Page 4 of A Prescription to My Heart

He doesn’t even look back.

Unbelievable.

“Right,” I say, biting back a sigh. “Well, great chat. Have a wonderful day, Dr. Calloway.”

And as I watch him disappear down the hall, I come to a single, undeniable conclusion: Soren Calloway is a grump.

And unfortunately for me, he’s my neighbor.

I watch him disappear into one of the patient rooms.

I let out a slow breath, pushing away the annoyance curling in my gut.

It’s fine. He’s just like this. Don’t take it personally.

I return to charting on the computer, but only a few moments later, a voice cuts through the ward.Hisvoice.

“Nurse Vance.”

It’s the first time he’s said my name, and for some reason, it makes me freeze and look up with my full attention.

I see Soren standing in the doorway of the patient’s room, one eyebrow raised, clipboard tucked against his chest.

I force a smile. “Oh, so youdoknow my name. Thought I imagined introducing myself.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I need vitals and an update in here.”

I blink. “That patient doesn’t need surgery,” I say.

He scowls. “She will if Dr. Liem can’t take five minutes from golf to actually step foot in this hospital. Vitals. Now.”

Of course. The mighty Dr. Soren Calloway thinks he runs this hospital. Surgical patient or not—he’s not about to let a sick child go unattended. Dr. Liem is notoriously flaky. I suppose it’s an endearing sign, a surgical attending showing this much care forallpatients.

Still. A “please” would be nice.

I exhale through my nose. “Right. On it,Your Highness.”

I wasn’t being quiet, but he doesn’t react. Just turns and disappears back into the room.

I finish charting as much as I can on another patient, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”

Angela, one of the other nurses, snorts. “You talking about Calloway?”

“Who else? Man’s got the bedside manner of a rock.”

Angela smirks. “He’s not as bad as he used to be.”

I give her a look.

She shrugs. “Okay, maybe he is. But he’s good at what he does.”

I sigh. “Yeah, well, so is a robot.”

By the time I step into Room 7, Soren is at the bedside, flipping through the patient’s chart. The girl in the bed, Olivia, is seven years old, small for her age, with a mop of dark curls and big brown eyes.

“Hey, Liv,” I say, walking in with a bright smile. “How’s my favorite patient?”

She grins. “I learned a new joke.”

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