, we’re good. You’re a long way from home.”

“Yeah. I’m travellin’ for a few months. I didn’t scent a pack in this territory?”

“You’re good; there’s no claim to this patch. My pack’s territory is further north than here, but I took over the surf shop from my dad, and he was human—didn’t live with the pack. And I’m not sure why I’m telling you my life story… sorry. I don’t meet a lot of shifters outside my pack.” He looks sheepishly up at me through thick, pale eyelashes, and my tongue feels too heavy in my mouth to talk.

“You here to surf?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Hopin’ to. I read online that you do surf lessons? I’ve never done it before.”

“Oh, rad! Yeah, it’s quieting down now, so I can take you out. Weather isn’t great for it today, but tomorrow?”

“You’ll be doing the lessons?” I’m not totally sold on making a complete tit of myself in front of someone who looks like they could feature on the front page of one of my Men’s Health magazines.

“Only me here; that a problem?”

“No! I mean, no, of course not. I was just checking. What time should I come back tomorrow?”

“Eleven work for you?”

“Yep. Sure. See you then.” I smile awkwardly, then wave for no good fucking reason at all. When I turn to leave, I abruptly face-plant into the closed door because, evidently, humiliating myself in front of insanely attractive men is my speciality. Now would be a great time for a black hole to appear and swallow me up. Thankfully, he’s polite enough to wait until I’ve made my exit before he bursts out laughing. Wonderful.

My phone alarm wakes me at half eight in the morning. I turn it off and open my messenger app. I texted Noah last night to check he was okay since he left to visit that local witches’ coven. No reply. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I rub the sleep from my eyes and drag myself out of bed for a piss.

Inspecting my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I scratch my cheeks, the coarse hair making them a little itchy; I really need a shave. But will Ethan think I shaved for him? Is that weird?

Why would Ethan give one iota of a fuck about whether you’ve shaved your dumb face?

I decide to leave the scruff. I’ll just trim it a little later.

The Air BnB I’m staying in this week is a nice change to motels and camping, plus it’s only a twenty-minute walk to the beach. I pad down the stairs, enjoying the feel of the thick pile carpet under my toes as I go in search of caffeine.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ! When did you get here?” I yelp, startled.

Noah peers up from where he was scrolling on his phone, sprawled out across the settee.

“Like an hour ago.”

“You’re like a creepy little ghost, walking through locked doors.”

“I’m a hungry little ghost; make me breakfast.”

“I haven’t bought any food yet. I was gonna go out for breakfast,” I reply.

“I stocked the fridge. I’m sick of diner food. I haven’t had a shit in two days.”

“That does explain why you’re so full of it.”

I head to the kitchen to inspect Noah’s wares. Honestly, I’m also pretty sick of diner food so this is probably for the best.

Grabbing the box of eggs, I whisk up eight and then dice up some mushrooms, peppers and onions.

“Where did you get this bread?” I ask, eyeing the wholemeal seeded loaf.

“Canada. All the American bread I’ve tried has been oddly sweet,” Noah replies with his nose scrunched up disapprovingly.

I pop the bread in the toaster and finish making the omelettes. When they’re almost ready, I add nearly an entire bag of spinach that wilts to practically nothing.

“Breakfast is served, your highness.” I give Noah the majority of the food; with all the hopping from place to place, he must be using a tonne of magic.

“Yesssss. Thanks mate. This is what I needed.” He licks his lips and then proceeds to inhale his breakfast. He’s such a pleasant dining companion.

“Are you staying now?”

“Nah. Heading out again after this and probably won’t be back for like five days or so? I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

“Did you, um…find? Did you find who you were lookin' for?” I ask, trying to tread carefully.

“What did I say about not talking to me about that?” He narrows his eyes at me, trying to appear stern, but he’s always been more bark than bite.

“You asked me not to at a time when I couldn’t physically reply. That was not me agreein'.”

“Well, agree then. I’m not talkin' about it.”

“You’re safe, though? This coven isn’t dangerous?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

I only nod in response.

“What’re you doin’ today?” he asks, not remotely subtle in his attempt to change the subject.

“I have a surf lesson.” My cheeks heat for no good fucking reason at all. Noah clocks it immediately and smirks.

“Hot instructor?”

I almost deny it, but what’s the point? “Ugh. So hot.” We both burst out laughing before returning to scarfing down breakfast.

Ethan is outside the shop prepping two boards when I approach. He looks completely in his element. The wind is blowing my scent away from him, and it awards me a few moments to gather myself.

