It’s Friday and time for another excerpt! Woo-hoo!
Perfectly Pretend is one of my favorites (I say that about them all, but I really mean it, lol!) because of the two main characters. Hope and Craig come to this story with so much baggage and backstory, most of which you get from previous books where they appear as secondary characters. (For those of you who just finished Home to You, Craig is THAT Craig.)
It’s a love story that doesn’t start out romantically at all, but I think the last scene is the sweetest one I’ve written yet. (“If you said what you meant now… if you were real… what would you say to me?” Gets me every time!) And you get introduced to ALL the Lucas brothers, and I love their stories, and sigh… so many good things, y’all!
If you’re new to Jenn Faulk books and want a complete listing of all the titles and the order they were written in, go here for descriptions, pictures, and links.
Happy reading, friends…
He was back home.
Well, almost.
If anyone dug into his life before college, before seminary, before his days at River Fellowship, and before the days he’d gone and gotten the DMin by extension, they’d see that he was from a tiny, backwoods, swampy, little town that no one had ever heard of.
And no one needed to hear of it, in Craig’s opinion. He’d done well to leave it behind himself, to very nearly forget where and what he’d come from, and to make himself into something better than what he’d been.
Still, though, when he’d crossed state lines and arrived back in Louisiana, pointed towards Baton Rouge and whatever future was waiting for him, he’d felt a familiarity as he’d passed through the small towns.
He didn’t stop, though.
It was a good thing he didn’t, as it gave him more time to settle into the apartment he’d leased, to unpack what he’d been able to load into his tiny car, and to make arrangements to get the movers to bring the rest of his stuff from Florida to the new storage facility he’d already rented in Louisiana.
Things were moving along quickly, and he could feel himself thinking with some hope about the future the more details settled into place, especially at the missions office. Church relations, something he could totally do, while continuing to float his resume around the area, hoping for a pastorate, schmoozing churches in the meantime, and —
“I’m sorry… could you repeat that?”
Yes, things were moving along so quickly at the missions office that he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.
But he had, as evidenced by the apologetic look on Denise’s face.
Denise was temporarily in charge until the new DOM arrived. Yes, Robert Parks, the DOM, director of missions, the man who was taking over the ship after the unceremonious firing of the last DOM.
Robert Parks was conservative. He’d been connected enough in Louisiana that Craig knew about him, knew about how conservative he was, and knew about how he was flourishing here after the change in leadership at the convention. A new president had been elected, a real jerk of a guy from Dallas named Paul Connor, and all across the South, churches and state offices were in upheaval, trying to sort out what the changes meant for the denomination.
Craig had read up on it enough to know what was going on, but he’d been at River Fellowship where conventional involvement was minimal. Stephen hadn’t been big on politics, thankfully, so Craig hadn’t been forced into being part of it either.
Until now, of course.
“You heard me right,” Denise said. “Church relations are important. But we’ve got bigger fish to fry, thanks to some money that’s been allocated to inner-city ministries.” Here she smiled tightly. “And thanks to Rev. Parks’ demands that we get these ministries off the ground as soon as possible.”
“But you said,” and here Craig muttered a silent prayer for deliverance, “pregnancy centers… right?”
“That’s exactly right,” Denise said. “We’re going to set up some new pregnancy centers. And like I said, we’ve got to work quickly, which is why we’re putting you on the job with our other new hire, who actually has experience in this area.”
“With pregnancy centers?” Craig asked, refraining from shouting what in the world?! even as he thought of all the ways that he wasn’t prepared to do this.
“Yes,” Denise said, her mind clearly many other places. “She wasn’t planning on working with anyone, so… well, she reacted a lot like you, actually.” She gave him another tight smile. “Rev. Parks has no idea what he’s walking into, quite frankly.”
Craig kept from telling her that no one here had been given the privilege of knowing what they were walking into, opening his mouth instead to tell her that pregnancy centers really — seriously, really — weren’t a good fit for him when she interrupted him.
