Page 67 of Crossing the Line
"There was someone," Harper said finally, the words coming out rougher than intended. "Someone I thought I had a future with. But it turned out she valued her reputation more than she valued me."
"Ouch." Piper's expression shifted to genuine sympathy. "How long were you together?"
"Not long enough to matter, apparently." Harper drained her wine glass and reached for the bottle. "A few weeks. But it felt...significant. Like maybe I'd found something real."
"What happened?" Alice asked gently.
Harper considered how much truth to share. Her friends knew nothing about Carmen, the professional complications that had made their relationship feel impossible, or the way Carmen had looked at her like she was both everything and nothing simultaneously.
"She got scared," Harper said, which was true enough. "When things got complicated, she chose the easy path instead of fighting for us."
"Her loss," Piper said firmly. "Anyone who doesn't fight for you doesn't deserve you."
The words were meant to be comforting, but they made Harper's chest ache with fresh recognition of everything Carmen had been too afraid to risk. Harper had been ready to face professional complications, family disapproval, and community gossip. Carmen had retreated at the first sign of real challenge.
"The worst part," Harper continued, surprising herself with her honesty, "is that Iknowshe felt something real. It wasn't just physical attraction or convenience. There were moments when she looked at me like I was exactly what she'd been searching for her whole life."
"But?" Alice prompted.
"But when it came time to choose between her safe, controlled life and taking a risk for love, she chose safety." Harper's voice carried the bitterness she'd been trying to swallow for days. "She treated our relationship like something disposable that could be tossed aside instead of something worth fighting for."
Around them, the community celebration continued with the kind of joyful energy Harper wished she could feel. Lavender moved between tables with her usual warmth, checking on customers who felt more like family. The older woman caught Harper's eye and offered an encouraging smile that suggested she remembered their previous conversations about love and worthiness.
"You know what?" Harper said, raising her refilled glass with sudden determination. "Here's to women who are too cowardly to fight for love. May they enjoy their perfectly controlled, emotionally sterile lives."
"Harper," Piper said gently, "maybe we should slow down on the wine?—"
"I'm fine," Harper insisted, though her voice carried an edge that suggested otherwise. "I'm celebrating my freedom from someone who saw loving me as a professional liability."
Alice and Piper exchanged concerned glances over Harper's head, the kind of look that passed between friends who recognized when someone was going too far down an unhealthy path.
"How about we get some food?" Alice suggested. "Lavender's got those amazing flatbreads tonight, and I'm pretty sure wine tastes better with actual sustenance."
Harper nodded absently, her attention drifting back to the couples around them. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of what she'd lost—or more accurately, what she'd never really had. Carmen's love had been conditional, contingent on circumstances that were impossible to maintain.
Harper had been ready to risk everything for what they'd built together. Carmen had been ready to risk nothing. The realization made her feel tired and foolish.
"Maybe I should go home," Harper said, but her voice lacked conviction. The thought of returning to her empty apartment felt more depressing than staying here drowning her sorrows in wine.
"Not yet," Piper said firmly. "Give the evening a chance. Sometimes the best things happen when we're not expecting them."
The purple door opened with a soft chime that cut through the ambient noise of celebration, drawing Harper's attention. She looked up expecting to see another community member arriving fashionably late, but instead found herself staring at the last person she'd expected to see.
Carmen stood in the doorway, scanning the crowd. She was still wearing her work clothes—tailored slacks and a burgundy blouse that brought out the amber flecks in her dark eyes—but something fundamental had changed. Gone was the careful control Carmen usually wore like armor. Instead, she looked nervous, determined, and completely out of her comfort zone.
"Hey, isn't that Dr. Méndez from cardiology?" Alice said, glancing toward the door with mild curiosity. "I wonder what she's doing here."
Harper's throat went dry. Carmen had spotted her across the crowded café, and their eyes met with the kind of electric recognition that made Harper's pulse spike despite days of trying to forget how it felt to be seen by this woman.
Alice and Piper turned back to Harper and immediately noticed her reaction—the way all color had drained from her face and the way her hand had gone still around her wine glass.
"Harper?" Piper asked, concern creeping into her voice. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Oh my god," Alice breathed, understanding dawning in her expression as she looked between Harper and Carmen. "She's the one, isn't she? Dr. Méndez is the woman who broke your heart."
"Harper." Carmen's voice carried across the space between them, clear enough to cut through conversation at nearby tables. Several community members turned to look, sensing drama unfolding.
"What is she doing here?" Piper asked under her breath, her protective instincts clearly activated.
