6. Ethan

SIX

ETHAN

Surrounded by wood shavings and the comforting scent of sawdust, I tried to sort through the chaos that was my creative workspace to prepare for Miranda coming over tomorrow night. If I was honest, it wasn't just the tools and scraps of wood I was organizing—it was my thoughts about her, too.

She calmed the usually relentless beast inside of me.

There was something special about her because of it. It was bizarre, the sense of peace she brought to my beast, but it was undeniably there. Miranda made being out in public—being around people—feel bearable again.

The sharp ring of my phone cut through the silence of the workshop, startling me. Glancing at the caller ID, I saw Mia's name.

"Hey, what's up?" I answered.

"Hey. Eh, it's been a couple of days since the market madness. I wanted to check in and see how you're holding up," she said tentatively. "Also, I wanted to see how mad you are at me for it."

I chuckled. "I'm not mad."

"Whew! I was worried. I mean, I did sort of spring that on you last minute."

"Sort of? That was like shoving me off a damn cliff, Mia."

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry, not sorry?" she squeaked out. "You needed it. You've been trapped in that cabin for so long now, I was starting to worry you'd forgotten how to be human."

Her words were meant to tease me, but she'd hit the nail with the hammer without even realizing it. I had nearly forgotten how to be human because I wasn't anymore.

I was part beast.

"Oh, guess what? I got a job at Mariam's Diner! I start as a server next week."

I smiled. "That's great. Maybe this time, get to work when you're supposed to."

"Hey, I've got two alarms now. Thank you very much."

"Good, I hope you know how to use them," I teased.

"Okay, ha ha. Very funny. I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later, too," I said before she hung up.

I stood there for a moment, chuckling. Even though Mia claimed to have two alarms now, we both knew she'd still be late. That girl was born late—literally, she was two weeks late.

I went back to organizing things until I came to a pile of scrap wood. An image of Miranda's cinderblock step filled my head, and again all I could think about was how dangerous it was.

Pursing my lips, I decided to turn the pile of wood into a set of steps for her. Two steps of standard size should be enough to reach her camper door. I could already see the design in my head. It would fit and eliminate that unsteady cinderblock for her.

The beast in me liked this idea, too.

While I went to work, I pictured how she'd smile when I showed her the steps. That woman's smile could light up a whole room. Again, I wondered if she was the key to ending this misery of mine. Maybe telling her about my beast might be a good idea.

Instead of going ballistic like I thought he might at the thought, my beast instead approved of me confiding in Miranda about him. This surprised me, because the thought alone sent a wave of mixed emotions spiraling through me—fear, uncertainty, but also an undeniable sense of rightness. While the idea of baring my soul to her over dinner tomorrow seemed daunting, I knew if there was anyone I wanted to share it with, it was her.

As I worked on the steps, my thoughts drifted toward the upcoming dinner and how I'd go about breaking the ice of what I was to Miranda. I knew the risk of revealing my secret had the potential for everything to fall apart. But there was also the chance for something more, for a deeper connection to be built between us, one based on trust and understanding.

Miranda would understand. She'd get it. I could feel it in my bones.

In fact, there was a part of me that believed she might be the one person who could understand the duality of my existence.

After finishing the steps, I locked the shop up and headed back to my cabin. Tomorrow night could change everything. It was a gamble, revealing the truth to Miranda, but for the first time, it felt like a gamble worth taking. The magic I sensed in her, the potential for acceptance and understanding, felt like a beacon guiding me through the darkness I'd been swallowed by, promising a sliver of light in the shadows that had become my world.