“She’s actually here,” she said, standing at her desk, leaving him no choice but to stand as well. “The woman who’s handling that ministry. It would probably be good if you’d meet her and make plans to start work on getting the funding and permits and interest and all of that for the northwest part of the city.”
“Pregnancy centers?” Craig asked again, his mind flipping through all the many things he didn’t know about this. “We’re just going to show up and start a pregnancy center out of nothing?”
Denise nodded. “Pretty much. And in record time. Thank you, Rev. Parks.”
Craig found himself wishing that he hadn’t left River Fellowship, honestly.
But the memories, the reminders that he was Craig the Loser… enough of that.
“Fine,” he said. “Where is this woman?”
Denise visibly relaxed, relief in her eyes. “Just down the hall. Right across from your office. She knows you’re coming. Said she’d be working on some of the preliminary formalities this morning while you were out getting your tax documents sorted out.”
He thought that had been the tough part of this all, going through all the paperwork of switching states and employers, figuring out the laws for ordained ministers not actually employed by an autonomous church but rather a denominational group. River Fellowship had a team of accountants who handled it all for their clergy.
He’d only thought that was the tough part. But pregnancy centers. Working with unwed teenage mothers. Hard for Craig in ways that no one here would know anything about.
Oh, well.
“I’ll head that way,” he said, nodding once then making his way down the empty hall where his boxes sat outside the door waiting to be unpacked where he’d left them there the day before… right across from an office where similar boxes were waiting just outside the door.
This was her, then. Already, from the sound of things, pounding away at a laptop just inside.
He knocked on the doorframe once before stepping out into the doorway…
And he saw her.
Well, not her face. No, he saw her feet, propped up on her desk, outfitted in a pair of practical, unattractive shoes. He saw her equally unimpressive clothing, business appropriate but entirely unappealing as it gave no indication that she was even a woman underneath the heavy fabrics. He saw her hands with her nails bitten down to the quick, placed over her face. He saw her non-descript brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
Before he could say anything, she dropped her hands and locked her blue eyes onto him. Releasing a long, deep breath, she opened her mouth and made this troubling introduction…
“You know, I don’t have a problem with condoms, per se, or the Pill either one, but I’m conflicted, even all these years later, about making either one of them accessible to underage girls. Underage, pregnant girls.” She frowned and looked around the office for a moment. “Though I know what you’re thinking,” she murmured.
There was no way in the world she could know what he was thinking after she said that, quite honestly.
“You’re thinking that it’s a little too late for them to be on the Pill, right? And, glory be, it totally is. But the condoms!” And here, she raised a finger in the air, even as her feet slammed onto the ground. “They’re actually useful! Because what could be worse than being thirteen, pregnant, and contracting syphilis, right? I mean, what would that do to your unborn child, right? Ideally, they would stop having sex. Not the unborn but the girls, you know. But I live in the real world, and while I would love to know that they’re being smart… God bless them, they’re already pregnant, so they’ve not figured it out yet. And I want to hand them a box of condoms and tell them, ‘Mercy, ladies, be smart!’ But if I do that, am I advocating for them to continue on? Am I enabling them? Am I suggesting that there is a safe sex out there apart from abstinence or God-ordained sex within a God-honoring marriage between one man and one woman for a lifetime?”
She blinked at him.
“These are ethical questions that keep me up at night,” she murmured. “And I gotta include at least some of these details in the request for funding. Because the little church ladies have to know if their money is going to buy condoms.”
She blew out a breath and watched him for a long, silent moment.
Wow.
He wasn’t even sure what to do with all of that. It seemed too late to make an introduction, but as she narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully, he thought he’d offer one anyway, if only to cut her off from beginning a discussion about other forms of birth control.
She went back to typing away on her laptop.
