He lifted his hands and rubbed his face.
Admitting his weakness to God was one thing. Admitting it to another person was something else again. He hadn’t told the doctor at his medical that he still took the strong painkillers, because that was a weakness.
He hadn’t confessed the truth to Brodie, because that was weakness of a different sort. The strong brother couldn’t allow himself to be weak. But it seemed that Brodie had it more together than he did.
Worst of all, he hadn’t told Tiffany he loved her, because he saw love as a weakness, too. What that really meant was, he didn’t want to risk being hurt again.
But maybe love made us strong. Maybe in our weakness, God’s strength could be even more. In His love for us, Jesus allowed Himself to be broken and weak, and He conquered death for us all.
Mac’s mind was a jumble of thoughts. So many stories and Bible verses and images he’d heard and seen but never felt, never known in his heart. The truths he’d paid lip service to, but hadn’t lived.
And all he needed to do was what Peter had done when he started to sink.
Three little words. Lord, save me.
Words that meant admitting he was weak, that he needed saving, when all his life he’d been the rescuer, the strong one. Just like getting his medical clearance was based on a lie, the way he’d seen himself his whole life was, too.
He’d worn that armour of independence, of self-sufficiency, of being able to handle anything on his own. To keep the armour firmly in place, he’d made his mission rescuing people, looking out for anyone weaker than him. He’d fooled himself into believing he didn't need anyone for anything, because he could do it all himself.
Except he hadn’t fooled Tiffany, and he hadn’t fooled God.
What if all that hiding behind his armour did was keep him weak? What if it blocked God from working His purpose in his life? That verse she’d quoted at the airport had burned its way into his soul.
‘I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfils his purpose for me.’
But wasn’t crying out to God the same as those three words he refused to say?
He couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it.
His fist clenched around the strip of pills, tighter and tighter, until the sharp edge cut into his palm. He raised his hand to his mouth, pressing it against his lips. He had to be strong. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t the one who cried out for help.
No matter that Tiffany seemed to think he should.
When he closed his eyes, he saw her sweet face. Saw her tears as she’d begged him to surrender his life to God, to allow God to work out His purpose. Heat prickled behind his eyelids as he remembered the hurt in her expression when he’d refused.
God help him, she’d been right. But he didn’t know how to let go of the armour that had been a part of him for so long it had welded itself to his soul.
Then he realised, the simple, blinding truth.
He didn’t need to know. Any more than Peter had needed to know how to keep himself afloat in that storm.
He simply needed to trust.
Lord, save me. I need You. I can’t do it without Your help.
Finally, he said the words he’d struggled against for so long.
Peace and certainty filled him.
He didn’t have to ask God to show him His purpose. He already knew what God wanted him to do.
Now he just had to do it.
Chapter 25
It felt odd to Tiffany, now it was over with Mac, to go back to the shelter, the place it began.
But being there was part of her work, just as much as being at the store all day had been. Maybe it wasn’t really so odd. They’d probably spent just as much time there working with the residents than they ever did alone together.
When Nick messaged her to say there was a new volunteer at the shelter that evening, interested in helping with the Way Into Work Scheme, it made sense to go along.
Better than staying home missing Mac, the way she’d missed him every moment since she’d left him at the airport yesterday. Missing him ached in her, every bit as physical and real as a broken bone. Zoe had wanted to take her out to a movie to distract her, but watching some rom com or thriller wouldn’t take the pain away.
Tiff pushed open the door to the shelter and waved at Simon as she signed in. The place felt welcoming as a second home now. Hard to believe how she’d dreaded coming here on Christmas Day. How she’d sulked and moaned and prayed she wouldn’t have to lose the Christmas she’d wanted.
Instead, God had given her the Christmas she needed.
“Good news, Tiffany! Look at this.” Simon jumped up from his desk, and hurried to the entry counter, waving a letter. “We not only got the funding for the education room and three new computers, they’ve funded a part time co-ordinator for your programme, too!”
Joy flooded her, warm and sweet, radiating out from her chest like a flame. She did a happy dance in place, grinning so wide her face hurt.
“God is so good! I needed a blessing like this today.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe Geeta will apply for it? She’s a great administrator, and already more confident speaking English. By the time the funding comes through, she’ll be ready for paid work, I think.”
He nodded and smiled. “Yes, working at the store and moving into that flat share has helped Geeta immensely. A real success story.” His brows creased and he held out his hands in a question. “But, I thought you’d apply for the job. It’s your scheme, after all.”
Tiff slumped over the counter for a moment. The thought of leaving her project behind felt like giving away a baby. Then she straightened and smiled. “I always knew I’d get it going and then hand over to someone else. Both my visa and the money I saved for this trip will run out before any of that funding arrives. My visa is only for unpaid work, anyway.”
“If you need an employer as sponsor to get a work visa, let me know. We did it for Nick.” He grinned. “So I’m stuck with him now.”
She laughed, knowing Simon and Nick had become good friends and he didn’t mean a word of it. “Thanks Simon, you’re a darling.”
He was a darling. If only she’d fallen for a sweet straightforward man like him. But she hadn’t. Mac was the one for her. And now he’d gone, she found she didn’t want to stay longer in Britain.
