Page 47 of Crossing the Line
Carmen's pulse quickened at the sound of Harper's voice, lower and more intimate than it ever was during hospital hours. "I needed to think." The words came out rougher than she intended, and Carmen swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in her throat. "About tomorrow. About what you want to discuss."
Harper moved closer, her footsteps soft on the garden pathways. The stars cast her face in warm shadows, highlighting the determined set of her jaw that Carmen had learned to recognize when Harper was about to challenge something important.
"I didn't mean to ambush you," Harper said, settling onto the bench beside Carmen without asking permission. She was close enough that Carmen could smell the faint scent of hospital antiseptic mixed with the floral perfume Harper wore beneath her scrubs. "But when I saw your car..."
"You wanted to talk now." Carmen's hands trembled slightly as she set her phone aside, the small device suddenly feeling too heavy for her grip. "Before tomorrow."
"I wanted to see you," Harper corrected, and the simple honesty in her voice made Carmen's chest constrict with something that felt dangerously close to panic. "Without having to pretend we're nothing more than attending and intern. Without having to calculate every word and gesture."
Carmen stared out at the harbor, watching fog creep closer to shore like a physical manifestation of the suffocating feeling building behind her ribs. "Harper, whatever you're planning to say tomorrow?—"
"I'm not planning anything," Harper interrupted, her voice carrying a confidence that made Carmen's stomach flutter with nerves. "I'm just going to be honest about what I need and what we both deserve."
The word "deserve" hit Carmen like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and she felt heat flood her cheeks despite the cooling evening air. Harper wasn't asking for permission or apologizing for wanting more. She was stating expectations, assuming Carmen would want to meet them.
"You texted me," Carmen said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was different from our usual messages."
"Because this is different." Harper turned to face her fully, and Carmen could see the gold flecks in her dark eyes even in the dim lighting. "We're different. Or at least, I am."
Carmen's throat felt like it was closing, making each word an effort. "What's changed?"
Harper was quiet for a moment, studying Carmen's face with an intensity that made her want to look away. But she couldn't. Harper's gaze held her like gravity, inescapable and absolute.
"I realized that hiding from everyone else means I'm hiding from myself too," Harper said finally. "And I'm tired of disappearing just because loving you feels complicated."
The confession sent electricity through Carmen's nervous system, making her hands shake and her heart hammer against her ribs so hard she wondered if Harper could hear it in the quiet evening air. Harper had said it so simply, so directly: loving you.
"The professional complications—" Carmen started, but Harper's hand found hers, warm fingers interlacing with cold ones.
"Are real," Harper agreed. "But so is this. So are we. And I'm not willing to pretend otherwise anymore."
Carmen looked down at their joined hands, Harper's thumb tracing gentle circles across her knuckles. The touch should have been comforting, but instead it made the pressure in her chest intensify until breathing felt like work.
"I don't know how to do this," Carmen admitted, the words scraping her throat raw. "I don't know how to want someone this much without losing everything else."
Harper's grip tightened slightly, anchoring Carmen to the present moment instead of letting her spiral into worst-case scenarios. "You don't have to figure it out alone," Harper said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. We can figure it out together."
The fog had crept closer while they talked, beginning to soften the harsh edges of the city lights below. Soon, PhoenixRidge would be blanketed in silence, the kind of weather that made private conversations feel sacred and protected from the outside world.
Carmen turned to meet Harper's gaze directly, and what she saw there made her stomach drop and soar simultaneously. Harper looked at her with the same intensity Carmen remembered from their first night at Lavender's, but now it was layered with something deeper: recognition. Harper saw her fear, her vulnerability, her desperate desire to be brave enough for what they could build together.
"Tomorrow night," Carmen said, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice despite the chaos in her chest, "when you come over, what exactly are you going to ask me for?"
Harper's smile was soft but unwavering. "Everything," she said simply. "I'm going to ask you for everything, Carmen. Because that's what you deserve, too, even if you're too afraid to ask for it yourself."
The words hit Carmen like a wave, stealing her breath and making spots dance at the edges of her vision. Harper wasn't just demanding more for herself; she was offering to fight for them both.
Carmen felt tears prick behind her eyes and a lump forming in her throat that made speaking impossible. All she could do was nod, squeezing Harper's hand like a lifeline, and hope that when tomorrow came, she'd be brave enough to deserve what Harper was willing to give.
The fog had wrapped around them like a cocoon, muffling the distant sounds of the city and creating an intimate bubble on the rooftop garden. Carmen could barely make out the harbor lights through the haze, but Harper's presence beside her felt more vivid than ever—the warmth radiating from her body, the soft sound of her breathing, the way her thumb continued its gentle rhythm against Carmen's knuckles.
"Tell me what 'everything' means," Carmen said, her voice hoarse with the weight of unshed tears. "Because I need to know what you're asking for before I—" She stopped, swallowing hard against the panic rising in her throat.
Harper shifted on the bench, angling her body to face Carmen more directly. The movement brought their knees together, a point of contact that sent heat shooting through Carmen's nervous system despite the cooling evening air.
"I want to be able to text you good morning without coding it in professional language," Harper said, her voice steady but gentle. "I want to have dinner together without worrying about who might see us at a restaurant. I want to tell my friends about the woman I'm falling in love with instead of deflecting every question about my personal life."
Each word hit Carmen like a physical blow, making her chest tighten until she felt like she was drowning in open air. Her free hand pressed against her sternum, trying to ease the pressure building there.
