Page 50 of A Prescription to My Heart

“No unnecessary touching.”

He chuckles. “Done.”

“I don’t clean your mess.”

“Noted.”

“And if Marigold asks questions…”

“We tell her whatever makes her smile.”

Silence falls again. Thick. Uncomfortable. But not angry.

I finally nod. “Fine. But this is temporary.”

“Of course.”

“And if you snore—”

“I don’t.”

“You better not.”

He smiles. It’s small. But real. I don’t smile back. Not fully, but something shifts.

***

Moving in with Soren was never part of the plan.

But here I am, boxes scattered in the guest room. It’s just me and a few squares of cardboard sitting in Soren’s home, an unfamiliar space that I’m trying to fit into.

“Do you need help with that?” Soren’s voice cuts through the silence, and I glance up to see him standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, watching me as I wrestle with a box full of books.

I freeze for a moment, a mixture of frustration and guilt twisting in my stomach. Moving was supposed to be a simple task—throw everything in boxes, unpack, and pretend like everything’s normal. But the air feels thicker here. Every step I take is like sinking—sinking further into this mess.

I bite back a sigh, my hands gripping the edge of the cardboard. “No, I’ve got it,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “Thanks.”

Soren’ eyes narrow as he watches me struggle. He’s trying to help, but I’m not ready to let him. I don’t know why I’m resisting. Maybe it’s because I’m still not sure about all of this—about living with him. About how it feels like we’re walking on the edge of something we can’t define.

“I’m just trying to make this easier,” he says, his tone gentle. I don’t want his gentleness right now. It feels like pity.

“I don’t need you to make it easier,” I mutter under my breath, tugging a bit too hard at the box. The lid pops open, spilling half the books onto the floor. I wince.

He’s silent for a moment, then crouches down beside me, picking up a book. “I know this isn’t ideal,” he says quietly, his fingers brushing against mine as he hands me a book. His touch sends a shiver up my spine, and I have to remind myself that I’m not here for that. I’m here for Marigold.

I take the book and stack it on top of the others, keeping my eyes on the floor. “I didn’t expect any of this,” I admit, the weight of my words sinking in.

Soren doesn’t respond immediately. I can feel the tension between us, thick and heavy.

“I didn’t expect it either,” he says finally. “But here we are.” He pauses. “You know, this might be harder than I thought. But… I’m still glad you’re here.”

There it is again. That sincerity in his voice. I can’t decide if it comforts me or unsettles me more.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say, trying to sound sure, even though I’m not. I glance up at him, only to catch him looking at me with an intensity I can’t ignore. I shift uncomfortably, dropping my gaze back to the box.

We finish picking up the books in silence, both of us avoiding eye contact. The tension between us grows with every passing second. But it’s not the kind of tension I want. It’s the kind of tension that feels like something’s being left unsaid—something we both know but don’t want to acknowledge.

Finally, I stand up, dusting off my hands. “I think that’s enough for today,” I say, my voice quiet. “I’ll unpack the rest later.”

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