Page 15 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Jake set down his clipboard and headed toward the front yard to greet her. He’d barely reached the porch when a shrill scream shattered the afternoon quiet, sending him running full-speed toward the sound. Faith was crumpled into a ball on the sidewalk, hands clasped over her head, whimpering beneath her curtain of dark hair.
“What happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Jake ran his hands over her back and shoulders, searching for injuries since her words were too incoherent to understand.
She pointed skyward, and he noticed a small group of bats swooping from the trees. Their roost must have been disturbed by the crew working on the top floor.
“Relax, Faith. It’s just a few bats. The workers on the third floor probably disturbed their nest. They won’t hurt you.”
Faith had endured enough masculine condescension for one day, and her temper flared. “It’s just a few bats! What does that even mean? That’s like saying it’s just a few cobras or it’s just a few terrorists!”
“Is it?” he asked, but she obviously didn’t hear him.
“And how do you know they won’t hurt me? I wasn’t aware that you were a bat expert as well as being an expert in restoration and conversation and dating and pastries. How have you managed to fit everything into such a tight schedule?”
Faith knew she sounded like a lunatic, but the words were bubbling up inside her and there was nowhere for them to go but out. She’d probably have something to say about her behavior as a professional, but she was tired of being a professional for the day.
“Uhh…I think this is one of those moments where a man’s best defense is to say nothing. But you might want to tone the volume down a bit. Your neighbors are starting to enjoy the show.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, scrambling to her feet, noting her hated pantyhose were torn. She had started to draw a crowd. The lots were big on Apple Tree Lane and the houses were all large and sat a healthy distance apart, but she’d met almost all of her neighbors since the renovation had started, mostly to apologize for all the noise and disruption. But the days of apologizing were over.
Faith turned to face the first neighbor she spotted. “You there,” she said, pointing to a man watering his flowers. “I met you, but I can’t recall your name at the moment.”
“Mr. Panamaker,” he stammered.
“Well, I hope in the future you won’t make a habit of eavesdropping on private conversations. I didn’t say a word when your wife locked you out of the house in your underwear last week.”
“No, ma’am,” he said, shaking his head.
“Well, then,” Faith said, seemingly satisfied. “I’m planning on having a neighborhood barbecue party when the house is finished. I hope you and your wife will come.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, abandoning his hose and inching toward his front door.
Jake wasn’t sure if laughing was appropriate under the circumstances, so he disguised it with a cough and hid his smile behind his hand. “Sometimes, you remind me of my grandmother,” he said. “You must have had some day.”
She glanced down at her leg and noticed blood seeping from her knee. “Same stupid knee I hurt when I fell through the back porch.”
“That explains the amount of damage I found. You were lucky you didn’t break your neck. Let’s get you cleaned up, spitfire,” he said, guiding her toward the trailer.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He ignored her protests and carefully lifted her into his arms. “I know you are, but I’d prefer to do it myself. I’d never want you to say I hadn’t acted like a gentleman.”
Faith felt a pang of guilt. There was no reason to take her frustrations out on Jake. He’d been nothing but considerate since they’d met, orchestrating a careful courtship that both thrilled and terrified her. He’d brought her morning coffee without fail, surprising her with different pastries when he discovered her sweet tooth extended beyond éclairs. He’d created a comfortable workspace in the trailer where she could work on her radio scripts and podcast recordings. He’d even enlisted Ruth to help collect vintage photographs of the neighborhood, knowing Faith’s interest in the home’s history.
But maybe he’d been too careful. Too orchestrated.
Their first dinner date had been interrupted by a stunning blonde who’d greeted Jake with a familiarity that spoke of shared history. Their second date at another restaurant downtown had featured yet another gorgeous ex-girlfriend who’d stopped by their table to “catch up.” The third and fourth dates had been mercifully ex free, but Faith couldn’t help wondering if he was juggling her and other women at the same time. Steve had been an expert juggler. And then he’d started dropping balls and hadn’t really seemed to care if the balls shattered.
But unlike Steve, who would have flirted shamelessly or disappeared for mysterious “phone calls,” Jake had been transparent. He’d made proper introductions, kept the conversations brief, and afterward explained each relationship’s history without prompting. No secrets, no defensive anger when she’d asked questions.
Faith found herself caught in the classic battle between professional knowledge and personal experience. The rational, educated Dr. Hartwell would advise a caller in her position to judge the man in front of her on his own merits, to recognize the cognitive bias of projecting past trauma onto present circumstances. She would point out the evidence of character—how he handled uncomfortable situations, his consistency, his respect for boundaries.
But the woman who had lived through Steve’s betrayals wasn’t guided by academic theories. That Faith operated on instinct and self-preservation, her heart armored against the particular pain she’d already endured once. The smart choice would be to create distance before she became too invested. The irony wasn’t lost on her—she made her living helping others navigate relationships while her own remained paralyzed between clinical wisdom and emotional scar tissue.
“I’m sorry for being in such a bad mood,” she said as they entered the trailer.
“I’ve been in one myself from time to time,” he replied, setting her down on the table and reaching for the first aid kit as soon as they were inside. “Everyone’s entitled now and then. Want to tell me about it?”
“I just had a lousy meeting with Amplify Media. They’re offering an exclusive distribution deal for my podcast with some serious money attached, but the strings that come with it…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll walk away from the whole corporate podcast world altogether. I’ve been considering putting a book together, and I’ve had interest from a publisher. I have hundreds of listener questions that never make it onto the radio show or podcast. I could compile those, add some additional insights that don’t fit the audio format. But now my university is making it a requirement that I offer my own textbook to my students for next fall, and that’s not the book I want to write.”
