He pulled the towel from around his neck and shook it out. It wasn’t a towel but a T-shirt, which he slipped over his head. Maybe he’d read her thoughts. How mortifying.
“I was working out. There’s equipment downstairs, if you ever want to use it. I mean, except between four and six a.m.”
“Gotcha.” This was starting out as the strangest first day of any job she’d ever had.
He spun and headed down the hall. “Coming?”
She followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house—a large open space housing the living room on one side, thekitchen on the other. The kitchen had modern white cabinetry and a gray granite-topped island. This was the only room that didn’t seem hemmed in by the house’s original Victorian layout. Walls must have been removed to create this modern look. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the porch and, beyond that, the grassy yard she’d seen from upstairs. She glimpsed the ocean between the bushes.
Mr. Aylett rounded the island to where a coffee maker stood on the far counter, its carafe already filled with dark brew. “You want a cup?”
“Sure.”
He filled a mug and slid it across the island. “Cream, sugar?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
He retrieved a carton of cream from the refrigerator, then slid it and a sugar dish—pale blue with pink flowers—across the counter.
“Thank you.” She doctored her coffee while he filled a glass with water.
She sipped the warm drink, and he sipped his cold one. Neither of them said anything.
They hadn’t spoken much the night before, either.
She said, “I suppose we should?—”
“—Charlotte usually wakes?—”
He stopped, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “Ladies first.”
“I was going to say that we should talk about Charlotte’s schedule and what you expect from me.” Ordinarily, those things would be covered in the interview. Nothing about this job so far had been ordinary.
He leaned back against the far counter. “Have a seat if you want.”
She chose one of the barstools and pulled her phone from her pocket to take notes.
“First, you might have realized already, but Charlotte is not my daughter. She’s my brother’s child. He asked me to take her in a few months ago.”
She couldn’t imagine how disruptive that must’ve been to a single man. “Had your brother been caring for her? Did he not feel up to the job?”
“Charlotte’s mother had her for the first five months. Then child services stepped in, and she went?—”
“Wait, sorry. Why did child services step in?”
His brows crinkled, and she guessed her question had annoyed him. Before he could tell her, once again, that it wasn’t her business, she added, “If I’m to take care of her, then I need to understand what she’s been through.”
He licked his lips, gaze shifting toward the windows. “I don’t know exactly, but I think she’s a drug addict.”
That knowledge had Delaney’s heart dropping.Poor Charlotte.
“Do you know if she was sober during her pregnancy?”
“As far as I understand, she was. That’s what Jasper said, anyway, and her doctor sees no sign of fetal alcohol syndrome or…whatever it’s called when a mother uses drugs during pregnancy.”
One bit of good news. Maybe the woman had intended to be a worthy parent. And then…what? Decided she could take care of an infant and use drugs?
“Jasper was out of the country at the time, so CPS placed Charlotte with her maternal grandmother. She was still a baby. The courts forbade the mother to see her. When my brother returned earlier this year, he visited Charlotte and realized the grandmother wasn’t fit.”
