Page 4 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

This was the moment. Harper could step aside, offer another apology, and disappear into the café to nurse a wine glass alone. Exactly what Dr. Langston's daughter would do.

But Hailey wouldn't hesitate.

"Mind if I join you?" Harper heard herself ask. "I'm new to the neighborhood and still figuring out my way."

The words came out with just the right balance of confidence and vulnerability. Behind the bar, an older woman with silver hair tracked their interaction, offering a small smile that looked suspiciously like approval.

"I'm Hailey," Harper said as they stepped into the cool evening air. The lie felt natural on her tongue, as if she'd been practicing it for years instead of hours.

"Carmen."

Perfect. The name suited her—strong, elegant, slightly exotic. Harper filed it away as they moved to the railing overlooking the harbor, string lights creating pools of warm light against the gathering darkness.

The conversation flowed with dangerous ease. Carmen was guarded but not hostile, intelligent without being condescending, and when Harper asked what brought her to Phoenix Ridge, the lies spilled out like honey.

"Work, mostly. Healthcare administration." The deception was perfect—close enough to the truth that she wouldn't stumble over details, but vague enough to discourage follow-up questions. "I'm twenty-nine," she added when Carmen asked about starting over in a new city.

Twenty-nine sounded way better than twenty-six. More experienced and less likely to be dismissed.

Carmen revealed just enough to keep the conversation flowing.

She was a surgeon, had been in Phoenix Ridge long enough to call it home, and looked exhausted from a twelve-hour surgery that morning.

Each detail added to Harper's growing picture of a woman who'd built her life around professional achievement and careful control.

"That explains the steady hands," Harper said, letting her voice drop to something more intimate. "And probably the reason you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Carmen laughed—not a polite professional sound, but something genuine and surprised, as if she'd forgotten she was capable of spontaneous joy. The sound sent heat spiraling through Harper's chest.

The flirtation built naturally between them.

Harper tested boundaries with bold comments about how Carmen analyzed her and about life being too short for anything but directness.

Each gamble paid off, Carmen stepping closer instead of retreating, drawn by whatever she saw in Hailey's carefully constructed confidence.

Harper could see it in the way Carmen held herself—braced for disappointment, expecting careful handling from people who treated her like damaged goods. But Hailey looked at her like she was simply intriguing, not broken.

"Would you like to go back inside?" Carmen asked eventually. "I owe you a proper drink since I monopolized your fresh air time."

"I'd like that very much."

As they turned toward the café door, Harper felt the familiar thrill of a successful performance. Hailey was working exactly as intended: confident enough to be attractive, mysterious enough to be intriguing, and familiar enough to be trustworthy.

Carmen was looking at her like she'd forgotten what it felt like to want something beyond professional achievement. And Harper—Hailey—was exactly what she wanted.

The lies had never felt so much like freedom.

The warmth of Lavender's Café enveloped them as they stepped back inside, the contrast with the cool harbor air making Harper's skin tingle.

Or maybe that was Carmen's proximity, the way she moved through the space with quiet confidence, nodding to familiar faces while keeping Harper close beside her.

The silver-haired woman behind the bar—Lavender, Harper assumed—caught Carmen's eye and offered a knowing smile that made Harper's pulse quicken. There was something maternal in that look, approving, as if she recognized what was happening between them and gave it her blessing.

Harper let herself be guided back to Carmen's table near the window, where a woman with short dark hair sat alone, twirling an empty wine glass between her fingers. She looked up as they approached, her expression shifting from curious to pleased.

"Julia, this is Hailey," Carmen said, and Harper felt a little thrill at how naturally Carmen said the false name. "Hailey, my friend Julia."

"The one with opinions about work-life balance," Harper said, extending her hand. Julia's grip was firm and assessing, the handshake of someone accustomed to reading people quickly.

"Guilty as charged," Julia said, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Though I have to say, Carmen's looking more relaxed than she has in months."

Heat crept up Harper's neck, but she managed to keep her smile steady. "Good conversation and harbor views tend to have that effect."

They settled at the table, Carmen signaling Lavender for another round.

The wine arrived quickly, and Harper found herself relaxing into the rhythm of easy conversation.

Julia was clearly protective of Carmen but not possessive, asking questions about Harper's move to Phoenix Ridge that felt more like friendly curiosity than an interrogation.

Harper let Hailey's lies flow effortlessly: twenty-nine, healthcare administration, just moved from Portland for work. Each deception felt smoother than the last, building a picture of someone interesting but not threatening. Someone Carmen could be attracted to without complications.

The evening blurred together in the best possible way. More wine, laughter that felt genuine despite being built on fiction, and Carmen's hand brushing hers when she reached for her glass. Harper watched Carmen's shoulders relax and saw her control beginning to slip away.

"I should probably head home," Julia said eventually, checking her phone.

"Early shift tomorrow." She stood, gathering her jacket, then leaned down to kiss Carmen's cheek.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she murmured, but her smile suggested the boundaries of what Julia wouldn't do were fairly expansive.

After Julia left, the energy between them shifted into something more intimate and charged with possibility. Carmen's wine glass was empty and her cheeks slightly flushed, and when she looked at Harper, there was something in her eyes that made Harper's breath catch.

"I should probably go too," Harper said, though every cell in her body was screaming at her to stay. "I have a big week ahead."

"Starting a new job is always overwhelming," Carmen agreed, but she made no move to stand. "Where are you staying? I could give you a ride."

Harper had walked here from her apartment, wanting the time to build courage and enjoy the city. But admitting she lived close enough to walk felt too specific, too much like information that could be verified later.

"That's sweet of you, but I don't want to put you out."

"It's no trouble." Carmen's fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, a gesture that shouldn't have been erotic but somehow was. "Unless you'd rather not."

The invitation hung between them, layered with meaning. Harper could see the war playing out in Carmen's expression—professional caution battling with something that looked like hunger.

"Actually," Carmen said, her voice dropping lower, "would you like to come back to my place? For a drink, or coffee, or..." She trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished but the implication clear.

Harper's heart hammered against her ribs.

This was what she'd hoped for, but now that it was happening, the magnitude of it hit her like a wave.

Carmen was asking her home. Carmen, who was clearly successful and established and probably had no idea she was inviting a lying twenty-six-year-old intern into her bed.

But Hailey was twenty-nine, confident, and unattached. Hailey could say yes without complications.

"I'd like that," Harper heard herself say. "Very much."

Carmen's smile was worth every lie Harper had told to get here. Radiant, genuine, and touched with relief as if she'd been half-expecting rejection.

"Good," Carmen said, standing and offering her hand. "Let's get out of here."

Harper took the offered hand, feeling the warmth of Carmen's skin against hers, and let herself be led toward the purple door. Behind them, Lavender was wiping down glasses, her knowing smile following them out into the night.

As they stepped onto the cobblestone street, Harper felt the weight of choice settling around her shoulders. She was crossing a line here, entering territory where the consequences of her lies would become real, immediate, and potentially devastating.

But Carmen's hand was warm in hers, and for the first time in her adult life, Harper felt like the protagonist of her own story instead of a supporting character in someone else's.

She squeezed Carmen's fingers and followed her into the fog-wrapped night, leaving conscience and consequence behind on Lavender's doorstep.