Dreaming of a Wolf (Snowdonia Wolves) by Sofia Grey Page A

that went anywhere near Manchester. Many hours later, I arrived home, to the place I grew up. Since finishing at University, I’d moved all my stuff back here, but it’d only been intended as a temporary stop. Alun and I were looking for somewhere together.
    I pressed my fists into my temples. We had been looking. This was going to take some getting used to.
    It was Mum’s turn to hug me. My parents had offered to accompany me, but it was something I needed to do on my own. All I wanted to do now was sleep, and hope to dream of him again.

Chapter Two
    I squeezed my eyes tight shut, and focused on Alun. If I held him in my thoughts when I fell asleep, I might dream of him. Instead, I dived into a memory of the day we met.
    Tansy’s parents had rented a cottage in St Ives, a bustling and colorful seaside town in Cornwall. At the last minute, they’d been unable to go. It didn’t take much for Tansy, my then-best friend, to persuade me. With my High School exams behind me, and a fine art degree course at St Andrews beckoning, I was happy to take a two-week holiday with my school friends. Jools came too, and Brigitte—a stunning blonde Swede—and we vowed to make this a holiday to remember.
    The drive from Manchester, in peak summer traffic, was tedious. We were tired, frazzled, and grumpy after spending six hours crammed into Tansy’s small car. Jools and I were dispatched to find food, while the others made up the beds and unpacked. We were just a few minutes’ walk from the sea, and that was where we headed, when we found a café about to close for the day, right on the waterfront.
    Standing out front, a striped apron tied around his slim waist, was the most delicious guy I’d ever seen. Shaggy light brown hair fell to his collar in messy abandon, and white teeth gleamed in a friendly smile, but it was his eyes that drew me.
    I studied art, and knew more than a little about painting, but I couldn’t come up with a color to adequately describe his eyes. Cerulean blue perhaps? The shade of the Aegean Sea on a postcard of Greece? Darker than sapphire, bluer than lapis lazuli, they twinkled at us both as we stared at this vision of godliness.
    “We’re just closing, but I could get you a takeout.” His voice had an equally delicious lilting Welsh accent. I clutched Jools’s arm. He could have been reciting a shopping list; I still would have hung on every word.
    He grinned, and ran a hand through his hair, the multiple string bracelets on his wrist shifting as he did. “Or maybe you’re in need of a drink. I’ll be finished here in ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting, and then we could go to the pub. We can sit outside, and watch the sun go down over the sea.”
    “Food,” muttered Jools, and I shook myself into action.
    I longed to say pub , but Tansy and Brigitte were waiting for us. “A takeout?” My voice came out croaky, and I probably sounded stupid, but he continued to smile as though we were the nicest things he’d seen all day. The idea of sitting somewhere and watching the sunset with him was too tempting for words. “Our friends are waiting, you see.”
    “Maybe the pub later?”
    I shoved my hands in my pockets, and tried to look nonchalant. “Maybe.”
    His smile grew wider. Wiping his hands on his apron first, he pointed to a grey stone building farther along the waterfront. “The Old King. Meet me there in an hour? Are you here on holiday?”
    My brain was slow to process his words, and I scrambled to reply. “Yes, we’re renting a cottage. There’re four of us.”
    “I’ll bring some friends too.” Was that a dimple that flashed in his cheek?
    “Pinch me now,” I whispered to Jools. “I must be dreaming.”
    I must have been louder than I thought, for he snorted with laughter. “I think you must be hungry. Let me get you fish and chips now, and then we can have dessert in the pub.”
    I knew that once he clapped eyes on Brigitte, he’d forget me, and so I basked in his