Chapter 118

Ella

The moment my dad said that line—about Logan ‘stealing away his little girl’—my cheeks felt like they were on fire. My dad always seemed like he knew exactly how to stir the pot, to bring that embarrassing dad humor into even the most nerve-wracking situations.

And the worst part was, Logan thought that he was being completely serious. I could see it in Logan’s face; the way his eyes went ever so slightly wide. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell.

“Dad, take it easy,” I chided, punching my father’s arm lightly. “Can you play nice for one day?”

My father chuckled, the corners of his lips pulling up into that trademark smirk of his. “I’m just joking,” he teased, his eyes meeting Logan’s. “Really, I’m happy that my daughter has met her fated mate. Please, let’s sit.”

We took our seats, and the tension began to dissipate, floating up into the air along with all of the other sights, smells, and sounds of the fancy restaurant.

I still remembered when my father was a serious man. He rarely smiled, and he certainly never smirked or joked around. It wasn’t until Moana came along that she finally cracked that hard exterior, revealing the happy, playful man that was hiding beneath.

I was always so glad that she did, but not everyone could see that. He could still put on that prickly persona of his whenever he needed to, and it always made him all the more intimidating.

Moana, always the conversationalist, jumped in to break the ice. “So, how did you two lovebirds meet?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with excitement and maybe even a little bit of maternal mischief.

Logan and I shared a glance. We hadn’t discussed this; how could we tell them that we met on the street in the middle of the night, when I was being attacked by Rogues? My parents would kill me, especially because they had warned me that night to call an Uber instead of trying to walk home, and I had directly defied them.

“We, um,” Logan started, his eyes searching mine ever so briefly as if looking for some sort of guidance. The silence stretched, becoming heavy, almost burdensome.

“You won’t believe this, but we quite literally just bumped into each other one night,” I finished for him. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just a very… condensed version of the truth.

“Bumped into each other?” Moana’s eyes widened, and she put down her glass of water, as if the news was so shocking she had to give it her full attention. “Just like that?”

I could feel Logan’s muscles tighten next to me. Here was a woman who knew what being a wolf meant, who understood the incredible pull of fated mates, and the improbable luck—or fate—that it took to find them.

“Yeah, mom,” I said, maybe a little more defensively than I meant to come across. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Moana smiled. “Actually,” she said, her gaze shifting to my dad, “it’s not unheard of, is it, love?”

Here it comes, I thought. The family lore. The tale of how my parents met was one for the ages, told and retold at every family gathering, and why not? It was unbelievable, fantastical, and utterly… them.

My father stammered for a moment before Moana grinned, jumping in to tell the tale for him. “Logan, Ella’s father almost hit me with his car on our first meeting.”

Logan’s eyes widened at this revelation. It was a story I had heard a million and one times, but I had never mentioned it to Logan before. And why should I?

“Sorry,” Logan said incredulously, leaning forward with anticipation. “You almost hit her with your… car?”

Moana nodded before my father could answer, her eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yes. I was walking through a crosswalk, and wouldn’t you know it: some crazy man in a fancy car came speeding through. I stumbled backwards and fell, and well…”

“I did stop, you know,” my dad said, his face turning ever so slightly red. “I saw you. I was gonna stop.”

Moana smirked. “Yeah, sure,” she teased.

My dad looked more than a little embarrassed, scratching his head as if that would somehow erase the memory. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

My mom chuckled, that joyful sound of hers that always filled the room, regardless of how grand the space was. “Not in this lifetime, darling.”

The laughter, rich and genuine, melted through the tension in the room. I noticed Logan relax a bit, his shoulders dropping as he picked up his glass of water and took a sip. Thank god, I thought. This brunch was a minefield, and we had just navigated through the first hidden trap.

Then my mom, being the unyielding force of nature she was, shifted the spotlight back onto me. “Oh, Ella, do you remember the time when you were nine and decided to give yourself a haircut?”

My cheeks flushed as red as the wine in the glass in front of me. “Mom, you’re not—”

“Oh, but I am,” she interrupted, her eyes twinkling. “It was so adorable. You had these big scissors in your tiny hands, snip-snip-snipping away. When I walked in, you just looked at me and said, ‘Mommy, I’m so beautiful.’”

Then, my dad jumped in, clearly enjoying my mortification. “Oh, and don’t forget the part where she cut her own bangs so short she looked like a founding father.”

All three of them—Moana, my dad, and even Logan—erupted into laughter, and I felt like sinking into the floor. Was it possible to die from embarrassment? Because I felt like I was well on my way.

Logan seemed captivated, his eyes on me but a playful smirk on his lips. “Is there photographic evidence of this founding father phase?”

I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t you start.”

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. You’ve piqued my interest.”

My mom gleefully added, “Oh, we’ve got photos. Albums full!”

“You’re all loving this, aren’t you?” I said, my tone a mix of defeat and begrudging acceptance of the situation.

“Oh, immensely,” my dad confirmed, his eyes meeting Moana’s for a quick, loving glance before returning to me, then shifting over to Logan. “And we’ve got plenty more.”

“Good,” Logan said, his eyes flickering over to me briefly. In that instant, I could see into their depths—amusement, intrigue, and what looked like complete and utter adoration. Something about it made my cheeks heat up, and I quickly looked away, steadying myself by taking another sip of wine.

But then, just when I thought my face couldn’t get any redder, my father turned to Logan, his eyes locking onto him like a wolf zeroing in on its prey. His face was still warm and jovial, but I could see that hint of something else, something more serious, behind his cool gray eyes.

“So, Logan. What about your parents? Tell us about them.”

The atmosphere shifted, turning dense and heavy, as if the air itself had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Logan looked at me, his eyes searching my face for the briefest, tensest moment before opening his mouth to speak.