Logan
I didn’t know if Emily would show up.
I hadn’t sent a formal invitation—just asked her earlier in the days casually as I could manage, to join me for dinner at seven… if she felt it.
No photographers. No schedule. No press release. Just us.
I set the table myself in the dining room. Just one bottle of wine, two plates of something I’d tried not to burn, and the sharp, irritating tension of waiting. It would serve me right if she decided not to show.
I heard her before I saw her. The quiet pad of bare feet on carpet. The faint shift of fabric.
When Emily entered, she wore a simple dress–one I hadn’t seen before. Just soft navy cotton that clung to her ribs like it didn’t want to let go. Her hair was down. No makeup. Eyes guarded.
She looked beautiful.
I stood automatically. “You came.”
“You said there’d be food,” she said, stepping closer, gaze skimming the room. “I assumed you meant it.”
“I did. It’s…not terrible.”
Her lips twitched at the corner. That half–smile I’d been starving for. “We’ll see.”
“>
I pulled out her chair. She hesitated for the briefest moment before sitting. I waited until she was settled before I moved to my own side. And an awkward silence sat between us.
We ate quietly at first. Every sound seemed too loud. Forks scraping plates. The gentle sigh she let out after her first sip of wine. My own breath, heavy in my chest.
It was like we were both waiting for the other to run.
“You cooked this?” she asked eventually.
“I tried.” I glanced at her plate. “Don’t feel obligated.”
“It’s edible,” she said, then after a beat, added, “which is high praise, coming from me.‘
>>
I laughed–quiet and low. Another pause. Another bite. And then I set my fork down.
“I wanted this to be…neutral ground,” I said. “Somewhere we could actually talk. Fully clothed.”
Emily rolled her eyes but she didn’t respond right away. Just studied her wineglass. “And what would we talk about, Logan? The headlines? The contract? How many times we’ve nearly kissed and walked away instead?”
My jaw clenched. “All of it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You think dinner fixes that?”
“No.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But it might be a start.”
She looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
“You’re not very good at this,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“You hurt me.” Her voice didn’t waver. “When you hesitated. When you didn’t defend me or talk to me. Sometimes a girl needs to be chased, you know.”
1/3
I nodded once. “I know.”
Is that what this is, a date?”
“If you like,” I said, my mind rolling over the idea and liking it. “t it gives me the chance to say I’m sorry. Not just for the photo. Or the hesitation. For not standing beside you in all this when I expect you to do the same for me.”
The silence stretched again, but it was different this time. Thicker More weighted.
“I’m sorry for not making this easier on you.”
Her eyes dropped to her plate, then lifted again. “I’m not looking for casy,” she said.
My throat tightened. “Good. Because I don’t know how to offer that.”
She stood slowly, walked to the window. Her back was to me, but her voice carried.
“I don’t want to keep playing pretend, Logan.“.
I rose. “Then we won’t.”
She turned to face me–and for once, the wall between us cracked just enough to let something real through. Emily looked like she was bracing for rejection.
I crossed the room slowly. Not like a wolf stalking prey, but like a male afraid he’d scare off the only thing that mattered if he moved too fast.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I said, stopping just a few feet from her.
Emily turned her head slightly, eyes meeting mine over her shoulder. “What do you know then?”
“You.” The word came out stripped down, unguarded.
She turned fully now, uncrossing her arms. Her hair caught on the curve of her jaw, soft and dark. Her eyes searched mine, still skeptical–but more open than before.
“I need to know this isn’t pity,” she said quietly. “Or convenience need to know I’m not just the arrangement you got stuck
with.”
“You think I’d be standing here trying to woo you with a sub par meal if you were just convenient?”
“You didn’t chase me. Not like a mate would.”
“I didn’t know if you’d want that.” I stepped closer. “You were so far away, even when you were in the same room. And I didn’t want to pull you back if you didn’t want to be caught.”
Her brow furrowed, just a little. “You think I wanted to run?”
“I think you were afraid to stay.”
She didn’t deny it. Just stared at me like she was trying to see something I hadn’t let her before. Then, slowly, she reached for
my hand.
Fingertips to palm. A tentative, trembling touch that shouldn’t have shifted my whole world—but it did. I closed my fingers around hers, grounding myself in that sliver of contact.
“We’re not good at this,” she said, voice barely more than breath.
“No,” I agreed and leaned forward slightly. “I need to know what you want, Emily. Not what the contract says. Not what the Pack whispers.” My voice dropped. “Just you. What do you want?”
She looked up at me then, and I held perfectly still as if I were the prey in this situation.
Until she tilted her chin, and I knew–knew to my core–that if I didn’t kiss her now, I might never get the chance again.
2/3
So I did.
Her breath met mine first, warm and sweet from the wine. And then my lips touched hers, tentative at first, asking for permission.
Her answer came fast and fierce, her mouth opening beneath mine like she’d been waiting for this moment.
My hands framed her face like I needed to memorize the shape of Hers slid up my chest, clutching the fabric of my shirt like it grounded her.
The kiss deepened, turned hotter, weeks of tension spilling over the edge.
This felt like a claiming. A truth we’d danced around for too long, and not for the first time I heard that fortune teller’s voice in my head, suggesting the impossible. Mate.
And gods, I couldn’t stop kissing her. Not until we both had to breathe.
Even then, I didn’t step back. I rested my forehead against hers, chest heaving, heart pounding hard enough I swore she could
hear it.
“Still think this is just an arrangement?” I asked roughly.
She smiled–finally, fully. “If it is, it’s the worst one ever.
“Good,” I said. “Let’s ruin it completely.”
“”
She laughed then, the sound breaking whatever tension was left. But the softness that followed was comfortable somehow, still charged.
We stood like that, pressed together, not sure what came next but knowing, finally, that something real had sparked between us
And this time, neither of us walked away.
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