She pulled a small plastic bottle from her purse, opened it, and handed it back. “Be careful with it.”
How did she have a bottle of water in her purse? She probably had snacks in there, too, and a first-aid kit, and anything else Charlotte might need.
She was better at taking care of his niece than he’d ever be, and here he was, acting like a jerk.
“It’s the pharmacy up here on the left,” she said.
He flicked on his blinker, then turned into the lot and parked. “I’ll be right back.”
“I can?—”
“I got it.” He stepped out of the car and slammed the door.
In line at the counter at the back of the store, he took a few deep breaths. He needed to get over his irrational anger. He had no right to feel jealous. Miss Wright was his employee, nothing else.
Yet his insides squeezed at the thought of her spending time with the handsome doctor who shared her last name.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Delaney pushed her Chinese takeout around her plate, stealing glances at Mr. Aylett across the kitchen table. He’d picked up dinner on the way home, but despite his thoughtfulness, a chill colder than a Maine winter had settled between them.
He asked polite questions about Charlotte’s medicine, which Delaney answered just as politely. Meanwhile, Charlotte chattered about her itchy skin and whether the rash would be gone by dance class. The fever was already lower, though it might climb back up. At least she seemed unaware of the tension.
But Delaney felt Mr. Aylett’s every measured word, every controlled response. Gone was the man who’d shown her such grace at the park that morning. In his place sat a stranger, polite and distant as a hotel concierge.
What had she done wrong?
The question gnawed at her as she prepared Charlotte’s bath using a recipe she found on the internet. She’d ground oatmeal in an old food processor she assumed had belonged to Mr. Aylett’s mother, then added baking soda. She stepped out whenMr. Aylett carried Charlotte in, giving Delaney a tight nod she took as forced gratitude.
What was his problem? She’d made the right medical decision—even Dr. Wright had said so.
Unless…
The thought crept in as she loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher.
Was Mr. Aylett jealous?
Surely not. After all, the doctor had been friendly, but not in a romantic way. He’d mentioned they might be long-lost cousins. Not exactly a pickup line.
Still, the way Mr. Aylett’s jaw had tightened when he’d seen them talking together, plus his petty accusation in the car… He’d acted like he’d caught her in some sort of betrayal.
Butjealous?
The possibility sent an unwelcome flutter to her middle. If he was jealous, that meant he saw her as more than just Charlotte’s caregiver. It meant the moments on the porch swing, the way his eyes lingered on her sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, the careful distance he maintained—it all added up to something…unexpected.
But unwelcome?
No.
Yes. Unwelcome. Even if her thoughts toward him had drifted from those of an employee for her boss. She respected him. She admired him. Shelikedhim.
Most of the time, anyway.
He was a good man.
She closed the dishwasher and wiped the table and countertops.
Even if Mr. Aylett were interested, she was his employee. That power dynamic made any relationship inappropriate, notto mention the disaster it would create if things went wrong. She needed this job. And Charlotte needed stability.
