Page 16 of A Prescription to My Heart

Marigold grins. “She’s a really good cook, Dad.”

Traitor.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “Fine. Whatever. But next time, youaskbefore inviting people over.”

Marigold beams. “So that means Icaninvite her again?”

I glare at Talia. “No.”

“We’ll see,” Talia says with a smile.

She’s insufferable.

And worse?

I can’t stop watching her.

She moves around my kitchen with a confidence that gets under my skin. Every time she laughs with Marigold, my stomach tightens. Every time she brushes flour off her jeans, my gaze follows the movement.

I don’t want to notice these things.

But I do.

And when she finally turns to face me, her laughter still lingering in the air, I catch myself staring at the way her lips move, the curve of her smile, the sway of her hair.

I clench my jaw. I don’t need complications.

AndTalia Vanceis a complication I can’t afford.

***

The food smells better than I want to admit.

Talia sets a steaming dish of pasta in the center of the table, the sauce thick and rich, glistening under the warm overhead light. A golden-brown garlic bread rests beside it, the scent of butter and herbs curling in the air, teasing something in my stomach I refuse to acknowledge.

Marigold is already reaching for a slice, her small fingers tearing a piece before I’ve even sat down.

“Slow down,Goldie,” I warn.

She grins, unbothered, shoving a bite into her mouth. “It’s so good.”

Talia smirks as she settles into the chair across from me, her posture relaxed. I don’t like it. I don’t like the way my daughter is practically bouncing in her seat, or how easily Talia has slipped into our space, filling it with something dangerous: warmth.

I clear my throat. “Let’s get this over with.”

Talia doesn’t even blink. “Wow. High praise.”

I ignore her, stabbing my fork into the pasta. The first bite is an assault of flavors—garlic, tomato, something smoky that lingers on my tongue. It’sgood. Annoyingly so.

Marigold is already shoveling her second bite in. “Talia, you have to come over every night.”

Talia chuckles. “I don’t think your dad would survive that.”

“Finally, something we agree on,” I mutter.

Talia chuckles and takes a sip of water, watching me in amusement. “Careful, Calloway. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

I exhale, setting my fork down. “Don’t push your luck.”

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