Page 5 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

CARMEN

C armen's hand hovered over her car keys, and for a moment, her analytical mind reasserted itself with crystalline clarity.

She was about to invite a stranger—a woman she'd only known for three hours—back to her townhouse.

The same townhouse where she'd never brought anyone who wasn't either a colleague discussing surgical procedures or Julia complaining about her dating life.

This was insane, reckless, and completely contrary to every principle of control she'd built her life around.

"Second thoughts?" Hailey asked with no judgment in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

Carmen looked at her, really looked. Hailey stood beside her car in the soft glow of the streetlight, patient and undemanding. She wasn't pushing or presuming, just waiting for Carmen to decide what she wanted. When was the last time someone had given her that kind of space to choose?

"No," Carmen said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice. "No second thoughts."

The lie came easily. She was having third, fourth, and fifth thoughts, but underneath the analytical overthinking was something stronger: hunger. Not just physical, though that was certainly there, but a deeper craving for connection that she'd been systematically starving for months.

Carmen unlocked her BMW and watched Hailey slide into the passenger seat with grace.

The interior felt smaller with another person in it, intimate in a way that made her hyperaware of every breath and movement.

Hailey's presence filled the space without overwhelming it.

She was confident and curious without being presumptuous or intrusive.

"Nice car," Hailey said, running her fingers along the leather seat. "Very...you."

"You've known me for three hours. How can you possibly know what's 'very me'?"

Hailey's smile was visible in the dashboard light. "You’re…precise. Controlled. Beautiful but not showy. You value quality over flash and pomp."

The assessment was disturbingly accurate, but she didn’t want to admit that.

Carmen pulled out of the parking space, using the familiar motions of driving to steady herself.

Phoenix Ridge's streets were quiet at this hour, fog rolling in from the harbor to soften the edges of streetlights and building corners.

"Where are we going?" Hailey asked.

"Harbor district. I have a townhouse near the medical center."

Of course she did. Even her choice of neighborhood was predictable—close to work, in a professional area with other doctors and lawyers.

Safe and sensible, but also boring.

They drove in comfortable silence for several blocks, the city's nighttime personality revealing itself around them.

Late-night diners spilled onto the street from restaurants and couples walked hand in hand along the sidewalks.

Carmen found herself stealing glances at Hailey's profile, memorizing the curve of her jaw and the way she seemed completely at ease despite not knowing where they were going.

"Tell me something about yourself that I wouldn't guess," Carmen said, surprising herself again. She didn't usually fish for personal information. It felt too much like opening doors she might not be able to close.

"I'm terrified of butterflies," Hailey said without hesitation.

Carmen laughed. "Butterflies? Really?"

"Something about the way they move. All erratic and unpredictable. Give me a spider any day."

"That's..." Carmen searched for the right word.

"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."

Carmen looked around her living room, trying to see it through Hailey's eyes. The expensive but impersonal furniture, the medical journals stacked with precision, the absence of personal photographs or sentimental objects. It was a space designed to impress colleagues, not invite intimacy.

"It's very..." Hailey paused, choosing her words carefully, "controlled."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Not bad. Just..." Hailey set her water glass on a coaster—Carmen noticed and appreciated the gesture—and moved closer. "Lonely."

The word hit harder than it should have. Carmen's instinct was to deflect and make some comment about preferring order to chaos. But Hailey was looking at her with those dark eyes that seemed to see past every defense she'd carefully constructed.

"Yes," Carmen admitted. "It is."

They stood facing each other in the soft light of her living room, the piano between them like a symbolic barrier.

Carmen could feel the weight of choice pressing against her ribs.

She could offer to play something and keep this interaction safe.

She could suggest they sit on opposite ends of the couch and talk about Phoenix Ridge or weather or anything else that didn't matter.

Or she could step around the piano and close the distance between them.

Hailey made the choice for her, moving with that easy confidence that had captivated Carmen from the first moment. She didn't rush or presume, just stepped into Carmen's space and waited, giving her every opportunity to retreat.

But Carmen didn't retreat.

"I don't usually do this," Carmen said, her voice lower than intended.

"Neither do I." Hailey's hand came up to rest against Carmen's cheek, the touch light enough to ignore if Carmen wanted to. "But something about you makes me want to break all my rules."

"I'm very good at rules." The confession slipped out before Carmen could stop it. "Following them, enforcing them, even building my entire life around them."

"And how's that working for you?"

Carmen laughed, short and sharp. "Ask me tomorrow."

"I'd rather focus on tonight."

Carmen’s fingers lingered on Hailey’s hand longer than necessary, tracing the warmth of her skin.

The contact sent a jolt through her chest—part surprise, part craving she hadn’t expected tonight.

When Hailey leaned forward and brushed her lips against hers, soft and unhurried, Carmen froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the sudden heat.

Then she leaned in, matching Hailey’s rhythm, tasting the faint sweetness of wine and something uniquely her.