Page 47 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“Isn’t it? Because the moment I shared my truth with you, everything changed. You started treating me like I was made of glass, like I might shatter if you touched me too firmly or kissed me too passionately. You turned me into a victim in your mind, and now you resent me for not magically transforming into the woman you thought you were saving.”
“Faith—”
“No, let me finish.” Faith’s voice grew stronger, more certain. “You say you love me, but what you really love is the idea of me. The fantasy of the successful, independent woman who just needed the right man to complete her. Well, I’m not a fairy tale, Jake. I’m a real person with real scars, and if that’s too messy for you, then maybe we both need to admit this was a mistake.”
Jake stared at her for a long moment, and Faith saw something break behind his eyes.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly. “Maybe I did fall in love with an idea instead of a person.”
The admission hung between them like a blade. Faith felt something in her chest collapse, a hope she hadn’t even realized she’d been nurturing.
“So where does that leave us?” she whispered.
Jake was quiet for so long that Faith wondered if he’d heard her. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “I love you, Faith. I love your strength, your compassion, your brilliant mind, your stubborn independence. I love the way you light up when you talk about your work, and the way you make me want to be a better man.” He paused, meeting her eyes. “But I wonder if you love yourself enough to give us a fair chance. Because until you do, we’re just going to keep hurting each other.”
Faith felt the walls slamming back into place, the familiar armor of self-protection clicking into position. This was what she’d been afraid of all along—that moment when someone she cared about looked at her and found her wanting.
“Maybe we need some time to think about this,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Some space to figure out what we really want.”
Jake nodded slowly, though Faith could see the pain in his expression. “Yeah. Maybe we do.”
They stood there for a moment, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Then Jake grabbed his jacket from the chair and headed for the door.
“Jake—” Faith started.
He paused at the threshold but didn’t turn around. “I’ll send someone to finish the punch list on the house. The renovation’s basically done anyway.”
And then he was gone, leaving Faith standing alone in her perfect kitchen, in her perfectly restored house, feeling more broken than she had in years.
Later that day, after Faith had called Lucy to arrange time off and rescheduled her upcoming appointments, she found Ruth in the living room, organizing her own belongings with military precision.
“Going somewhere?” Faith asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
Ruth looked up from folding what appeared to be a sequined evening gown. “Edward’s picking me up this afternoon. I figured you might need some space to think things through.”
“I’m going home for Christmas,” Faith said quietly. “To visit my parents. Take some time to figure things out.”
Ruth’s sharp blue eyes—so like Jake’s—studied Faith’s face. “Running away, you mean.”
“Taking some time to think.”
“Same thing, different words.” Ruth sat back on her heels. “You know, in my ninety years, I’ve seen a lot of people make a lot of mistakes. But the biggest ones always seem to involve letting fear make decisions that the heart should be making.”
Faith sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “Ruth, I can’t be what he needs. I’m too…broken.”
“Horsepockey.” Ruth’s profanity was delivered with such matter-of-fact authority that Faith blinked in surprise. “You’re no more broken than anyone else who’s lived through something difficult. The difference is, most people don’t have the courage to admit they’ve got cracks in their foundation.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“I understand plenty.” Ruth’s voice was gentle but firm. “I understand that my grandson fell in love with a woman who’s spent so many years protecting herself that she’s forgotten how to let someone else share the load. And I understand that you’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’d rather walk away from the best thing that’s ever happened to you than risk finding out whether love might actually work this time.”
Faith felt tears threatening, but she blinked them back. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I can’t give him what he needs?”
“What if it does work?” Ruth countered. “What if you can? What if this time, you get the fairy tale ending you deserved all along?”
Faith shook her head. “I don’t believe in fairy tales anymore.”
Ruth was quiet for a moment, then reached over and took Faith’s hand in her soft, age-spotted ones. “Then maybe it’s time to write a new story. One where the princess saves herself, and the prince just happens to be there when she’s ready to be saved.”
