2. Soren
Chapter 2
Soren
T he hospital never slows down. Not really. It moves in waves—high tides of emergencies, low tides of paperwork—but it never stops. I prefer it this way. The noise, the movement, the constant demand for my attention. It keeps my mind occupied and my hands busy.
I don’t have time for distractions.
Which is why I don’t give Talia Vance a second thought after our first encounter.
Or at least, I try not to.
She’s just another nurse. A competent one, from what I’ve seen. Aiming to move up from med surg to scrub nurse. Still. She talks too much. Challenges her superiors too easily. And for some reason, I can still hear her voice in my head, dripping with sarcasm.
“Oh, so you do know my name.”
I rub my temple, irritated.
I don’t owe her an apology. I was short with her, yes, but I don’t have time for idle chitchat, especially with someone who clearly enjoys pushing buttons.
I glance at the time—12:43 p.m. I have back-to-back consults, a transplant surgery in two hours, and at some point, I need to check in on Marigold.
My in-laws have been circling like vultures, waiting for any excuse to drag her away. Even with my busy schedule, I have to be a present and attentive father. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost custody of my daughter.
The last thing I need is a nurse with too many opinions taking up space in my head.
I push the thought aside and step into the next pre-op patient’s room.
By the time I make it back to the nurses’ station, I’ve already performed two consults, signed off on three post-op reports, and spoken exactly zero unnecessary words. Efficient. Controlled. Perfect.
Then I see her.
Talia Vance.
She’s reviewing a chart, lips pressed together in concentration. A stray strand of golden blonde hair has escaped from her ponytail, brushing against her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear, frowning at the computer screen.
I should keep walking. I should move past her without a second glance.
Instead, I stop.
I don’t know why I say her name. Maybe because I need an update. Maybe because ignoring her feels like giving her too much power.
“Nurse Vance.”
She turns, emerald eyes sharp. “Yes, Dr. Calloway?”
I exhale slowly. “Room three. Vitals.”
She tilts her head, appraising me like I’m a particularly uncooperative patient. “Playing Super Surgeon again, Dr. Calloway? You know, there’s a whole sentence structure that includes ‘please’ and ‘thank you.”
There it is. Brazen disregard for her superiors. “Room three,” I repeat.
Her lips twitch like she wants to argue, but—amazingly—doesn’t. “Right. On it, Your Highness. ”
I watch her go, more annoyed with myself now. How could I let this woman get under my skin?
Fifteen minutes later, Talia finds me again.
“Vitals are stable,” she says, crossing her arms. “Pain’s under control. No fever, tolerating fluids. Anything else, Your Majesty? ”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why are you like this?”
She grins. “Like what?”
“Difficult.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” Talia leans against the counter, eyes glinting with amusement. “You walk around like you have a personal vendetta against human interaction. Someone says ‘good morning,’ and you act like they just insulted your entire bloodline.”
I sigh. “I don’t do small talk.”
“No kidding. Is it a personal policy or just a general lack of social skills?”
I stare at her, debating whether to answer. She stares right back, clearly enjoying herself.
I turn back to my paperwork, hoping that’s the end of it.
It isn’t.
Talia leans closer. “So, is this, like, a thing with you? The whole brooding, unapproachable genius act? Because I gotta say, it’s very clichéd.”
I close my eyes briefly, summoning patience. “Nurse Talia.”
“Yes, Dr. Calloway? ”
I level her with a look. “Go do your job.”
She lets out a mock gasp. “But I thought my job was to cater to your every whim?”
I turn, walking away before I say something I’ll regret.
But her laughter follows me down the hall.
And for some reason, it sticks.
***
The giggling reaches me before I even get to the backyard.
Light. Carefree. Familiar .
Marigold.
But there’s another voice too—smooth, rich, amused.
Talia.
I stop midstride, my grip tightening on my briefcase. I’ve had a long day. Six hours of back-to-back surgeries, three emergency consults, and exactly one cup of coffee. I am not in the mood for surprises.
Yet, as I round the patio, I find exactly that.
Talia is at my table.