Nobody should look that good in a wetsuit. It clings to every firm muscle on his body, the black neoprene making him appear panther-like. I have to shake my head to remind myself to stop ogling my wet-dream-worthy surf instructor.

“Mornin’,” I say as I step closer. He whips his head around and gives me a huge, toothy smile. Once again, my hand betrays me, and I wave at him like I’m the fucking queen or something. This is not a good start.

“Morning! We’ve got a perfect day for it. I got out a wetsuit for you to borrow; it’s hanging over the counter inside. There’s a changing room in the back if you want to meet me back out here when you’re ready?”

“Great. Thanks.” I smile back at him before heading inside the little surf shack.

Grabbing the wetsuit Ethan left out for me, I locate the changing rooms. It’s dry, thankfully; one of the perks of fitting the largest size is that it appears to be scarcely worn. I put it on over my swim shorts, hopping on one leg to get my foot through the small hole. I’m fairly certain there is no graceful way to put one of these things on.

Once I’ve finally squeezed into it like a sausage squished into its casing, I turn in the little cubicle, facing the full-length mirror. It's… tight. Like, really tight. Like leaves very little to the imagination, tight. I try to tug the crotch down a bit, but it’s not making much difference.

I may have no game whatsoever, but I have a pretty big dick. Going out in public like this feels like public indecency. I rearrange things as best as I can before sighing in defeat and going to find Ethan before he comes looking for me.

When I step outside, Ethan greets me once more with a big smile before he lets his gaze wander. His eyes widen, and his smile falters before a blush creeps along his cheekbones, and he swiftly averts his gaze. At least that's over with.

“Ready?” he asks, recovering from the awkwardness quickly.

“Yep.”

He hands me a surfboard and leads the way further down the beach, but not into the water. He explains that, to begin with; we’ll practice lying down and standing up on the board on dry land before giving it a go in the water.

“You’ll probably pick it up quicker than a human; we tend to find equilibrium more easily.”

Twenty minutes or so later, Ethan deems me capable of attempting the same thing on the waves.

We swim the boards out, lying on our fronts, until Ethan tells me we’ve gone far enough.

“And now we wait,” he explains. We straddle our boards and bob around in the water in comfortable silence. The sea is cold and refreshing where it wraps around my legs under the surface. Rays of sunlight barely penetrate the thick blanket of white clouds overhead. I take a deep breath, letting the cold, crisp air fill and expand my lungs before letting it out in a whoosh.

“Peaceful out here, huh?” Ethan says.

“Yeah. It’s so quiet. Like I can finally hear myself think.”

He makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t say anything more. Further down the beach, a few more surfers are waxing their boards, preparing to hit the water for the afternoon.

“Okay, here we go. Like we practised,” Ethan says.

We get back on our fronts and swim towards the shore, and when Ethan gives me the go-ahead, I try to catch the wave and stand on my board. I’m utterly unsuccessful, fall into the sea and get bashed by my board. It’s harder than it looks.

“Nobody gets it the first time, Sam. Let’s try again.”

I hate not being good at things right away, but I also don’t like things getting the better of me, so I follow after Ethan and give it another go.

It’s on my fourth attempt that I finally manage it; I stand on the board, wobbling slightly, but I ride the wave back to shore, and Ethan is whooping and hollering at me the whole time. I can’t fight the grin on my face; it feels incredible. Like an intoxicating combination of adrenaline and total freedom. I want to do it again.

Hours pass, most of them spent floating on the water, waiting for a good wave to hit. Sometimes, we chat while we wait; other times, we sit quietly and enjoy the salty sea air filling our lungs.

It’s the best day I’ve had in what feels like years.

As we walk back up the beach towards the shack at the end of the day, Ethan asks, “The weather looks good again tomorrow if you fancy another day of it?”

“If you don’t mind? I’d love that. Today was… well, today was what I needed without even realising I needed it,” I reply.

“That’s how we lure you into the surf life.” Ethan winks at me, and I laugh. I can definitely see why he made this his job.

Once we’re returned to the shack, I get changed before saying bye to Ethan and making my way back to my temporary home for the week, feeling lighter than I can ever remember.

Today, the good waves are few and far between, but I don’t mind. I like floating around in the water, relaxing and talking to Ethan.

“Are you dating anyone back home?” Ethan asks me as we float around in the sea.

“No. Life has been… Life hasn’t really made dating possible the last few years,” I tell him, honestly.

“Years? How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Eighteen.”

“Oh wow. You’re younger than you look. Not that I’m saying you look old, but you don’t look eighteen,” he stammers out. I laugh.

