He was shorter than she -- but somehow, she felt dwarfed by him. When the growl came, her throat closed up and her fingers tightened on the edges of her bar stool. She didn't understand her reaction, but there it was - nervousness and ... and something else, tugging at her strongly, refusing to be dismissed. The restlessness was gone, pressed away by... by this.
"Honour," she answered, her voice sounding small and strangled. "Honour Bellaforte." For some reason, she didn't add the other name, the name her father and family had used for her, the name she most identified as her own. It was 'Honour' to him - her true name - and it could never be anything else, and she didn't know why.
When he gestured at her beverage, she frowned, then lifted the glass to her lips. It tasted like strawberries and something bitter and something sharp. She swallowed, then pursed her lips at it, then swallowed again. "What would be better?" she asked, then looked back at him.
And again, there it was, pulling at her. She forgot the glass in her hand. Again, her lips parted. Who was he? "Logan." The name came a little too far away from her question to have been a part of it. She wanted to try the name... And it'd felt... She didn't know how to parse what this feeling was.