Page 37 of Grim

But he wasn’t just sitting on her couch this time.

Her coffee table was flipped on its side, and Grim was crouched beside it, one knee on the rug, a small multitool in his hand. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he tightened a screw, jaw set in concentration.

Sophia blinked. “Um, what are you doing?”

He didn’t look up. “This thing wobbled.”

“It’s always wobbled.”

“It shouldn’t.” He gave the screw one last turn, tested the leg with a firm shake, then set the table upright like it weighed nothing. “There. Fixed.”

She stared at him, amused despite herself. “Do you just repair everything you see?”

He finally looked at her, eyes dragging over her scrubs, her still sleep-warm face. Something softened in his expression before he masked it. “If it’s broken.”

Her chest warmed in a way she didn’t want to examine. Wanting things for herself had never come naturally. Wanting him felt even more dangerous.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“You weren’t quiet.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I need to run a few errands today.”

“That’s fine,” he said, standing. “I gotta swing by the clubhouse. Grab a few things.”

She blinked. “You’re leaving?”

“No.” He shrugged. “You’re stuck with me.”

She should’ve argued. Should’ve told him she didn’t need anyone shadowing her. But the truth settled warm and unsettling in her chest — she didn’t want him to go.

Grim followed her directions across town until they reached a small, brightly painted house with a garden overflowing with marigolds and rosemary. Her abuela’s house always looked like it was holding its breath before a celebration, color everywhere, herbs spilling from clay pots, a faded Virgin Mary statue tucked between two rose bushes.

It was the house Sophia had run to as a kid when her brothers were being loud and feral, when her parents were arguing about money, when she needed quiet or comfort or someone who saw her without needing explanations.

She’d learned early how to be the calm one, the helper, the steady presence everyone leaned on. Abuela’s house had been the only place she didn’t have to hold everything together.

The moment they stepped out of the car, the front door swung open.

“Sophia, mi niña!” her abuela called, arms open wide.

Sophia’s chest warmed instantly. She rushed into them, laughing as Abuela squeezed her tight, muttering blessings into her hair. Grim stood awkwardly on the walkway, shoulders too broad for the moment, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure where they belonged.

Abuela’s eyes landed on him. “And who is this handsome man?”

Sophia flushed. “Abuela, this is Maddox.”

Grim stiffened at the name, but didn’t correct her. He stopped correcting her.

Abuela’s smile widened. “Maddox. Come in, mijo.”

Sophia didn’t miss the way Grim’s shoulders twitched at the word. Mijo. A word soaked in affection and belonging. A word he clearly wasn’t used to hearing.

He followed them inside, ducking slightly under the doorway. The house smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and warm bread — the smell of every Sunday morning of Sophia’s childhood. A plate of conchas sat on the table, pink and white and golden, still warm.

Her abuela always baked too much. Always “just in case.” With three sons, a daughter, and fourteen grandchildren, someone was always hungry.

Sophia could practically hear her brothers in the walls: Diego arguing with Mateo about who stole whose shirt, Miguel yelling at the TV, her father telling them all to knock it off. Her family was loud. Messy. Alive. And she loved them with her whole heart.