Page 40 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“Someone had to. They were going about it all wrong.” Ruth waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I found poor Edward standing on my friend’s porch with my luggage, wondering where I’d disappeared to. The man worries too much.”
Jake had moved to the window, ostensibly checking the crew’s progress, but Faith could see the tension in his shoulders. Even Ruth’s outrageous stories weren’t drawing his usual laughter.
“I’ve decided to move in here through Christmas,” Ruth announced. “This place has much better energy than Jake’s sterile glass box, and frankly, I’m bored to tears rattling around in that enormous house with just Edward for company.”
“You want to stay here?” Faith asked, surprised but pleased.
“Absolutely. This house has character, history, stories in its bones. Jake’s place looks like something out of a design magazine—beautiful but soulless. Besides—” Ruth’s eyes twinkled with mischief, “—I have a feeling this is where all the interesting things will happen between now and the New Year.”
Jake cleared his throat from the window. “Gran, you can’t just invite yourself?—”
“Of course I can. I’m ninety years old, which gives me license to do whatever I please.” Ruth settled back in her chair with satisfaction. “Besides, Faith needs a proper chaperone if you’re going to be spending so much time here finishing the house.”
Faith caught the slight stiffening in Jake’s posture at the word chaperone, though she wasn’t sure why the suggestion would bother him.
“Now open your present,” Ruth commanded, shifting gears with her typical lightning speed as she pushed a wrapped package toward Faith.
Faith unwrapped the tissue paper, expecting something outrageous—Ruth’s gifts usually were. Instead, she gasped in genuine surprise. The bowl was exquisite—pale blue crystal etched with gold-leafed dancing figures, delicate and beautiful and completely impractical.
“Ruth, it’s gorgeous,” Faith breathed, tracing the intricate pattern with one finger. “But this must have cost a fortune?—”
“Posh. Money’s for spending, not hoarding.” Ruth beamed with pleasure. “I thought it would look perfect in here. A little beauty for a beautiful woman who deserves to be treated as such.”
The pointed look she shot Jake could have melted steel.
Faith set the bowl carefully on her desk, throat tight with emotion. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Good. Now, those other bags are mine—found the most divine little lingerie shop while I was away. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they make these days. Poor Lorena nearly fell out of her wheelchair when I showed her my purchases.”
After they left, Faith sank into her chair, staring at the beautiful crystal bowl. Ruth was right about the sexual tension—it was driving her slowly insane. She understood Jake’s caution, truly she did. Learning about her marriage to Steve had obviously affected him more than he’d let on. But his kid-glove treatment was making her feel like damaged goods all over again.
Something had to give. Because if Jake Murphy thought he could love her by smothering her and treating her like an invalid, he was about to learn that Faith Hartwell wasn’t nearly as fragile as he seemed to think. Maybe she just needed to seduce him.
* * *
Later that evening, Faith was reviewing her radio notes when she heard soft voices from the guest wing. Curious, she crept closer and found Ruth and Edward in the sitting room, a chessboard between them.
“You’re letting me win again,” Ruth accused, moving her queen with theatrical flair.
“I would never presume to let you do anything,” Edward replied with formal gravity, but Faith caught the warmth in his voice. “You’ve been outmaneuvering me at chess for thirty-seven years.”
“Thirty-eight,” Ruth corrected. “And I seem to recall you letting me win that very first game.”
Edward’s usually reserved face cracked into a rare smile. “Perhaps I was simply establishing a precedent for our relationship.”
Faith retreated quietly, struck by the easy intimacy between them—the kind that came from decades of shared jokes, comfortable silences, and choosing each other every single day.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“Jake,this is ridiculous. You don’t have to escort me to work every night. I’m perfectly safe. I haven’t gotten so much as a note or a prank phone call in weeks.”
They stood in her driveway beside her black Audi, the December air sharp enough to bite. Faith hugged her coat closer, grateful she’d chosen a wool skirt and blazer for today’s television appearance instead of something lighter.
“The detective said to maintain security protocols until they catch this guy.” Jake’s tone was maddeningly reasonable. “Just because he’s been quiet doesn’t mean he’s gone.”
Faith studied his face, noting how he stood just far enough away that they couldn’t accidentally touch. “Is that really why you insist on these nightly escorts? Security?”
“Of course. What other reason would there be?”
