Page 45 of Crossing the Line
Harper glanced around the café, noting the couples who could touch casually and discuss their relationships without checking who might overhear, who existed in their love without apology or explanation.
"I'm seeing someone," Harper said quietly, the words feeling strange in her mouth. "Someone I care about deeply. But we have to keep it secret because of...professional complications."
Lavender nodded without judgment. "Workplace relationships can be tricky to navigate."
"It made sense when we agreed to it," Harper continued, taking a sip of wine that tasted like disappointment. "We both understood the necessity. But living it is harder than I expected."
"How so?"
Harper considered the question, trying to articulate feelings she was still sorting through. "I thought discretion would feel protective. Instead, it feels like disappearing from my own life. I can't share this huge part of my life with friends, I can't behonest about why I'm happy, I can't even look at her properly when other people are around."
"And she understands these feelings?"
Harper's pause lasted long enough to be an answer. "We haven't really discussed it since we made the agreement. She's focused on maintaining professional boundaries, which I understand and respect. But..."
"But you're starting to feel invisible," Lavender supplied gently.
"Yes." The admission came out with more force than Harper intended. "I spent my whole life feeling invisible, living in my mother's shadow and being defined by someone else's expectations. I thought I'd left all that behind when I moved here."
Lavender refilled Harper's glass, the gesture feeling maternal and supportive. "Tell me about your mother."
"She's brilliant, accomplished, and everything I've always wanted to become. But being her daughter means I'm never just Harper. I'm Dr. Langston's daughter, her legacy." Harper's voice carried years of complex love and frustration. "When I met... When I met this person, it was the first time someone saw me as just myself."
"And now?"
"Now I'm a secret again. Hidden for different reasons, but still hidden."
Lavender was quiet for a moment, studying Harper's profile. Around them, the café continued its evening rhythm, but their corner felt suspended in honest conversation.
"Can I ask you something?" Lavender said. "This person you're seeing, do they make you feel valued when you're alone together?"
Harper's expression softened immediately. "Yes. Completely. They see me, understand me, and make me feel like I matter in ways I've never experienced."
"But you need that recognition to extend beyond these private moments."
"I need to feel like I'm worth the risk," Harper said, the words surprising her with their clarity. "I need to know that what we have is important enough to eventually fight for, not just hide from."
Lavender leaned forward slightly, her voice taking on the gentle authority of someone who'd guided many difficult conversations. "Harper, there's a difference between patience and accepting less than you deserve. Patience means waiting for the right time to build something real. Accepting less means convincing yourself that partial love is enough."
The words hit Harper like a revelation. "How do you know the difference?"
"You ask yourself: Is this secrecy protecting something precious while it grows, or is it protecting someone else from having to take responsibility for their feelings?" Lavender's eyes were kind but direct. "Are you building toward something better, or are you building around someone else's limitations?"
Harper set down her wine glass, her hands slightly unsteady. "I love her," she said quietly. "I love her enough to be patient. But I don't want to love her so much that I disappear again."
"Love shouldn't require you to make yourself smaller," Lavender said firmly. "The right person will want to celebrate you openly, not just privately. They'll want to protect your heart, not hide it."
"But the professional complications are real," Harper protested. "She's not just being cowardly. There are genuine risks."
"Of course there are." Lavender's voice remained gentle. "But the question isn't whether risks exist. The question is whether she's willing to face those risks for you or whether she expects you to carry the burden of hiding alone."
Harper felt something shift in her chest, not quite anger but a growing clarity about what she needed. "She's been hurt before, professionally and personally. I think she's more afraid than she admits."
"Fear is understandable," Lavender agreed. "But fear that paralyzes isn't the same as caution that protects. One leads to growth, the other leads to stagnation."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Harper processing the conversation while watching the easy intimacy around them. A couple at the bar was planning their weekend, voices low but unguarded. Two women near the back were holding hands across a small table, discussing something serious but facing it together.
"What would it look like," Lavender asked, "if you demanded to be loved openly?"
