“Done it?”
“Weren’t you raised in a commune? Surely the word ‘sex’ is not that hard to say, considering what you must have seen,” Annabelle asked.
“This is not about me, it’s about Faith,” Willow said.
“True.” All eyes fell back on her.
“I’m not talking about this because there is nothing to talk about.” Faith drank her wine, determined the subject was closed.
“Do you love him?” Willow’s words were gentle.
It hit her so fast, she gasped. The sob just escaped, and then Faith was crying. The ugly type of crying. Loud with buckets of messy tears. “I-I’m tired.” She waved her hand. “My m-mom.”
“I know.” Lucy hugged her. “It’s a tough time, and now Willow’s words sent you over the edge.”
“I’m sorry, Faith,” Willow said. “So sorry about your mother and for making you cry.”
Faith grabbed her friend’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “There can’t be an us. It won’t work, no matter what he says,” she whispered.
“So Ryan wants there to be an us?” Annabelle asked.
“He asked if I wanted there to be an us and I know that would mean traveling to see each other. But I don’t want that.”
“Why?” Branna asked.
“B-Because it will be too hard to leave him. The closer I get, the harder everything will be when it ends.” Faith pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
“Why does it have to end?” Branna asked.
“Because it always does, and even more so in this situation. Ryan is a rock star. He lives in LA. No way will he want to stay here in Howling or with me long-term.”
“You don’t know that, and it’s not fair on either of you to not at least try. It may work out,” Annabelle said.
“It won’t. Long-distance relationships rarely do.”
“Then go with him to LA,” Lucy said.
Faith dropped her hands to her lap, feeling sad and tired. “I wouldn’t fit there, and we all know that. This is my home; my life is here.”
They all fell silent then, and she knew her friends were searching for the words to tell her everything would work out okay. But it wouldn’t. Happily ever after with the man she wanted wasn’t in her future.
Chapter 22
Faith walked into Hope and Newman’s house with her arms full of baked goods three days after her crying jag on the houseboat. She’d picked the afternoon as Ryan usually visited in the morning, according to Hope.
She’d taken every shift she could at The Howler to avoid him. She’d seen him last night in the bar when he’d brought Shay in for a meal but she’d kept busy the entire time.
He’d known. The one time she’d looked at Ryan, his eyes had told her that.
She was tired from sleepless nights tossing about in her bed thinking about Ryan’s body on top of hers, but she was clearheaded. She’d be friendly and polite, but there would be no more kissing or sex. She could do that.
“Seriously,” she called to anyone who was listening as she headed into the kitchen, “you’d think you lived a two-day drive from town! The elderly residents who don’t want to make the trek up to the ridge are dropping all the food they made you guys to The Howler.”
“Need a hand?”
Faith didn’t exactly stiffen at the deep words, but it was a near thing. She lowered her packages to the counter and reminded herself that she was a strong woman who could resist this man.
“I’ll get Hope to help. I have my hands full of nephew.”