Page 12 of A Prescription to My Heart

“And if I hadn’t caught it?”

“Then Iwouldhave caught it myself.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

Soren’s jaw ticks, the muscle flexing, his breath controlled and measured. But his eyes search mine with something I can’t quite name.

He shifts, stepping closer, and suddenly the air changes.

It’s different now.

Charged.

I can smell him—clean, sharp, like something crisp and fresh but undeniably masculine. His cologne is subtle yet devastating, the kind of scent that lingers, that sinks into your skin.

His gaze flicks to my mouth.

It’s quick, so fast I almost don’t catch it.

Almost.

I inhale sharply, my pulse skittering. My back presses against the shelf, but there’s nowhere to go, no space left between us.

The tension is suffocating. I hate what he’s doing to me.

Soren’s throat bobs slightly, like he’s swallowing down something he refuses to say. Then, just as abruptly as he pulled me into this closet, his expression shutters, his tone flatlining into something cool.

“Don’t ever contradict me again,” he says. “Especially when you’re wrong.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

His eyes darken. “Do you need a formal dismissal?”

My jaw clenches, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I push past him, my shoulder grazing his arm as I yank the door open.

The cool air outside feels like a slap to my overheated skin.

I don’t look back.

Not when I walk past the nurses’ station. Not when I grab my tablet and chart notes. Not even when I hear his footsteps retreating in the opposite direction.

I keep my head high, my pace steady. But my hands tremble slightly, and I hate that too.

***

I make it home hours later, exhausted but restless.

The house is quiet, the suburbs humming softly outside my window. The clock on my stove reads1:37 a.m., but sleep feels impossible.

I slip into the shower, letting the hot water scald away the tension of the day. It’s been hard, trying to leave med surg to work in the OR. But I’m determined to advance my career. Even if acertain surgeonwould prefer I stay on the floor.

Even as I stand there, eyes closed, forehead resting against the tile, I can’t shake the memory of what happened.

The way he looked at me.

The way he movedcloser.

I scowl at my own reflection when I step out of the shower.

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