“I get that a lot. What about you?”

“Twenty-two. And single, in case you were wondering.” His lips twitch, a smile tugging at the corner.

“Twenty-two is young to be running this place by yourself?” I phrase it as a question.

“It sure is,” he replies wistfully. “It was my dad’s business. I grew up with my mum and pack further north than here, but I’d spend all my school breaks surfing with my dad. It turned out he had an undiagnosed heart condition. One minute, he was riding a wave, the next, I was dragging him from the water and up the beach to perform CPR. But he was already gone.” My stomach sinks. His story rips the stitches from my own wounds—his grief and my own barely indistinguishable.

“I’m so sorry. That’s fuckin’ horrible,” I reply.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I just offloaded that on you. The last year has been tough, you know? Like I’m constantly swimming against the tide, and I’m tired.”

“I do know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. My mum. Two years ago.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, I can see what lies beneath the big smiles and endless energy. Now he feels like a real person, not the idealised version I’d made him out to be in my mind.

“Do you wanna come over for tea tonight?” I ask, maybe feeling braver. Maybe just finally seeing how lonely Ethan is and wanting to offer an olive branch.

“Tea? Like for a cup of tea?” I can’t help but laugh at the mental image of Ethan and me sitting around with a pot of tea and tiny sandwiches.

“No, sorry. I mean, like dinner. My cousin filled my fridge before he left, and I think I’d need three stomachs to get through it all.”

“Oh. That sounds amazing. I can’t remember when I last ate a meal that wasn’t heated up in a microwave.”

“You can’t cook?” I ask, surprised. In our house cooking is pretty much done on a rotation. Even when Mum was still alive, she said she wasn’t raising boys who didn’t know their way around a kitchen. Da and I do most of the cooking now, but Connor and Niamh are getting there.

A few months ago, Connor came home from school after hearing about a dish called Toad in the Hole. He declared he was going to make it, only he didn’t follow a recipe, and he hadn’t seen any photos of it. In the end, he served each of us a big Yorkshire pudding with mashed potato inside and one rather phallic-looking sausage standing erect in the mash. Just as I was about to tell him that wasn’t what Toad in the Hole was supposed to look like, Da kicked me under the table and gave me a ‘behave’ look. I stifled my laughter and dutifully ate the food; in his defence, it tasted good. He still doesn’t know.

“No, nobody ever taught me, and now I live on my own. I could probably learn from YouTube or something,” Ethan replies.

“Come over at six? We’ll cook together, and that way, you can make it for yourself one day.”

The smile I get this time is warm and fond. I feel good about being able to return the favour and teach him something as well. Like we’re on an even footing now.

It took all of half an hour after returning home for the nerves to set in. After washing all the salt water off in the shower, I tried to tame the mop on my head, but it was a lost cause. A stray ginger curl keeps falling into my eye.

I’m wearing a pair of faded black jeans and a Linkin Park t-shirt I stole from Noah. It’s a bit more emo than my usual style, but the alternative was looking like a forty-year-old mini-van owner.

The kitchen dining area is open-plan, so I put the TV on for some background noise. And also, so it doesn't seem like I’ve been sitting around in silence waiting for Ethan to show up.

What if I read this all wrong? I felt really sure when we were in the water this afternoon. He seemed interested. He asked me if I was dating anyone? I’m pretty sure you don’t ask people that out of the blue unless you have a vested interest in the answer.

But Ethan is chatty. He’s a chatty little American who probably doesn’t overthink every single question that comes out of his mouth. God, what if that was just his idea of small talk, and he was too polite to say no to my offer?

The apartment buzzer interrupts my spiralling thoughts. I press the button to let him up and then count to three, taking a deep breath in and letting it back out again.

Be cool for once in your life.

Another deep breath, and I open the front door.

Oh shit. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself for seeing Ethan in normal clothes. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. My eyes track the slightly raised veins that travel along his forearms to the backs of his smooth tanned hands.

“Hi,” I manage to spit out.

“I brought beer,” he says, lifting a six-pack into the air. “I know you aren’t technically old enough to drink here, but I figured you probably drank back home, so I brought some anyway.”

“Oh. Thanks. You didn’t have to. But yeah. I drink.” He’s looking at me expectantly, and I realise I’m blocking him from coming inside.

Jesus take the wheel.

“Sorry. Come in,” I say, finally stepping out of his way.

He follows me into the kitchen, and I stick the beers in the fridge but leave two out because I’m going to need some liquid courage to form coherent sentences, apparently.