Well, this was weird. Best be getting on with it, though.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, coming into the room, “I’m Craig Lucas. And you’ve got to be the pregnancy center lady I’m supposed to work with, given all that you just said.”
She sat up a little straighter. “Well, bless your heart, Craig Lucas. I amthe pregnancy center lady.” She held her hand out to him. “Hope Connor.”
And he shook her hand, ready to tell her more about who he was, why he was there, and how he thought they could best get this job done so he could get on to his real work.
But she gave him no opportunity.
“Sit down, Craig,” she said, indicating the seat in front of her desk, regarding him with a man-to-man smirk. “Let’s talk condoms.”
“Actually,” Craig said, “let’s not. At least, not yet. Maybe before we jump into this pregnancy center business –“
“Glory,” she said. “I’ve already jumped in and rolled around a little in all of it. Already got the demographics of the northwest side of the city. Have some contacts. Know some businesses that are charitable towards our causes. Very nearly done with the proposals.”
Oh. Well, then.
“That’s great,” he said, wondering at her efficiency. “But maybe we should introduce ourselves to one another.”
“You’re Craig, I’m Hope,” she said. “Done and done. Now, about the ethics of –“
“Uh, no,” he said. “I don’t know much of anything about pregnancy centers. I was hired to do church relations, and I’ve spent my entire career in vocational church ministry. So, I’m not sure I have answers about the ethics involved with what you’re doing.”
He expected her to go right back to the subject of birth control, but she latched onto something else he’d said.
“Church ministry,” she said softly, thoughtfully. “Were you a senior pastor?”
Well… no.
“I was the associate pastor at a megachurch in Florida,” he said, his pride still taking a hit with the term, with the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to get farther than this, even though the job had been ideal for him for the majority of his time there. “In charge of singles ministry, young adults –“
“Associate pastor,” she murmured. “College degree? MDiv?”
What was this? An interview?
“I actually have a DMin,” he said, thankful that Stephen had done him this service, encouraging him to jump into the doctoral program after the breakup, giving him something else to pour his energies into. He’d started with a PhD program, but the language requirements had been more than he wanted to tackle.
And a doctorate was a doctorate, after all.
Not that it had gotten him any closer to his own church.
Hope seemed to consider his words.
“DMin,” she said. “Lots of experience required for that.”
“Yes,” he said, relaxing under her scrutiny just a little, ready to tell her how equipped he was for church ministry, not this.
“But not much study,” she said.
At this, he bristled. “Well, it –“
“And it brings up some questions,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at him thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Why would a man with a DMin still only find himself as associate pastor of a church, when his intention is clearly to be a senior pastor?” she asked, innocently enough. “I mean, assuming that your intention was to climb the ladder. And surely it was. You’re a preacher. I know how your people are and all.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “My… people? Excuse me?”
“I was asking why you’ve only been an associate pastor,” she said. “At your age and all.”
Wow, this woman wasn’t holding back any punches, was she? These were inappropriate questions for their first meeting, likely, but he felt emboldened by her scrutiny, all too eager to air his grievances about why the issue wasn’t his issue but the issue of church society as a whole.
“Because,” he said, “church people are weirded out by the man in his thirties who is still single and pursuing a pastorate. How can he lead a church if he can’t even convince a woman to join his team? They’d prefer a married guy with less experience and education. Especially if he has a couple of kids, too. The rest of society has caught up with the times and figures that a single man is an asset, not a liability, but we’re in the Bible Belt.”
She watched him for a moment. “Maybe it’s because you’re not a very deep thinker.”
He raised his eyes to hers and stared for a long moment, stunned by this.
“What?”
“I mean, you have a DMin, so clearly you think a little and all,” she said. “But most preachers go for the PhD, right?”
Well, good grief. She’d discerned a whole lot that he hadn’t even offered, hadn’t she?
“But whatever,” she said. “Still good. Still have some fancy letters behind your name and in front of it. I get that. I have them, too.”
“You have a DMin?” he scoffed.
