“I think I’m just going to order pizza or something,” I say. “Easy night.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just keeps scanning shelves.
“What do you guys usually eat?” he asks.
I shrug. “Honestly? No idea.”
“We had nap time!” Ellie announces proudly from behind us.
Logan turns, eyebrows lifting. “Nap time? It’s five-thirty.”
“We wanna stay up allll night,” she says, stretching the words dramatically.
He laughs. I laugh. This is chaos.
“I can take it from here,” I say. “You probably want a night of quiet.”
“Nah,” Logan says finally, grabbing his keys. “I’ll be back.”
I blink. “Wait—what?”
But he’s already heading for the door.
Twenty minutes later, he’s back with his arms full of groceries.
“Logan—what did you do?” I ask, half laughing.
“What does it look like?” he says, setting everything down. “I’m making dinner.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “You cook now?”
He glances at me. “You’re about to find out.”
Somehow, within thirty minutes, the kitchen smells incredible. Chicken. Something with garlic. And roasted vegetables.
Actual food that kids will eat.
Not pizza.
Ellie’s perched on a chair, narrating everything.
Hattie is banging a spoon against the counter like she’s part of the operation.
And Logan?
He’s just handling it effortlessly, tapping Ellie’s nose repeatedly and joking with her.
After dinner, it gets even worse.
For me, at least. Because now he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor.
At a tea party.
Wearing a plastic tiara Ellie shoved onto his head.
“Sir Logan,” Ellie says seriously, pouring imaginary tea, “you must be very careful, it is hot.”