“You’re staying here with your cousin, did you say?”

“Kind of. He’s off visiting a coven somewhere near Portland. He pops in from time to time, but I’m not expecting him back for a few more days,” I explain. Ethan’s eyes widen in alarm.

“What?! He can’t go there. It’s not safe. Fuck, I don’t mean to freak you out, but they’ve killed shifters for trespassing before!” His words make me a bit uneasy, but Noah had already warned me these particular witches were ‘anti-wolf’ as he put it.

“My cousin, Noah, he’s a witch. I probably should have led with that. He knows they don’t like wolves but there’s literally no telling Noah what to do. He has a pretty foolproof exit strategy, so I’m not too worried.”

Ethan’s shoulders sag in relief. “Sorry. I assumed he was a shifter and panicked.” He smiles ruefully. I grab a bottle opener and flick the caps off two beers before handing one to Ethan. “So, what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“Goin’ for a simple but a classic. Steak and chips. Or steak and fries? That good with you?”

“Very good with me! I apologise in advance if I propose to you.” I roll my eyes and laugh. That’s flirting, right? I can’t have got this completely wrong.

“Okay, Sous Chef, let's get cookin’.” I grab the steaks from the fridge and leave them on the counter while we begin prepping the potatoes.

“Who taught you to cook?” Ethan asks while massacering a potato with a peeler. It’s painful to watch, but I don’t want to micromanage.

“My mum and da. More so my mum because my da is the Alpha of our pack, and he’s always being pulled in every direction. My mum is… was fierce, though, and used to say she was nobody’s personal chef. Our house is always filled with people, so we tend to take it in turns to cook giant batches of food. I cook practically a vat of chilli every week.”

“That sounds nice,” Ethan replies, passing me a somewhat peeled potato to cut into fries. “Our pack is kind of disjointed. A new Alpha took over around five years ago, and the culture gradually changed. It’s partly why I don’t live up on the land anymore. I run with them from time to time, and I have friends in the pack, but mostly I keep to myself.”

Sounds lonely, I can’t help but think.

For all the time I’ve spent wishing for peace and quiet, for an empty house, just for a day or even a few hours in my room alone without my siblings knocking on my door to pester me, I’ve missed them since I've been away.

Turning the oven on to pre-heat, I place the chipped potatoes into a pot to par-boil before showing Ethan how to season the steaks with plenty of salt, pepper, and rosemary.

“What inspired your road trip then?” Ethan asks once the potatoes are in the oven.

“My mum, actually. She made this same trip pretty much when she was my age, and I think I had some grand idea that it would make me feel more connected to her or somethin'.”

“I get that. Has it?” he asks. No judgement lacing his voice, only curiosity. I guess someone who lost his dad and now runs the business he left behind probably understands better than most.

“In some ways. I’ve had times where I’ve felt like I got to share moments with her. But I think I could travel the whole world to try and fill my soul with experiences, and the hole she left behind would still be there. I think I’m comin' to terms with it, though. It’s one of those wounds you learn to live with.”

Ethan doesn’t reply; he just nods his head and gives me a sad smile that tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“This is amazing,” he says when we sit down and tuck into dinner.

“That would be more of a compliment if you hadn’t already told me your diet mostly consists of packet ramen,” I reply, eyebrow raised.

“Do you like compliments?” he asks, his piercing stare not breaking eye contact. I squirm slightly in my seat and feel the blush spreading across my cheeks.

“Who doesn’t like compliments?”

He laughs at that, and the sound fills my chest with warmth. This beautiful man is so far out of my league, yet he’s definitely flirting with me. His eyes dance like he’s genuinely happy. Like a simple meal with me , somehow made his day.

After we finish eating, Ethan insists on helping me with the washing up. It’s all very domestic. When he flicks some soap bubbles onto my face, I wind the dish towel up and whip him on the arse with it, making him yelp.

“Damn, you have a mean streak,” he says, laughing.

“I have a little brother who I’m not allowed to hurt, so I learned to choose my weapons wisely,” I tell him, returning to drying a plate with the towel.

It’s late now, and we’re both on our last beers, sitting on the settee and chatting. At some point in the conversation, he rested his legs over mine, and eventually, I plucked up the courage to rest my hand on his shin. I brave running my hand lower, my fingertips slipping under the hem of his jeans so we're skin to skin, and I stroke my thumb over his fluffy blonde hairs every now and again. I’m very conscious of every single point of contact where his skin is touching mine, and the weight of his legs on my lap feels good. Like I’m getting a little preview of what my life with a partner could be like in the future.