“I’ll go back to L.A., and pray for guidance on what to do next.” She raised her shoulders. “The owner of the dress shop I used to work at in Rodeo Drive offered me my old job, if I want it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You sound slightly less than enthused at the prospect.”
“I’m not the least bit enthused. It’s a job.” It was hard to feel enthused about going back and doing the same old thing, when she didn’t feel the same old person any more. But as she’d said to Mac, she could trust that God did have a plan and a purpose for them. She just had to wait for it to unfold.
She peered into the lounge-dining room. “So, where’s that brother of mine? I’ve hardly seen him since he came back to London.”
“I’m grateful Nick agreed to do the sleepover shift for a few nights. Otherwise I’d be here 24/7. That gets just a little wearing.” Simon smiled. “You’ll want to meet Sherrie, our new volunteer, too. She seemed very interested in your project. I think she’s out the back washing up.”
“I’ll go find her. And I just need to follow the noise to find Nick.”
Simon sat down at his desk and tucked the letter back in a folder. “Remember, if you change your mind about staying, tell me, and I’ll get the paperwork started.”
Shaking her head, she headed for the great room. “I don’t think I’ll change my mind. But thanks.”
As soon as she stepped into the room, Nick left the group he’d been talking with and rushed over to grab her in a hug. Then he held her at arm’s length, examining her closely, frowning a little.
“Hi sis. So, what’s this about Mac leaving? I had the feeling when you guys took off to Edinburgh that so
mething might be cooking between you.”
Trust Nick not to beat around the bush. Tiff rolled her eyes at his directness. “Both of us were only in London for a limited time.” Her lips twisted as she gave a little shrug. “You know that corny old saying, ‘If you love something set it free’? Well, that’s what I had to do. He’s gone back to work in the Middle East. My visa expires in five weeks, anyway.”
Nick put his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Tiffany.”
For once, he called her by her full name.
“I’m sorry too.” For a moment, sadness weighted her shoulders and ached in her chest. Then she let loose a breath and lifted her head. “It looks like God has other plans for me. And they’ll be good ones.”
“They will be, for sure. Look what happened to me. I thought I was coming to London for two weeks.”
She smiled. “You know, I owe you an apology. I guess you aren’t crazy, after all, like I thought when you first told us about Cara. It is possible to truly love someone you haven’t known all that long. You just know.”
He looked across the room to where Cara sat with an older resident. “You do,” he said.
To her surprise, Tiff didn’t feel jealous when she saw the tender glance they exchanged. Instead, she nodded. Like good coffee or the best chocolate, loving Mac combined both bitter and sweet. But it was a joy too, one she couldn’t regret. Thanks to him, she’d grown up. Whatever happened next in her life, she’d be grateful for that.
Nick turned back to her. “I’m hearing only good things about this project you started. I’m proud of you. If I can help, let me know.”
His praise made her feel as if she’d grown six inches. Standing straighter, she bounced on her toes.
She realised, she had proven herself, the way she’d wanted to on this trip to London. She’d just been wrong about who she needed to prove herself to. It wasn’t her family, or anyone back home, or even Mac. It had been herself, all along.
“I will.” She smiled. “Is Sherrie in the kitchen? I’ll go talk to her.”
In the kitchen, she found a thin middle-aged woman energetically debating classical music with Patrick, a sixty-something resident who’d arrived last week, as they washed and dried the dishes. They seemed so engrossed in their conversation and to be enjoying it so much, she felt like an intruder.
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing out the door. “I’ll come back later.”
The woman looked up. “No, of course not, come in. Patrick and I can finish our argument any time. I’m winning, anyway.” She winked at him, and he shook his head. “Are you looking for one of us?”
“If you’re Sherrie, I’m looking for you. I’m Tiffany Gallagher. I run the shelter’s back to work scheme.” She held her head high. Saying that felt good.
“Wonderful. Tell me all about it, and I’ll tell you if I can help.”
Tiff helped put away the washing up as they talked. It turned out Sherrie was a school teacher.
“One to one literacy tutoring,” Tiff said firmly. “Here in the shelter. I’ve met two residents who wanted to learn to read and write better, but were too embarrassed or had such bad memories of school that they wouldn’t go to the group classes at the local college. They wouldn’t join in the scheme, either, for fear of their reading problem being found out.”
She prayed as she spoke that Sherrie had the sensitivity to handle them right.
Sherrie nodded, in a no-nonsense way. “Excellent idea.” She glanced up at the wall clock. “Time for me to meet with Simon. He wanted me at the front desk to go through the paperwork. I’ll mention your idea to him.”
She took off like a whirlwind.
“Exhausting woman,” Patrick said. “And completely wrong about Vivaldi.” He stared at Tiff, from under bushy eyebrows. “So, what can your back-to-work scheme do for an old bloke like me. I’m a violin maker.” His tone held a strong note of throwing down the gauntlet.
