Page 30 of Crossing the Line
She typed back: “Yes, come over. I'll provide coffee and emotional support.”
The lie came easily, but it felt different from the lies she'd told at Lavender's. This was self-preservation rather than deception, protecting something fragile and new that couldn't survive scrutiny from well-meaning colleagues.
Harper changed out of her scrubs into jeans and a soft sweater, catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked different than she had a week ago, less like someone performing competence and more like someone who'd earned it. The trauma response had proven something to herself as muchas to Carmen: she belonged in that environment, making life-or-death decisions with steady hands and clear thinking.
But more than professional confidence, something deeper had shifted. Working beside Carmen hadn't felt like mentorship or even partnership. It had felt like coming home to a person she'd been searching for without knowing she was lost.
The realization should have terrified her. Instead, it settled in her chest like warmth, solid and sustaining. She wasn't just attracted to Carmen anymore, wasn't just grateful for professional guidance or eager to repair the damage from her lies. This was something that made her want to become worthy of Carmen's trust and affection—not just professionally, but as a woman worth loving.
Harper moved through her apartment, straightening cushions and clearing space for her colleagues, but her attention remained anchored to the memory of Carmen's voice saying "we need to figure this out." The words carried promise beneath their careful neutrality, acknowledgment that whatever existed between them was too significant to ignore.
Outside her window, Phoenix Ridge was settling into its evening routines. Harbor fog crept in from the water, softening the edges of buildings and streetlights. Normal people living normal lives, none of them navigating the complexity of falling for someone they'd already hurt with their carefully constructed lies.
But Harper was no longer the woman who'd lied about her name and age to feel powerful for one night. She was someone who'd proven herself under pressure, earned respect through competence, and discovered that the most dangerous thing about Carmen wasn't her professional authority, but how naturally Harper fit beside her and how right it felt to build something together.
Her doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of her colleagues and the performance of normalcy she'd need to maintain for the next few hours. Harper took a steadying breath to calm her nerves, then went to open the door.
Alice walked in the apartment with the energy of someone who'd survived another day in the surgical trenches and lived to tell about it. Behind her, Piper carried two pizza boxes and wore the slightly shell-shocked expression that seemed to be their collective first-week uniform.
"Thank god for caffeine and carbs," Alice said as she settled onto Harper's couch with her usual dramatic flair. "I was starting to think medical school was a fever dream I’d imagined and somehow stumbled into a very expensive form of sanctioned torture."
"Dr. Parker made me suture the same incisionfourtimes today," Piper said, accepting the coffee Harper offered. "Four times. I'm pretty sure my hands are going to cramp permanently into a suturing position."
Harper sat criss-crossed in the armchair across from them, cradling her own mug like a shield. "At least you're getting hands-on experience. How's trauma surgery treating you otherwise?"
"Terrifying and incredible," Piper replied immediately. "She's demanding, but when you watch her work—god, Harper, she saved three lives today during that fire responseandmade it look effortless."
"I heard you were part of that response," Alice said, leaning forward with interest. "Working with Dr. Méndez on the cardiac trauma. How was that?"
Harper's grip tightened slightly around her coffee mug. "Educational. She's very skilled."
"That's it? Educational?" Alice's eyebrows rose. "Come on, she's legendary. Half the cardiac surgeons on the East Coasttrained under techniques she developed. What's she like to work with?"
"Professional," Harper said carefully. "Precise. She expects excellence and provides clear guidance on how to achieve it."
The words felt hollow compared to the reality of Carmen's steady presence beside her and the way she'd explained cardiac procedures with genuine passion, not to mention the moment in the on-call room when professional distance had dissolved completely. But Harper couldn't share any of that without revealing the complexity underlying every interaction.
"You're being very diplomatic," Piper observed. "Rumor has it she's brilliant but intimidating. Is it true?"
Harper considered the question, searching for honesty that wouldn't expose too much. "She's demanding because the work requires it. Cardiac surgery doesn't allow for mediocrity. But she's not intimidating for the sake of intimidation. She just expects you to meet the standards the specialty demands."
"Spoken like someone who's actually worked with her," Alice said with approval. "Most of us are still getting secondhand stories from residents who are too exhausted to be coherent."
They spent the next hour dissecting their various supervisors' teaching styles, sharing horror stories from their first week, and comparing notes on hospital politics. Harper participated in the familiar rhythm of intern bonding, but part of her attention remained focused on the memory of their shared space in the on-call room.
"You've been quiet tonight," Alice observed as Piper gathered her things to leave. "Everything okay? You seemed more...I don't know, distracted than usual."
Harper forced a smile. "Just processing. It's been an intense week."
"Tell me about it," Piper said, shouldering her bag. "I feel like I'm drinking from a fire hose while someone throws medical terminology at my head."
After they left, Harper found herself alone with the lingering scent of pizza and the weight of conversations she couldn't have. Alice's questions about Carmen had been natural, friendly curiosity about a respected attending physician. But Harper couldn't explain that working with Carmen felt like discovering a missing piece of herself or that every professional interaction carried the undercurrent of something much more personal.
She cleaned up the remnants of their study session, but her movements were automatic. Her mind remained fixed on the measured way Carmen had pulled back from their kiss and the promise in her voice when she'd said they needed to figure this out. Harper had spent so much energy trying to manage the disaster of her lies that she'd almost missed the most important development: Carmen wasn't running from what existed between them anymore.
The apartment felt different after her colleagues left—not empty, but expectant. As if it, too, was waiting for whatever came next. Harper settled onto her couch and pulled out her phone, scrolling through cardiac journal articles she should read. But her attention wouldn't focus on anything beyond the growing certainty that tomorrow would bring her closer to Carmen and closer to discovering whether the connection between them could survive the foundation of honesty they were both finally brave enough to build.
Harper stared at the same paragraph about arterial reconstruction techniques for the third time, the words blurring together on her phone screen. The latest issue of theJournal of Cardiothoracic Surgeryshould have captured her attention—especially an article about minimally invasive procedures thatCarmen had contributed to—but her mind kept drifting to the way Carmen’s soft lips felt pressed against hers.
