Page 39 of A Prescription to My Heart

“Dr. Calloway.”

Her voice stops me cold. But I’m also conscious of the eyes of half the cafeteria watching us curiously. I school my expression, turning back.

“Nurse Vance.”

A hint of amusement tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I was wondering how long you were going to pretend you didn’t see me.”

“I’m busy.”

“So is everyone else.”

I exhale, shifting my weight. “Something you need?”

Her head tilts, studying me. “Not particularly. You?”

“No.”

A lie.

She nods like she knows it. “Alright, then.”

By the time I reach my office, my head is a mess.

This is nothing, I tell myself. A distraction. A shift in routine. It will pass.

But as I sit behind my desk, staring at an untouched report, all I can hear is Talia’s voice.

All I can see is the flicker of something in her expression when we signed those papers. All I can remember is Marigold’s hand in hers the other night at dinner, their laughter wrapping around each other like ivy.

I press my fingers to my temples. This was supposed to be simple.

Then why does it feel like I’ve lost control?

***

Talia checks on Marigold. I take her home. We carry on like the rest of the world, like this arrangement is nothing more than what we agreed to.

I hear the knock.

just as I shrug off my jacket.

Marigold is asleep, tucked beneath her favorite pink blanket, her tiny fingers curled around her stuffed rabbit. The house is quiet. Peaceful.

I stride to the front door, still rolling my sleeves up, and pull it open.Talia.

She’s standing there, casual and composed, like she isn’t the reason my entire day has been thrown off balance. Like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing to me.

“Talia,” I say, voice even.

“Soren.” She lifts a brow, arms crossed. “Are you going to let me in, or just stare?”

I don’t answer. Because for the first time, Ilookat her.

No scrubs. No sterile hospital setting between us. Just a dress that clings too well to her curves, hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, the faintest trace of perfume curling through the evening air. She looked presentable in her “wedding” dress. But somehow, this is different. Warmer.

A dangerous sensation knots in my chest.

This was a mistake.

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