“No,” she said, looking back to her laptop and typing more. “I have a PhD. Biblical languages. Now, about those condoms –“
Well, then.
“Why are you even asking these questions?” he said, irritation in his tone.
“About the ethics of handing out –“
“No,” he said, barely refraining from shouting. “About my qualifications?”
“You’re qualified,” she said, dismissing him. “I was only asking about the details because they’ll be asking. The donors. The people who will issue the permits. The people who will be supporting this ministry. The fancier I can make you sound, the more they’ll be on board. Craig Lucas, DMin and associate pastor to singles and young adults at some fancy church in Florida.” She glanced over at him. “Good looking enough, I guess. And probably personable enough if they’ve got you doing church relations.”
He stared at her for a long moment, wondering at how she’d just reduced him to this… just a little impressed that she’d done it as accurately as she had.
“Glory!” she shouted, hitting one last key on her laptop, then shutting it forcefully with a smile. “And we’ve just shot two buzzards with one bullet. Proposal done and requests for funding submitted.”
Two buzzards with one bullet.
He’d heard that somewhere. Recently.
He could see himself sitting in Stephen’s office, peering at his laptop with him and three other staff members, as they viewed a livestream of the annual convention meeting.
The ever controversial Paul Connor, newly elected president, standing at the platform as thundering applause sounded, yet didn’t completely mask the boos and protests.
“What a mess,” Stephen had sighed.
But Craig’s attention had been on the people behind the smiling jerk laughing at it all. An older woman, nervously smiling as her hands visibly shook. A short, blonde, younger woman with an infant in her arms, looking over to a man holding a small boy, even as he whispered to her. Another young man, a near physical copy of the new president, watching the crowds with a pained expression, his arm around the waist of a pretty young woman who held his free hand in hers, even as she listened to the uproar with an expression of awestruck horror.
And there with them as well was another young woman. Tall, severe looking, wearing a simple black dress, her hair pulled back tightly from her face. She was looking to the pulpit with something that spoke of admiration, resignation, and, above all else, acceptance.
“Gonna clean up the convention bureaucracy and get funding back into doing the work of ministry,” the man had said to the people around him, the microphone picking up his voice even as the room continued on in noisy chaos. “Two buzzards with one bullet.”
Yes. Paul Connor. His family. His wife. His daughter, her husband, and their children. His son and his wife.
And his unmarried daughter.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He’d read a blurb or two about her ministries. A pregnancy center.
Surely this wasn’t…
Two buzzards with one bullet.
What had she said her name was?
“I’m sorry,” he said, praying that he was wrong, knowing that he couldn’t say half of what he was really thinking to this woman if she was connected to the most important man in the convention. “What was your name again?”
She gave it to him without any apparent idea of what it would mean to him.
“Hope Connor.”
“Oh, no,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You’re Paul Connor’s daughter, aren’t you?”
And something strange passed over her face as she heard him ask this. Before he could wonder at the meaning behind it, she leaned forward, her voice lowered.
“I am,” she said softly. She said nothing for a long moment as she watched him. “Do you know my father?”
“I know of him,” Craig said. “Everyone in the convention does. But I don’t know him personally, of course. Never had a reason to get mixed up in all of that. I’m just a pastor, and it –“
“Good,” she said simply, nodding, her expression distant as she looked beyond her office door. “Because I don’t think anyone else around here has figured it out. Not that they won’t. Or that the new DOM won’t hustle his bustle over here as soon as he hears about it, and –“
And with that, she closed her mouth.
He wondered at what she hadn’t said, at why she would be secretive at all about her father, and —
Well, actually, he could understand that. He had his own issues, after all.
“So, here’s what we need to do next in getting those centers up and running,” she said, moving on with business.
He simply nodded, uttering a silent prayer that this pursuit would be short so he could get on with a normal life. “Tell me what’s next.”
Want to see what happens next? Get your copy here!
Jenn Faulk 