Page 40 of Grim

Sophia swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s just… different.”

Different. Lonely. Unfamiliar with warmth.

Sophia suddenly wanted to reach for his hand. She didn’t. But the urge startled her.

Abuela bustled back in, carrying a small insulated bag decorated with embroidered flowers. She set it on the table with a soft thud.

“Here,” she said. “Dinner for both of you.”

Sophia blinked. “Abuela, I have work tonight…”

“I know,” Abuela said, waving a hand. “You’ll eat before your shift. And he…” she nodded at Grim, “He looks like a man who forgets to take care of himself unless someone reminds him.”

Grim looked personally attacked.

Abuela smiled sweetly. “I packed enough for two nights. Just in case.”

Sophia’s cheeks warmed. “Abuela…”

“Mija,” Abuela said, lowering her voice just enough for Sophia to hear, “he’s going to be around. I can feel it. So he should not be hungry.”

Sophia’s heart stuttered.

Grim looked between them, confused but trying not to show it.

Abuela patted his arm. “Take care of her, mijo.”

Grim froze, again, like the words hit somewhere deep and unguarded.

Sophia reached out before she could stop herself and touched his forearm, light and grounding. “She means don’t let me skip meals.”

Abuela winked. “I mean both.”

Sophia’s pulse tripped.

Grim swallowed hard, eyes flicking to Sophia’s hand on his arm, then back to Abuela. “Yes, ma’am.”

Abuela beamed like she’d just won something.

Sophia wasn’t sure what she’d just stepped into. But the warmth in the room wrapped around her like a blanket, and Grim — stiff, quiet, overwhelmed Grim — looked like he didn’t know how to breathe in it.

And for the first time, she wondered if she wanted to be the one who taught him how.

Chapter 13

Grim

They drove to the clubhouse next. Grim kept his eyes on the road, but his mind was back in that little kitchen with the rooster magnets and the smell of cinnamon. Back with Abuela calling him mijo like it wasn’t a word that should’ve burned going down. Back with Sophia laughing, soft and warm, like she’d never had to learn how to survive the way he had.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

He pulled into the lot and parked her silver Honda, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. Before Sophia could reach for the handle, he was already out of the car and at her door, opening it with the same quiet certainty he used for everything that mattered.

She looked up at him.

And Christ.