Page 2 of A Prescription to My Heart

I shake my head and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I should be unpacking, but instead, I find myself walking to the stove where a tray of cookies cools on parchment paper. A home doesn’t smell like a home without a fresh baked batch of homemade cookies, so I took the time to whip up a quick recipe in-between moving boxes.

I place a few on a plate and head for the front door again, drawn by the ridiculous urge to push Soren Calloway’s buttons.

I open it and step outside, breathing in the cool evening air. The sky is a deep blue now, the sun dipping below the horizon. Streetlights flicker on, casting pools of yellow onto the pavement.

And there he is.

Through his window, I catch a glimpse of Soren moving inside—washing his hands at the kitchen sink.

I don’t know why I do it, but before I can talk myself out of it, I step onto his porch, balancing a plate of homemade cookies in one hand.

I raise my hand and knock.

The sound is firm, unapologetic.

A pause.

Then the door swings open.

Soren stands in the doorway, one brow raised, his expression hovering somewhere between annoyed and bemused.

“Yes?”

I lift my chin. “You slammed the door in my face.”

He exhales, slow and measured. “I closed my door. There’s a difference.”

I arch a brow. “Right. And I’m sure you were just about to invite me in for coffee and a friendly chat.”

His lips press together. If he were any other man, I’d think he was fighting back a smirk. But this is Dr. Soren Calloway. He probably hasn’t smiled in years.

“Was there something you needed, Ms. Vance?”

I tap my fingers against my elbow. “Just curious—do you always greet new neighbors like that, or am I just special?”

His gaze flickers over me, assessing. “I don’t do small talk.”

“No kidding.”

Silence stretches between us. I hold his stare, refusing to back down even from those depthless, dark orbs.

Finally, he exhales sharply, stepping aside. “Would you like to come in?”

It’s clearly a test. He thinks I won’t. That I’ll shrink back, apologize for bothering him, and leave him alone.

Not a chance.

I step inside.

His house is immaculate, minimal, and entirely devoid of personality. The air smells faintly of soap and coffee. Clean but impersonal.

I glance around. “Wow. Cozy.”

He ignores the sarcasm. “Why are you here, Ms. Vance?”

“Talia.”

He exhales. “Talia.”

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