Chapter 12
Sophia
Sophia woke early, sunlight spilling through her curtains in soft golden stripes. She stretched, rubbed her eyes, and padded into the living room.
Grim was already awake. Of course he was.
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 ni?a!” 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.
Abuela pushed the plate toward Grim. “Eat.”
Grim hesitated. “I’m good.”
Sophia snorted. “He’s lying.”
He shot her a look. She raised a brow. He sighed, picked up a concha, and took a bite.
His eyes widened — just a fraction — before he forced his expression back to neutral.
Abuela beamed. “See? You like it.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered.
Sophia grinned. “You ate the whole thing.”
“It was small.”
She pushed the plate closer. “Have another.”
When Grim reached for another concha, Abuela touched Sophia’s elbow and nodded toward the hallway.
“Ven,” she whispered. Come.
Sophia followed her into the small kitchen, the one with the cracked tile and the rooster magnets on the fridge. Abuela closed the door halfway, enough for privacy but not secrecy.
Abuela’s eyes softened. “Ese hombre, he has good energy.”
Her abuela had always seen straight through her. It was both comforting and terrifying.
Sophia blinked. “Abuela…”
“No, listen.” Abuela tapped her chest. “I feel it here. He is steady. Quiet. Strong in the way men are when they’ve carried too much alone.”
Sophia swallowed. “He’s… complicated.”
“All good men are,” Abuela said simply. “But he looks at you like you settle him. Like you give him a place to rest.”
Sophia’s breath caught. “We’re not—”
Abuela smiled knowingly. “Not yet.”
Sophia’s cheeks warmed. “Abuela.”
“Mija,” Abuela said gently, cupping her cheek, “you have always been the heart of this family. You give and give and give. It is time someone gives back to you. That man…”
Sophia swallowed hard. She’d heard versions of that her whole life, but somehow it hit different now — maybe because she was finally tired of carrying everything alone.
Abuela nodded toward the living room. “He would protect what he loves. I can see it.”
Sophia’s chest tightened. “You barely know him.”
Abuela shrugged. “I know you. And I know what you need.”
Sophia didn’t have an answer for that. Didn’t have words for the way Grim made her feel. Steady and unsteady at the same time.
Abuela squeezed her hand. “Let him in, mi ni?a. Even just a little.”
Sophia exhaled slowly. “I’ll… think about it.”
Abuela smiled. “Good. Now go before he eats the whole plate.”
Sophia hid her smile behind her hand. Her brothers ate like that, too, like food was a competition. Grim didn’t know it, but he was already fitting into the rhythm of her family.
Sophia pushed the kitchen door open and stepped back into the living room, Abuela’s words still echoing in her chest.
He looks at you like you settle him.
Settle him. The idea lodged somewhere deep, warm, and frightening all at once. She wasn’t ready to think about that. Not when her pulse was already doing strange, fluttery things.
Grim was exactly where she’d left him, perched stiffly on the edge of Abuela’s floral couch, boots planted on the braided rug like he was afraid to sink into the cushions. His shoulders were too broad for the room, too tense for the softness around him. But his eyes lifted the moment she walked in.
Not a big movement. Not dramatic. Just immediate. Like he’d been waiting for her.
Abuela laughed softly, patting his arm. “You eat like family.”
Grim froze. Sophia saw it — the way the word hit him like a blow and a balm all at once. Family. He didn’t wear that idea comfortably. She always had.
Her heart squeezed. He didn’t know how to take the word, like it was something sharp instead of soft. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth in her abuela’s voice. Didn’t know what to do with being welcomed instead of tolerated.
Abuela, of course, noticed everything. She moved past Sophia with a knowing smile and set a glass of horchata in front of Grim.
“For you, mijo.”
Grim blinked at the glass like it was a test he hadn’t studied for. “Uh… thank you.”
Sophia bit back a smile. He looked so out of place, this lethal, quiet man surrounded by crocheted blankets, family photos, and the smell of cinnamon. But he wasn’t mocking it. He wasn’t judging it. He was trying. Really trying.
And that did something to her.
She crossed the room and sat beside him, not too close, but close enough that her knee brushed his when she settled.
Grim went still.
Not tense. Not startled. Just aware.
Sophia pretended not to notice. “Sorry. Abuela likes to talk.”
“She likes you,” Grim said quietly.
Sophia blinked. “You can tell?”
He nodded once. “She looks at you like you’re her whole world.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. “She kind of is mine. My parents worked a lot when I was growing up. And my brothers…” She huffed a soft laugh. “They were chaos. Still are.”
Grim’s gaze softened — barely, but enough that she felt it. “You’re close to her.”
“Yeah,” Sophia said, voice gentler than she meant it to be. “She’s home.”
Grim looked away at that word. Not dismissively. Not coldly. More like it hurt.
She’d never realized how much she took that for granted, the feeling of belonging. He looked like a man who’d never had a place to land.
Sophia’s chest squeezed. “Did you have anyone like that growing up?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed once, twice. “No.”
Just that. Simple. Honest. Heavy.
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.