Chapter 6 #2
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. ”
“It sounds like to me you know exactly what you want,” he said. “Take your pantyhose off so I can clean that scrape.”
Faith eyed him warily, wondering if this was an excuse to get his hands on her. Yet her knee throbbed painfully, so she complied, slipping the torn nylons down her legs.
She sighed and tried to ignore the throbbing behind her eyes. Why was he being so nice? What was the catch?
“I don’t think this is going to work, Jake.”
“I haven’t even applied the antiseptic yet. I’m a very competent medic, I promise.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I don’t think you and I are going to work out. I’ve had time to reflect over the past few weeks, and I’m not ready for a relationship. I’ve got unresolved issues that I’m clearly still processing. Look at me. I’m a mess.”
What she couldn’t bring herself to say was that she couldn’t bear the thought of becoming another conquest, or worse, a woman who’s made a fool of while her husband traipses around with someone else on his arm.
The mere possibility felt like a knife twisting in her chest. She couldn’t take that kind of hurt from Jake.
“Are you ever going to tell me about the man who broke your heart and left me with such an uphill battle? I bet I could help you move past it.”
“Doubtful,” she said. “Unfortunately, you seem to share some of his qualities. I’m trying to sift through what’s perception and what’s reality.”
“Hmm,” was his only response.
“All you’re going to say is hmmm?”
“No. I’m going to focus on your knee and pretend you just told me how much you enjoy spending time with me and about how we have so much in common and can talk and laugh for hours and not even realize that time has passed us by.”
Jake’s hands were gentle as he cleaned the scrape, but Faith noticed the slight tremor in his fingers.
“You’re shaking,” she said quietly. He paused, meeting her eyes.
“You scare me, Faith.”
“I scare you?” Her voice came out breathier than intended.
“Every day.” His thumb brushed across her wrist, and she shivered. “The way you look at me sometimes, like you’re trying to figure out if I’m worth the risk. It makes a man take an assessment of himself.”
Faith’s pulse jumped under his touch. “And am I? Figuring it out?”
Instead of answering, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her bandaged knee. Her sharp intake of breath made him look up, and whatever he saw in her face made his eyes darken.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, but he didn’t move away.
Neither did she. The past weeks had been a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
She’d found herself looking forward to their shared lunches, enjoying the way he listened intently when she spoke about her work.
She’d caught herself watching him from the trailer window as he directed his crew, admiring his competence and the easy way he related to his workers.
And then there were the quiet moments that threatened her resolve—the evening he’d brought dinner after she’d returned late from the station, the afternoon they’d spent reviewing architectural plans at the kitchen table, his shoulder pressed against hers, the morning he’d arrived with coffee to find her still in pajamas and somehow made her feel beautiful rather than embarrassed.
“I thought you had to get back to work,” Faith said, arching a brow.
“Right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Duty calls. Some eccentric doctor bought a dilapidated whorehouse and expects miracles. I figure I’d better deliver since her patience seems to be wearing thin.”
“She sounds like a challenge.”
“I’ve always loved challenges.”
He paused at the door, turning back with a more serious expression.
“The Halloween festival downtown is this weekend. Ruth is judging the costume contest, and I promised I’d attend for moral support.
Come with us. Just have fun. I think maybe, Dr. Hartwell, there hasn’t been enough fun in your life. ”
Before she could respond, he was gone, leaving her sitting in his trailer with her heart racing. The invitation was casual, unthreatening—exactly the kind of outing that would be difficult to refuse.
Faith examined the newly bandaged knee, replaying their interaction.
Something had shifted between them over these weeks.
Jake Murphy had methodically inserted himself into her daily routine, becoming a fixture she both anticipated and feared.
The house was gradually being restored to its former glory, each day revealing new beauty beneath the decay.
She couldn’t help drawing parallels to her own carefully guarded heart.
As she changed into more comfortable clothes, she noticed the calendar hanging on the trailer wall.
October was slipping away, Halloween approaching quickly.
The festival was a beloved community tradition, with street vendors, hayrides, and a massive haunted house that raised funds for the local children’s hospital.
Ruth had mentioned her judging duties several times, clearly hoping Faith would attend.
Through the window, Faith could see Jake directing a crew unloading drywall, his movements confident and precise.
She observed the easy camaraderie he shared with his workers, the respect evident in their interactions.
In these few weeks, she’d witnessed countless small kindnesses—his patience with elderly Mrs. Larsen when she questioned the noise, his generosity when a worker’s child was ill, his gentle handling of the stray cat that had adopted the construction site as its home.
None of these actions aligned with the image of the callous womanizer she’d constructed who was too handsome for his own good. Steve had been too handsome for his own good too. Jake Murphy represented both her greatest desire and her deepest fear.
Faith sighed, turning away from the window.
The house was beginning to feel like home, despite its incomplete state.
The kitchen was taking shape, with new cabinets being installed and space for the vintage stove she’d found at an architectural salvage shop.
The living room’s ornate fireplace had been uncovered and restored, and the staircase no longer threatened imminent collapse.
Jake had even managed to locate period-appropriate light fixtures for the entryway.
She’d grown attached to their shared lunches in the trailer, to Ruth’s colorful stories about the neighborhood’s evolution, to the daily progress reports Jake provided, always framed with optimism. The thought of distancing herself from this unexpected routine left a hollow feeling in her chest.
Perhaps one community festival wouldn’t hurt.
It wasn’t a romantic date—Ruth would be there, along with half the town.
She could maintain appropriate boundaries while still enjoying the evening.
And maybe, just maybe, she could begin to reconcile the Jake she was coming to know with the cautionary tales her heart kept telling.