Page 9 of Crossing the Line
"Ridiculous?"
"Endearing."
The admission hung between them, more intimate than it should have been. Carmen felt heat rise in her cheeks and was grateful for the darkness.
"What about you?" Hailey asked. "What wouldn't I guess about the composed Dr. Carmen?"
The question should have triggered her usual deflection protocols. Instead, she found herself saying, "I wanted to be a pianist when I was younger. Classical. I still play sometimes when I can't sleep."
"Do you have a piano?"
"Baby grand. Takes up half my living room."
"I'd like to hear you play sometime."
The casual assumption of future interaction should have alarmed her. Instead, it sent warmth spiraling through her chest. When had she started wanting things she couldn't control?
Carmen turned onto her street, where Victorian townhouses lined both sides in neat, expensive rows. Hers was third from the corner—tasteful gray with white trim, professional landscaping,and a security system that probably cost more than most people's cars.
"This is you," Hailey said as Carmen pulled into the driveway. It wasn't a question.
"How did you know?"
"Everything is perfectly maintained but not ostentatious. It’s beautiful but private." Hailey's voice dropped lower. "Like its owner."
Carmen cut the engine and sat for a moment in the silence. Her townhouse rose before them, every window dark, every line precise. It looked exactly like what it was: the home of someone who lived alone and preferred it that way.
Except tonight, she didn't prefer it that way.
"Are you sure about this?" Carmen asked, and she wasn't entirely certain which of them she was asking.
Hailey's hand found hers across the center console, warm and steady. "I'm sure if you are."
Carmen looked at their joined hands, then up at her empty house, then back at Hailey's patient face. She could still change her mind. Drive Hailey home, exchange polite goodnights, and return to her controlled, predictable, lonely life.
But the woman beside her looked at her like she was worth taking risks for, and Carmen couldn't remember the last time anyone had done that.
"Come on," she said, opening her door. "Let me show you my piano."
She led Hailey inside. The entryway was all clean lines and neutral tones: a mirror, a console table, and a single orchid in a white ceramic pot. Everything precisely where it should be, nothing to suggest the chaos currently spiraling through her chest.
"Would you like some wine?" The question came out automatically, her hostess programming kicking in.
"I think we've both had enough wine for one evening." Hailey's voice carried gentle amusement. "But I wouldn't say no to water."
Carmen moved toward the kitchen, grateful for the familiar task. Her hands knew where everything was without thinking—glasses in the third cabinet, filtered water from the refrigerator door. Behind her, she could hear Hailey moving through the living room, probably taking in the space that revealed so much about Carmen's carefully controlled life.
"You weren't kidding about the piano," Hailey said.
Carmen turned to find her standing beside the baby grand, fingers hovering just above the keys without touching. The respect for the instrument made something warm unfurl in Carmen's chest.
"It was my grandmother's." She handed Hailey the water glass, their fingers brushing in the exchange. "She was the one who taught me to play."
"Was she a musician?"
"A teacher. But she played every evening after dinner. Said it helped her sort through the day." Carmen found herself moving closer to the piano, drawn by memory and Hailey's genuine interest. "After she died, I couldn't bring myself to sell it."
"Of course not." Hailey's voice was soft. "It's beautiful. The whole space is beautiful."
