9. Talia
Chapter 9
Talia
M arigold’s room is a world of its own.
Soft pink walls, glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, books stacked in uneven piles, and a bed overflowing with stuffed animals. The warm, bubbly scent of children’s shampoo lingers in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of the rain that’s begun to fall outside.
I don’t realize how much time has passed until I glance at the clock on her nightstand.
Almost ten.
Ooops.
I sit up, brushing strands of Marigold’s curls from my lap. “Okay, kiddo. I should head home.”
Marigold’s head snaps up from where she’s been braiding her doll’s hair. Her bottom lip juts out immediately. “No.”
I sigh, trying to ignore how big her eyes suddenly look. “Marigold—”
A clap of thunder shakes the room. She gasps, launching herself into my arms so fast I nearly topple backward.
“I don’t like storms,” she mumbles against my chest.
My heart squeezes.
I hesitate, glancing toward the window. The rain is hammering against the glass, the wind howling as lightning flashes across the sky.
I might live close, but walking even a few dozen yards in this wouldn’t be the wisest decision.
And she’s scared.
I sigh, rubbing Marigold’s back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s just a storm, sweetheart. It’ll pass.”
Another crack of thunder. She clutches me harder.
“Stay,” she whispers. “Please?”
Her fingers curl into the fabric of my dress. I exhale, glancing toward the door.
Where is Soren?
The thought of walking out and facing him, of telling him I’m staying—possibly for the night—twists something in my chest.
His coldness I can deal with, but him acting all nice and human, I don’t think I can handle. He was already looking at me differently earlier. Making me feel things I don’t want to feel.
But Marigold is trembling against me, her tiny frame shaking every time the thunder rolls.
And that decides it.
I shift, kicking off my heels and pulling back the covers of her bed. “Alright, get in, Goldie.”
Marigold lights up instantly. “Really?”
“Really.”
She scrambles under the blankets, making space for me. I climb in, pulling the covers over us as she snuggles close.
“Thanks, Talia.”
I smooth her curls away from her forehead. “Anytime.”
Another flash of lightning. Another clap of thunder. But Marigold burrows into my side, already drifting.
I stay still, listening to the storm outside, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding.
Trying to ignore the fact that Soren is just down the hall. And that sooner or later, I’ll have to face him.
Rain lashes against the windows, wind howling through the night, rattling the panes. The room is warm under the glow of a fairy nightlight, Marigold’s small body curled into mine, her steady breaths fanning against my arm.
She’s such a good kid. I can’t help but feel closer to her than even my own patients. Clever. Bright. Stubborn. It’s easy, caring for her.
And then, I hear it.
The creak of the door. The shift of footsteps. I know it’s him.
I feel the weight of Soren’s gaze, the sudden stillness in the air. He’s standing in the doorway, watching us. Watching me comfort his daughter.
My skin prickles. My heartbeat kicks up.
I should open my eyes. I should acknowledge him. But I stay perfectly still, my breaths slow and even, pretending to be asleep.
I’m not ready to face him. Not with Marigold wrapped around me like I belong here. Not with the heat of his presence pressing into the space like an unspoken question.
The room smells like shampoo and rain, and beneath it, something sharper—Soren’s cologne. Clean, crisp, familiar.
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he’s going to wake me. If he’s going to say something.
Instead, I hear the softest sigh. Then his footsteps retreat. The door clicks shut.
Only then do I let out a slow breath, my fingers unclenching from the sheets. My body is tight, coiled with something I don’t want to name.
I don’t know what’s worse—that he saw me like this, or that for one terrifying second…
I wanted him to stay.
The rain drums against the roof, a steady rhythm that matches the thoughts racing through my head. Marigold shifts slightly beside me, her tiny fingers curling into my shirt. She’s deep asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm raging outside—or the one inside me.
I can’t stop thinking about Soren.
Not as Dr. Soren Calloway, the brilliant, no-nonsense surgeon. Not as my neighbor who drives me crazy with his brooding silences and sharp glances. But as a father.
A father who tucks his daughter in at night. Who brushes the hair out of her face and listens to her endless stories. Who leaves work in the middle of the day just to make sure she’s okay.
I haven’t had much luck with men.
My last relationship ended in betrayal—three years wasted on someone who swore he loved me while lying through his teeth. Before that, it was an engagement that crashed and burned when I realized I was the only one making an effort. Two failed attempts at love, two times I got burned. I told myself I was done after that.
No more falling for the wrong men. No more letting myself hope.
But Soren…
I squeeze my eyes shut, frustration curling inside me.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to sit here and wonder what it would be like… to fall for a man like him.
A man who doesn’t just provide, but shows up. Who loves his daughter with an intensity that’s almost overwhelming. Who must have loved his late wife the same way.
I grew up watching my father love my mother that way. She was his world. He’d come home from work, pull her into his arms like they hadn’t seen each other in years. He never forgot a birthday, never missed a chance to make her laugh.
That kind of love—the steady, unwavering kind—I always thought I’d have that one day. But life had other plans.
Now, lying here in the dark, feeling the soft rise and fall of Marigold’s breath, I can’t help but wonder: What if?
What if I let myself fall? What if I listened to that unsettled feeling, the building in my chest—the way my heart quickens when he looks at me with those dark eyes?
A light touch against my face startles me.
My eyes fly open, expecting to see Marigold stirring beside me, but instead, I find Soren.
He towers over me, his face half-shadowed by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. His fingers are still in my hair, frozen mid-motion where he just tucked a stray tress of hair away. I never heard him return.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
The silence between us thickens, stretching impossibly long. His eyes, dark and unreadable, stay locked on mine. There’s something in them—something that makes my pulse skip.
I try to swallow, but my throat is suddenly too dry.
"I thought you left," I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.
His fingers pull back slowly, grazing my temple, and my skin burns where he touched it.
“I did,” he says, low and rough. “But I came back.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I don’t understand why his voice makes my stomach tighten. Why his presence makes my skin hum with awareness.
I should look away. I should move. Leave. But I don’t.
I can’t.
All I can think about is how close he is. How the space between us feels charged, thick with something I don’t want to name.
Marigold sighs softly in her sleep, tucking tighter against my side, and it breaks the spell. Just enough for reality to snap back into place.
I am lying in this man’s daughter’s bed. While his eyes watch me down like I’m something he can’t quite figure out.
And it hits me all at once: I’m in trouble.