"Well," I started awkwardly, "I don't have money to cook anything fancy. The food left for me in the fridge can hardly get us anything worthy of––"
"How about pasta?" He interrupted me, already on his way to the door. "I believe you can scramble something edible for me."
Thirty minutes later, I stood in my kitchen, preparing the simplest pasta dish I could with my limited ingredients. Logan perched on a stool, watching me with genuine interest as I worked my magic.
"I got this recipe from the internet," I explained, grating a small block of cheese into the pan. "It's simple, but very tasty."
"I like simple food – it bears more soul," Logan said, resting his chin on his palm. "Every time I sit down to eat, I have to go through an exhausting performance of spoon-sized dishes being changed every three minutes. Oftentimes, I just want to have a simple, hearty meal and actually enjoy it."
I chuckled, stirring the pan. "Well, that makes the two of us. Back in my pack, everyone would turn their noses away from simple cooking."
Logan didn't say anything, and that made me bite my tongue. It was my mistake to bring up Cranes and their horrible behavior, but I hoped it hadn't been enough to spoil the mood completely.
"Uhm... Logan?" I tried to change the subject as I kept mixing the sauce. "How come Darren Dax got so mortified once he recognized you?"
He sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "My family has... influence. Sometimes it can be useful."
"That's an understatement," I muttered, serving the pasta. "I don't think it's quite normal for influential people to make renowned criminals stab themselves with a knife."
"Someone like Darren Daxx should be stabbing himself daily for what he has already done," Logan said coolly. "That man is one of the worst criminals I've ever seen, and I get annoyed every time I remember how many packs are actually backing him for his services."
I couldn't argue with that. There was a reason why so many people were scared of Darren, and it always made me mad knowing that his criminal activities were actually beneficial for every major pack in this country.
Placing the steaming plate of mushroom pasta before Logan, I watched nervously as he took her first bite. His eyes widened with delight.
"This is fantastic!" he exclaimed, quickly taking another mouthful. "I've eaten in quite a few five-star restaurants, but I've never had pasta as good as this! Don't tell me this is just a random online recipe, Amelie – you've definitely mastered it to perfection!"
His genuine enthusiasm and praise made me flush with embarrassment. I had made the same pasta for Sam many times before, but all I could ever get was a scowl and a frown, followed by a few demeaning comments.
He had always thought my cooking was lacking substance, but as I watched Logan practically inhale the dish before my eyes, I couldn't help but think that it was he who lacked taste.
"Sam barely ate my cooking," I noted bitterly, "he liked to complain that my meals were not sophisticated enough for him."
Logan's expression darkened momentarily at the mention of my ex-husband. "Samuel Crane and sphistication are two completely different things. I bet he would eat dirt if it was served to him under a foreign name."
A small chuckle escaped my lips as I watched Logan swallow my simple dish was heart-warming enjoyment.
"You are not wrong," I said, pushing my plate closer to him in case he wanted seconds. "One time, he misheard a waiter and ordered something he thought was French, which turned out to be simple cabbage rolls. You should have seen how embarrassed he was!"
"Men are easily swayed by titles," Logan said in all seriousness, putting down his fork. "And those are just fancy words plastered over someone's persona, sometimes for absolutely no reason. Men earn titles, and men lose them. In the end, what matters is the person behind all that glitter and disguise."
His words struck me somewhere deep. After years of having my worth measured solely by my title, by my place in this world, hearing someone – especially someone clearly powerful and influential beyond imagining – dismiss money and power so casually was reassuring.
"Do you really mean that?" I asked softly.
Logan nodded.
"You have no idea how low one can stoop just to get a scrap of my family's attention. I've seen the most respectable alphas abandon their morals to gain something that only lasts for a few moments, losing their heart and soul forever in the end. And this is why I hold you in such high regard. You hold onto your values and morals, craddling your heart like a child. You can never buy that, Amelie. That is... priceless."
No one had ever spoken to me with such conviction about my worth. I felt something crack inside me – like a wall crumbling down after years of guarding my heart from never-ending hurt. I felt relieved.
I really needed that.
Logan must have seen something in my expression, because his features softened again. He reached across the counter and briefly touched my hand, a gesture so simple yet so powerful it made my heart race like a galloping horse.
"Your p–pasta is getting cold..." I finally managed to say, pulling my hand back before he could feel it trembling. Heat bloomed inside my cheeks, and all of a sudden, the temperature in the room went up a hundred degrees, setting my entire body ablaze.
He smirked knowingly but returned to his meal, sparing me further embarrassment.
When he finished, Logan leaned back with a satisfied sigh. Then, with a bright grin that transformed him from intimidating alpha heir to something much more dangerously charming, he pushed his empty plate toward me and tapped his finger on the one I left untouched.
"Can I have another one?"
I gazed at him in bewilderment, unable to comprehend how this man could strike fear into ruthless criminals one minute and then, like an excited child, ask for another helping the next.
Who was Logan Grant, really – and what on earth did he want with me?