Page 68 of Crossing the Line
Harper didn't answer because she couldn't speak. Carmen was walking toward their table with purpose, ignoring the curious stares from other patrons. Each step brought her closer to Harper's carefully constructed emotional defenses, threatening to undo days of healing with her mere presence.
"Can we talk?" Carmen asked when she reached their table, her voice steady despite the obvious nerves.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Alice interjected before Harper could respond. "Harper's had a rough time, and showing up here uninvited?—"
"It's okay," Harper said quietly, finding her voice despite the chaos in her chest. She looked up at Carmen, taking in the slight tremor in her hands and the way she was holding herself with visible determination. "What do you want, Carmen?"
"To apologize—publicly—for being the biggest coward in Phoenix Ridge and almost losing the best thing that ever happened to me."
The words carried across the cafe with startling clarity, and Harper became aware that conversations at surrounding tables had quieted. The entire café seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
"You're drunk," Carmen said, noticing Harper's wine-flushed cheeks and the empty bottle on the table.
"Not drunk enough, apparently," Harper replied, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice. "Since I can still see you clearly."
Carmen winced at the barb but didn't retreat. Instead, she pulled out an empty chair and sat down without invitation, bringing herself to Harper's eye level.
"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," Carmen said, her voice carrying to the now-silent café. "I know I hurt you by choosing to flee over fighting for us. I know I treated what we had like it was something to be ashamed of instead of something worth celebrating."
Harper felt tears prick behind her eyes but refused to let them fall in front of half the Phoenix Ridge lesbian community. "Then why are you here?"
"Because I realized something watching you work this week. You've been thriving without me as you build professional relationships, earn respect from colleagues, and prove yoursurgical abilities have nothing to do with our personal connection." Carmen's voice grew stronger as she spoke. "You don't need my mentorship or protection. You never did."
"I could have told you that weeks ago," Harper said bitterly.
"You tried to. But I was too afraid to listen." Carmen leaned forward, her eyes never leaving Harper's face. "I spent so long protecting myself from professional betrayal that I became the one doing the betraying. I betrayed your trust, your love, and your faith that I could be brave enough to fight for us."
Around them, the café remained unnaturally quiet. Harper was acutely aware that this conversation was being witnessed by dozens of women, many of whom knew her story through community gossip networks. The attention should have made her uncomfortable, but instead it felt validating that Carmen was finally willing to be vulnerable in public.
"What changed?" Harper asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I watched you lead a surgical procedure today with the kind of confidence and skill that made other surgeons stop and take notice. I realized you're not the woman who needs my protection; you're the woman I've been too afraid to deserve." Carmen's voice cracked slightly. "And I can't live with myself if I don't fight for the chance to prove I can be worthy of your love."
"Carmen," Harper started, but Carmen held up a hand.
"Let me finish. Please." Carmen took a shaky breath, glancing around at their audience before continuing. "I love you, Harper. Not the brilliant intern or the promising surgeon, but you—the woman who makes me laugh, who challenges my assumptions, who sees possibilities where I see only problems. I want to build a life with you."
Harper's chest tightened with something that might have been hope. "What about all the professional complications? Your reputation? Your career?"
"I want us to face those challenges together. As equal partners." Carmen reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Harper's hand. "I want us to go to Dr. Mars together and be completely transparent about our relationship. I want to follow proper disclosure protocols and accept whatever administrative requirements come with this."
The proposal hung in the air between them, more intimate than any physical gesture. Carmen was offering partnership in the truest sense—shared risk, shared consequences, and shared decisions about their professional future.
"You're saying you want us to approach the administration together?" Harper asked, needing clarification despite the wine making her thoughts fuzzy.
"I'm saying I don't want to make another decision about our relationship without you. We face the consequences together, or we don't face them at all."
Harper looked around the café, taking in the faces of women who'd become her community over the past weeks. Some she recognized as regulars, others were newer faces, but all of them seemed invested in this moment. Lavender stood behind the bar, her expression warm with maternal approval.
"What about my mother?" Harper asked, remembering Natalie's fury.
"Your mother gave me her blessing to fight for you. She said your happiness matters more than her comfort with our relationship."
"She did?" Harper was genuinely taken by surprise.
"She did. After I explained that my feelings for you are real, not casual, and that I'm finally ready to prove it publicly."
Carmen stood from her chair and moved closer to Harper, close enough that Harper could smell her familiar perfume and see the gold flecks in her dark eyes.
