Page 2 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
“That’s true,” Lucy said with a sparkle in her eye. “And it looks like you should have taken your own advice, because your house is a disaster. Have you gotten the back porch fixed yet?”
Faith gave Lucy an irritated look for mentioning her poor judgment and started gathering her things. Her back porch had collapsed from the rotted wood that was apparently prominent throughout her entire house. Unfortunately, she’d been standing on it at the time and fallen through to the basement. She tried to look at it as fate lending a helping hand, because she hadn’t even realized she’d had a basement. It had been sealed up years before. Her knee was still stiff from the fall.
“No, I’ve had to put off my plans for the porch. My toilet fell through the floor from the second story last night, so I’ve moved my list of priorities around a little.”
Lucy gasped in horror. “Faith Hartwell, it isnotsafe for you to live in that house until everything is up to code. You could be seriously hurt. What if that toilet had fallen on your head? You can’t give advice on people’s love lives from six feet under. I’m going to report you to the city inspector myself if you don’t get something done about it fast.”
And she would too, Faith knew. Lucy didn’t make idle threats. “I’ll get it taken care of,” Faith said, dutifully scolded. “But I may end up a pauper before I’m done. I didn’t realize how much money is going to have to go into this project.”
“You couldn’t be a pauper in your wildest dreams. You have more money than Midas.”
“Yeah, but this house is going to change my life drastically. I can feel it in my bones. Not to mention the fact that I’m still researching restoration companies and contractors. That’s not a decision you can make on the spur of the moment.”
“You bought that monstrosity on the spur of the moment, so I think hiring a contractor is small potatoes compared to that. You’re going to have to buy life insurance for every person that steps foot on your front porch. That hasn’t collapsed yet, has it?”
“No, not yet.”
“Well, it’s only a matter of time,” Lucy said, with confidence.
“You’re not helping. I obviously can’t take advice from myself. I don’t know how thousands of other people do it. I have rotten judgment. Why don’t you give me advice tonight? I’ll do whatever you say.”
Lucy opened her mouth, but Faith interrupted her before the words could be spoken. “I’ll do anything except sell or live somewhere else.”
Lucy shot her a dirty look and left the control booth to head back to her desk, her black stilettos clicking against the hard floor.Friends…what a pain. Faith slung her bag over her shoulder and left the booth, already dreading the night ahead. She was currently sleeping in the middle of the living room because that seemed like the safest place. But she was thinking about setting up a tent in the backyard after the latest bathroom incident.
“Hah, I found it,” Lucy said victoriously, waving a business card in the air.
Faith realized that Lucy had taken her seriously when she told her to give the advice for a change. A sinking feeling in her gut made her future seem more than grim. She wasn’t good at taking other people’s advice. That’s why she was always giving it out.
“This is the number of the contractor that did all of the work on our condo last month. He was brilliant. George increased the value of the house a lot, and we’ve already had several offers from interested buyers. I want you to call and leave a message on his machine tonight,” Lucy said, obviously looking for an argument and waiting to combat it.
Faith looked at the card in her hand and back at Lucy. “Hand me the phone.” She knew good advice when she heard it.
The company was called Murphy-Madsen Construction and Restoration, and the names of George Madsen and Jake Murphy each occupied a bottom corner of the card in bold print. She decided to go with George because that was a name that said dependable construction in her mind.
The phone rang several times before the answering machine picked up and a gruff voice welcomed her to leave a message and contact information. She smiled at the voice. That had to be George.
“Mr. Madsen, my name is Faith Hartwell, and I’m having a little bit of a construction crisis. You came recommended from a friend, and I’m pretty desperate since the toilet from the second-floor bathroom fell into my downstairs bedroom.” She left her address and phone number and prayed they would have time in their schedule to help her.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Lucy said, beaming as if she were a proud parent. “You did good, Hartwell.”
“Thanks, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“I’m looking forward to it. All the crazies call on Friday night, plus it’s a full moon.”
Faith groaned at the thought. Friday nights were always interesting.
“Look on the bright side. Somewhere in Denver tonight, a lonely housewife is dancing around her kitchen, trying to seduce her husband. Sage advice, Dr. Hartwell,” Lucy said, giggling. “That is definitely one for the record books.”
“Well, at least someone is getting lucky. Lord knows it’s not me.”
“That’s because every man you might consider for a relationship is going to be terrified of your house.”
Faith waved bye to Lucy’s delighted laughter and headed down the elevator to the parking garage. Lucy was wrong. Men weren’t afraid of her house, they were afraid of her. No one wanted to be with someone who was supposed to be an expert on relationships. Her own failed marriage had taught her that. Good men didn’t stay interested in a woman like her after the initial curiosity began to fade. She would have been just another statistic if her divorce from Steve had been finalized before he’d died.
Faith wished she had the luxury of calling in to her own show, becauseLonely in Dallasneeded some serious advice.
CHAPTERTWO