“I should get going,” Ethan finally says. “I have a group of kids for a lesson early tomorrow.” He sounds almost regretful, and that makes me happier than it probably ought to.

Getting up off the settee, he stretches his arms out, causing his shirt to ride up and reveal a sliver of golden skin across his toned stomach. He catches me looking but doesn’t say anything, merely smirking knowingly. I follow him to the door, where he puts his shoes on and turns to face me.

“I had a really great time tonight. Thank you for showing me how to cook a meal.” He smiles.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for teachin' me how to surf.” My heart is beating fiercely in my chest, and I’m not sure why. Anticipation maybe? But I’m not sure for what. I might never see Ethan again.

Ethan's gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth and back again a few times, making my stomach swoop. I lean forward slightly without even thinking, and that seems to be all the confirmation he was looking for. Reaching up, he palms my cheek with one hand and pulls my face down to his.

When his lips press against mine, it’s like an out-of-body experience. I close my eyes and reach for him, a hand on his neck, my thumb under his chin to tilt his face just right. A small whimper escapes his lips, and suddenly, I’m a blazing hot forest fire. His lips part as my tongue seeks his out, and my skin tingles all over.

I’ve never had a kiss like this before. The kind of kiss that feels like fireworks going off in your head, the bangs and pops so loud you can’t even think.

Without realising, I’ve backed him into the door and my body is pressed against his. He’s hard. And I’m very hard. We kiss until we’re both panting and gasping for breath. When I pull away, his lips are rosey, swollen and spit-slick.

“Fuck. I really do need to go,” he says, and I just nod dumbly. “How much longer are you here for?”

“In Oregon? A couple more days.”

“You left your number on the waiver form. I’m gonna text you tomorrow. Alright?”

“Very, very, alright.” He smiles and reaches to kiss me again, quickly this time, before shaking his head and opening the door.

“Bye, Ethan,” I say quietly as I watch him walk down the hall. When I close the door, I lean against it and breathe deeply, pressing my fingertips to my tingling lips and smile.

I wake up to a text from Ethan.

Ethan: A few friends from my pack are throwing a Halloween party tomorrow night up near Sunset beach, be my date?

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter their wings in my stomach. I’m glad he can’t see my face right now as I grin like the Cheshire Cat.

Me: Sure. Let me know where to be.

Once I’m up and dressed, I head into town to see about getting some small souvenirs to take back to my family. I don’t have much luck, but I do manage to find a set of handmade earrings that Niamh will love.

It’s raining so I end up spending most of my day sitting in a cafe and watching the world go by.

I avoided going down to the beach all day because I didn’t want Ethan to think I was obsessed with him. However, it’s late now, and I’m fairly certain he’ll be gone for the day.

The beach is deserted when I get there. All the lights are off in Ethan’s surf shop, so he must have gone home for the night. It’s finally stopped raining, and the sky has cleared of clouds. The moon glows, a beacon to the stars, the light reflecting off the water like a shimmering silver blanket.

Taking a seat on a large rock, I pull out Mum’s diary.

Dear future Cara

I went down to the beach tonight after Siobhan had gone to bed. There was nobody around, so I shifted and took a walk along the shore.

My paw prints left indents in the sand, but the water will have already washed them away. That’s okay, though. Just because you can’t see them anymore doesn’t change the fact they were there in the first place.

Oregon has been my favourite place we’ve visited so far. Maybe because in some ways it’s the place that most resembles Ireland and it makes me feel a little less homesick.

A guy in his late twenties took me and Siobhan out for surf lessons the other day. We had so much fun. At one point, Siobhan freaked out and started squealing because she thought an eel had touched her foot. I laughed so hard I peed a little. So, apologies to whoever hires that wetsuit after me.

We’ll be home in a few weeks, and as much as I’ve enjoyed this trip, I’m ready to start my new life—ready to begin this next chapter.

I’m also ready to *rest of the line is scribbled out with a line pointing to it and a note that reads ‘Redacted for your own good - Da.’*

From past Cara x

I laugh and cringe at the last part like I always do. Tucking the diary into my rucksack, I strip off and stuff my clothes into it as well. Shifting quickly since it’s cold, I pick up the bag with my mouth and hide it behind some rocks.

I pad on all fours along the deserted beach, staring at where my paws leave indents in the sand. My mind conjures up images of a second set of paw prints next to mine. And I remind myself of what Mum said: just because the sea washes them away, doesn’t change the fact that both our paw prints were here in the sand. As real as if they were fossilised in clay.