Fragments of other conversations reached our table—a couple arguing quietly, a group of friends laughing loudly at the bar, a phone ringing, then quickly silenced. A normal Friday night in a busy restaurant.
Harper’s fork clinked on her plate. “Cole…why did you really ask me to dinner?”
I ran my tongue across my teeth, set my fork down, and rested my elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, colleagues having drinks after work, no big deal. A meal out together? That’s a big deal, Cole. And not that I have a problem with it, because I’m here. But…what’s happening here?”
That was a fair question. I thought about how to answer it and decided on the truth.
“Because I don’t talk to many people the way I talk to you. And I wanted to talk more.”
Harper went very still.
I continued, pushing the words out before I lost my nerve. “I don’t have friends at the hospital. I have colleagues. People I work with, people I respect professionally, people I can stand in an elevator with for thirty seconds without wanting to throw myself down the shaft. But I don’t have anyone I actually talk to about real-life shit.”
“And you talk to me about real-life shit?”
“Last night was the first real conversation I’ve had in months. You didn’t try to fix anything or offer unsolicited advice or make it about yourself. You listened and responded like we were two people at the same stage of life having a conversation.”
Harper’s lips curved into a smile. “I’m very good at listening.”
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel responsible for my feelings or to put pressure on you,” I added. “I’m just explaining why I wanted to see you again. It’s not about the investigation. It’s not about needing help navigating hospital politics. I like talking to you, and I don’t get to do that often.”
“Cole—”
“So if that’s too much or it makes you uncomfortable, tell me now and we can go back to being colleagues who pass each otherin hallways and pretend we don’t know each other outside of work.”
She didn’t answer right away. For a long time, she sat silent, rolling her wine glass in slow, careful circles, the base tracing a ring on the tablecloth. Candlelight glowed off the dark red, catching and shifting as she turned the glass.
Eventually she leaned in, close enough that I could see the light in her eyes, and her voice slipped out soft as a secret. “It’s not too much. I like talking to you too.”
“Yeah?” I asked, a little breathless, hoping she meant it.
“Yes. You’re smart without being condescending the way MDs can be. You’re honest without being cruel. And when we talk, you listen.” Harper paused, smiling again. “And you make me laugh, which is harder than most people think.”
“That’s because you have a great sense of humor.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Or maybe I’m easily amused.”
I smiled and tipped my glass, swallowing the last of the wine. As if he’d been watching and waiting, Derek refilled both glasses.
“So,” Harper said when we were alone again. “If we’re both being honest about why we are here…”
“Are we being honest?”
“We’re trying to be.” The candlelight caught her face; it made her eyes seem darker, almost shadowed. “I’ve been thinking about last night,” she said. “Our conversation.”
“And…”
“And what you said—seeing the system clearly, not wasting time on things you can’t control—has been replaying in my mind. I don’t do…this.”
She gestured between us. “I don’t go out with colleagues. I went to Rowan’s first child’s birthday party, but I don’t get drinks with Liz Rice or have dinner with Dr. Webb. I keep work at work and my personal life separate.”
“Okay. But we are here. Together. So?”
“So talking to you doesn’t feel like work.”
“What does it feel like?” I asked.