And my daughter is beside her, pink straw in her mouth, grinning like she’s known Talia for years. A pitcher of lemonade sits between them, sweating in the late afternoon heat. Two glasses.
Like this is normal .
I drop my briefcase on the patio with a sharp thud.
Marigold turns, her eyes lighting up. “Daddy!”
The delighted cry makes Talia glance up, but she doesn’t jolt, doesn’t look embarrassed or apologetic. If anything, she looks amused .
“Dr. Calloway,” she says, tilting her glass toward me. “Rough day?”
I don’t answer immediately. I’m too busy staring at my daughter, in my backyard, laughing. I drop my keys on the table with a little more force than necessary.
“Apparently,” I snap.
Marigold hops down, rushing to me. I crouch, catching her as she collides into my chest. Her little arms wrap around my neck, her scent—vanilla and something sugary from her favorite bubble bath soap—filling my nose.
“You’re late,” she says, pulling back with a pout. “You missed lemonade.”
I glance at the table, at the half-empty pitcher sweating in the heat. “You made lemonade?”
Talia taps her glass. “We did. She’s got an excellent stirring technique.”
Marigold giggles. “I only spilled a little bit.”
I arch a brow. “Define a little bit .”
She bites her lip, clearly debating whether to confess.
Talia beats her to it. “There was a minor flood situation. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
I exhale slowly, setting Marigold down. “So, now you’re hosting lemonade parties in my backyard and talking to strangers?”
She frowns. “But, Daddy—”
“Marigold,” I say, voice low, measured. “Inside.”
Marigold huffs, turning away from me. She doesn’t argue, but does linger for a second, shooting Talia a hesitant glance before walking inside.
I wait until the door clicks shut before turning to Talia.
She takes a slow sip of lemonade, watching me over the rim of her glass.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. “Where is the nanny?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Nice to see you too.”
I don’t respond. I want answers.
Talia sighs, setting her glass down. “Relax, Your Highness. Nina had an emergency and tried to call you, but I guess you’re too busy being brilliant to notice. I heard her getting frantic while unpacking groceries. I came over and explained that we work at the hospital together, and Marigold explained that she knows me. It really was an urgent situation. Something you probably should’ve picked up the phone for…”
I hesitate, wanting to check my phone to prove her wrong, but she goes on.
“Nina also texted you, just so you don’t get angry at the poor girl. After Nina left Marigold saw I had lemons, got excited, and asked if we could make lemonade. What was I supposed to do? Say no?”
“Yes.”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. I should’ve turned away the tiny eight-year-old with big, pleading eyes.”
I exhale through my nose. “She doesn’t talk to strangers.”
Talia smirks. “Well, good thing I’m not a stranger.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. I don’t like that answer.
Marigold doesn’t get attached easily. She clings to routines, keeps people at arm’s length. It took her nearly a year to let my mother hug her without pulling away. And yet, here she is, warming up to Talia like she’s known her forever and not just for a few vaccines.
I don’t trust it. I don’t trust her .
Talia stands, stretching lazily. I force my gaze away, back to her face. She catches it. Of course, she does.
Her smirk deepens. “Something wrong, Doctor ?”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t need you interfering.”
She cocks her head, faux-thoughtful. “Funny. Because from where I’m standing, you could use the help.”
I take a step closer, crowding her space. She doesn’t move back.
“You don’t know anything about me or my family,” I say quietly.
Talia’s eyes flicker, something unreadable passing through them. “No,” she agrees. “But I know your daughter. And she likes me.”
That shouldn’t bother me. But it does.
More than it should.
I exhale sharply, stepping back. “Stay out of my family’s business.”
Talia’s lips twitch. “Maybe if you moved, I could leave.”
But before I can react, she brushes past me. I catch the scent of lemons and something softer—lavender, maybe.
I turn, watching her walk through the gate, the easy sway of her hips, the effortless confidence.
I don’t need this. Yet, as she disappears inside her house, I realize my jaw is clenched. When I realize I’m still staring after the spot where she disappeared, I exhale sharply and force myself to turn away.
How is Talia Vance getting under my skin so easily?