“Is everything okay with your werewolf?” My mother asked, her hands busy kneading dough, but her eyes fully focused on Grim, who sat in the corner of our bakery like a statue of muscles and good looks.
I was glad he was partially hidden from the view of the customers because he is very distracting.
Not only was he a new face in our very small neighborhood, but he had a beautiful face, albeit a bit scary and intimidating.
Sadly, like my mother, a lot of women in our neighborhood were into that.
“What do you mean?” But I was lying to myself. I knew exactly what she meant.
When Henry left us after I told him I was the one that needed Grim and not the other way around, something changed.
Grim was quiet… the silence almost accusatory.
Like I owed him even more explanation regarding
