Page 29 of Grim

She didn’t know why she’d said it. Maybe because she’d spent so long taking care of everyone else that the urge to take care of him slipped out before she could stop it. Maybe because seeing him vulnerable had cracked something open in her. Maybe because she didn’t know how else to steady herself.

The apartment felt too quiet, too small, too charged. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she crossed the living room, the hem of her nightshirt brushing the tops of her thighs. She could feel him behind her, not touching, not speaking, just there, heavy and warm and impossible to ignore.

She reached the kitchen and exhaled, steadying herself with a hand on the counter. The familiar space grounded her, the cool laminate under her palm, the soft afternoon light filtering through the blinds, the faint smell of leftover stew lingering in the air.

She opened a cabinet, pulled out a pan, and set it on the stove. The small domestic sounds, metal on metal, the click of the burner, the soft rush of gas, felt louder than they should have.

Her hands were trembling, her chest tight, and the simple act of making breakfast suddenly felt like stepping into something she couldn’t name.

Butter hit the skillet with a soft sizzle.

Sophia let out a slow breath, trying to settle the flutter in her stomach.

She didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.

She could feel him watching her.

And she wasn’t ready to think about what that meant.

And wanting him — wanting this — felt like the most dangerous thing she’d done in a long time.

The worst part was, some quiet part of her didn’t want to ignore it. Didn’t want the distance. Didn’t want the safety she’d always clung to. Not when he was sitting in her living room like a storm she couldn’t look away from.

Chapter 9

Grim

Grim didn’t mean to look.

He really didn’t.

But when Sophia turned toward the kitchen, the hem of her nightshirt lifted with the movement, revealing the bottom curve of her panties, sky blue and soft, nothing he should’ve been seeing. The glimpse was quick, barely a second, but it hit him like a punch.

His jaw locked so hard it ached. He dragged his gaze away, but it didn’t matter. The image was burned into him, bright and dangerous.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

She didn’t hear him.

She was already moving around her kitchen, sleepy and soft and completely unaware of the effect she had on him. Cabinets opened. Butter hissed in a pan. Plates clattered quietly. The sounds were small, domestic, the kind of noises he’d never associated with himself.

It felt too intimate.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

Grim pushed off the couch and followed the pull he didn’t want to acknowledge. He stopped in the doorway, leaning a shoulder against the frame.

Sophia stood at the stove, hair messy from sleep, shirt hanging off one shoulder. She sprinkled leftover pico de gallo over a tortilla, humming under her breath like this was normal, like he belonged here.

She didn’t notice him at first.

When she finally did, she startled. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

He shook his head. “You’re fine.”