“There’s nothing at the store that involves musical instruments, I’m afraid.” She spoke slowly as she put the last of the saucepans back in their cupboard. Then she remembered seeing violins in the window of a little shop she’d walked by on a side street near the store. “Maybe there’s a possibility. I’ll ask tomorrow.”
Excitement buzzed her at the thought she might be able to extend the scheme to other shops and help Patrick. The worst that could happen was they’d say no.
“You really do care, don’t you?”
Startled by the gruffness in his voice, Tiff looked up at him.
He frowned at her, head thrust forward.
“Well, yes. Do you think I shouldn’t?”
He wiped down the draining board. “It’s a recipe for getting hurt, in this cruel old world of ours.”
Slowly, she nodded. “You’re right. It is.”
Not caring would have saved her the pain yesterday at the airport, watching Mac’s retreating back as he walked away from her. Not caring would have saved her the pain she felt right now, at the thought of never seeing him again.
But the price of that safety was too high. Not caring meant not loving, not feeling joy, not fully living all being human was meant to be.
She smiled, and touched Patrick’s arm. “You know, I think I’d rather care and be hurt than not care at all.”
“Good girl.” He didn’t smile, but she sensed she’d passed some sort of test. “We’re done here, I think.” He held the door open for her.
As they walked back into the great room, she heard Sherrie’s voice in the foyer, loudly raised.
“No, you can’t come in now. The meal is finished. And we have no spare beds for tonight.”
Tiff cringed at her patronising tone. What was Simon doing, letting a volunteer speak to a potential resident like that? At the very least, Sherrie should be offering that great British cure-all of a cup of tea, and letting the person know where else they might get help. She hurried out to the entry, to see what she could do.
She heard him before she saw him.
“I’m not here for a bed. I’ve volunteered here. I’m looking for Tiffany Gallagher.”
Mac’s voice, sounding tired but patient.
For a moment, she stared, breath caught in her throat. Mac stood at the counter.
This couldn’t be real. Maybe she was dreaming.
“Mac?”
When he turned, dropped his bag, smiled, and opened his arms to her, she knew it was real.
He was here, not in some battle zone.
Safe, not in danger.
Here.
Thank You God!
Joy danced through her, firing her heartbeat and spreading like wildfire through her veins.
She ran into his embrace, holding him like she’d never let him go again. His familiar scent whirled her senses. Strong arms wrapped around her, moulding her to him. He showered kisses on her face, her hair, her eyes, wherever his lips could reach.
Her heart sang in thanksgiving as she pressed herself against him, glad tears streaming down her face.
Eventually, she pulled back, just a little, her fingers resting against the wet patch she’d left on his chest. His breathing felt ragged and uneven beneath her touch.
“I’m making you all soggy,” she hiccupped, smiling but barely able to speak for the emotion clenching her throat.
“I don’t mind.” His voice was husky, and a depth of feeling she’d never seen before darkened his blue eyes. He bent his head to kiss away the tears from her cheeks.
She raised a hand to his rough stubbled cheek. He looked a mess. Crumped clothes, unshaven, dark shadows beneath his eyes. No wonder Sherrie thought he was looking for a bed. But the joy of seeing him here meant far more than appearances.
“You came back.” Her voice wobbled on the words.
He nodded and smiled. “Straight from the airport. I rang your flat, and Zoe told me you were here.”
Tiff didn’t know what his return meant, how it affected her, if it meant there was a ‘them’, but his kiss a
nd the intensity of his gaze was enough to set hope fluttering wildly in her heart. She gazed up at him, lips parted, drinking in the sight of him.
“Leaving you was hard. The flight gave me time to think, really think, about what I was doing with my life. God finally got it through my thick skull. Going back to the war zone wouldn’t prove anything. When I’m still taking painkillers, I’d be putting lives at risk, not helping. You were right about that. Right about a lot of things.”
She nodded wordlessly. He still hadn’t said he was staying.
His arms tightened around her. “I’ll miss it, but there are other photographers to take my place there. I won’t be going back. Staying here with you, that’s the real challenge. When the plane landed in Dubai, I cancelled my onward flight, and booked on the next flight back to London, instead. Back to you.”
His lips lowered to hers, and he kissed her with a hunger and a tenderness that left her clinging to him to stay upright. The world shrank to just the two of them.
Only a loud cough behind them reminded her they weren’t alone. Seeming reluctant, Mac lifted his head and loosened his hold, and she turned to look.
They had an audience.
Behind the counter, Sherrie gaped, while Simon grinned. A cluster of residents watched from the doorway, Nick and Cara peeping over their shoulders.
“Good to have you back.” Laughter shook Simon’s voice. “But maybe the staff room would give you a little more privacy?”
Mac moved to wrap one arm around her waist, still holding her near as he bent to pick up his battered old luggage. He smiled. “That’s a very good idea.”
Tiff stayed by his side as they headed through the great room and the kitchen to the small back room where they could be alone.
Mac closed the door, then pulled her into his arms. For a long heart-stopping moment the blood roared in her ears as he simply stared down at her. Then he spoke.
“I want to be with you, for always. I love you, Tiffany. I used to think love was a weakness, like admitting that I needed help. God taught me differently. But it took nearly losing you to make me realise.”
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 50