Page 49 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“And what about her fears?” Faith asked, her voice barely steady. “What if she’s afraid of getting hurt again?”
“I’d tell her that I can’t promise she’ll never hurt again—life doesn’t work that way. But I can promise that if she hurts, she won’t hurt alone. I can promise that I’ll choose her every day, through every storm, through every moment of doubt.” Jake’s voice grew stronger, more certain. “I can promise that what we have is worth fighting for, worth risking everything for.”
Faith took a shaky breath. “And what would you want her to say?”
“I’d want her to tell me the truth. All of it. Even if it breaks my heart.”
The silence stretched between them, intimate despite the thousands of listeners. Faith looked through the glass at Lucy, who was nodding encouragingly, tears in her own eyes.
“Well,” Faith said finally, her voice stronger now, “if I were this woman, I think I’d tell you that I was scared too. Scared that I wasn’t ready, that I’d hurt you with all my sharp edges and broken places.”
“Faith,” Jake whispered, and her name on his lips was like coming home.
“I’d tell you that I spent two weeks learning that healing isn’t about erasing your scars—it’s about understanding that they’re part of your story, but they don’t have to be the end of it.” Faith’s voice grew steadier with each word. “I’d tell you that I went into therapy, real therapy this time, not just for everyone else but for myself.”
“And?”
“And I learned that I was trying to love you while still protecting myself from you. That I was asking you to love me while keeping one foot out the door.” Faith smiled through her tears. “That’s not fair to either of us.”
“So what are you saying, Doc?”
Faith looked up at the studio clock—11:59 p.m. In seconds, a new year would begin. A year full of possibilities, of choices, of chances to be brave.
“I’m saying that if you’re willing to take a chance on a woman who’s finally ready to take a chance on herself, I’d like to try again. No safety nets this time. No exit strategies. Just…us.”
“Faith,” Jake’s voice was thick with emotion. “I love you. Not the idea of you, not some fantasy version—you. Your strength, your courage, your beautiful, complicated heart. I love that you help people heal, and I love watching you learn to heal yourself.”
“I love you too,” Faith whispered, and the words felt like a prayer, like a promise, like the beginning of everything. “I love your patience, your kindness, the way you see the best in people even when they can’t see it themselves. I love that you taught me the difference between a house and a home.”
Through the glass, Faith could see Lucy wiping her eyes, and beyond her, the WKTP staff had gathered, all of them listening with rapt attention.
“So,” Jake said, and she could hear the smile in his voice, “are you ready to come home? Because I’m pretty sure there’s someone waiting in the parking garage who’d very much like to start the new year with a kiss.”
Faith laughed, joy bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her chest. “I think that can be arranged.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, turning back to her microphone, “that’s Dr. Faith Hartwell signing off for this year and signing on for the next. Here’s to second chances, new beginnings, and the courage to love without reservations. Happy New Year.”
Faith ripped off her headphones and ran.
She took the elevator down to the parking garage, her heart pounding with anticipation. The doors opened, and there he was—Jake Murphy, leaning against her newly repaired black Audi, holding a single red rose and wearing the kind of smile that made her knees weak.
“Waiting in Dallas?” she asked, walking toward him with a grin.
“Always,” he said, pushing off from the car to meet her halfway. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
When he kissed her, Faith’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He backed her against the car, his body caging her in as the kiss deepened. He tasted of midnight coffee and something darker—anticipation, maybe, or the kind of hunger that had been building between them for months.
Her hands found the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as he deepened the kiss. She could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse where her thumb pressed against his throat, could taste the sharp intake of breath he took when she traced her tongue along his bottom lip.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Jake pressed his forehead against hers. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, and she could feel him trembling.
“Welcome home, Dr. Hartwell,” he whispered. Faith’s fingers were still twisted in his shirt. She tugged gently, bringing his mouth back to hers.
“Home isn’t a place anymore, Jake Murphy,” she murmured against his lips. “Home is wherever you are.”
EPILOGUE
Faith Murphy—shewas still getting used to the name—stood on the wraparound porch of her Victorian, watching Jake flip burgers on the grill while Ruth held court at a picnic table surrounded by half the neighborhood. The neighborhood barbecue had taken over their backyard, and Faith couldn’t remember ever being happier.
