Ten minutes later, Delaney stood before the cracked mirror in her room, adjusting the collar that didn’t want to sit right. The shirt bunched up where she’d tucked it in. But the white looked crisp against the navy blazer. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work.
Surely, the cigarette smell would lessen during her walk across town. All she needed was a little time in the cool sea breeze.
She’d pulled her dark-blond hair into a bun and applied her makeup, going for a natural look.
Professional and competent. Someone who could be trusted with a child.
The walk through Driftwood helped settle Delaney’s nerves. The October morning was crisp, and the salt-tinged air reminded her of home. Leaves crunched beneath her sensible flats as she made her way from the shelter’s rundown neighborhood toward the historic district where the grand houses stood.
In Maine, the coastline jigged and jagged in rocky cliffs. It was smoother here in Virginia, more gentle.
She found the address on Magnolia Street—a three-story Victorian painted sage green with white trim. Wraparound porches adorned both levels, and climbing roses, though past their summer bloom, still clung to the latticework. The property was protected by a thick hedge. She could imagine happy children playing in the yard, stability and love behind leaded-glass windows.
Delaney stopped at the foot of the porch steps, tucking in the front of Linda’s borrowed shirt one more time. This could be the chance to prove to her family that she wasn’t incompetent, that she could make it on her own.
“Lord, please let her like me.”
Delaney climbed the steps. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell, and it chimed somewhere deep inside the house.
Footsteps approached—heavy, purposeful strides across what sounded like hardwood floors.
The door swung open, and Delaney found herself looking not at a woman but at a man. A man whose appearance made her forget every word she’d practiced on her way.
He was taller than she was by at least four inches and had blond hair that looked like he’d been running his fingers through it. His pale-blue dress shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair. But it was his eyes that stopped her—the gray of the sky an instant before dawn.
She’d expected a woman, a harried mother. She had not expectedthis.
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “You must be Mr. Aylett.” She forced confidence into her voice. “I’m Delaney Wright. The agency sent me.” When he didn’t respond—or react—she added, “For the nanny position?”
He didn’t shake her hand, his gaze taking her in. His expression shifted from curiously polite to worried to…angry? His jaw tightened. “I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work.”
Her arm fell to the side, her hopes plummeting much further. “I don’t understand. Has the position been filled?”
“My apologies.” With no more explanation, he slammed the door.
Delaney stared at it.
Had that really just happened? She’d barely gotten three sentences out before he’d dismissed her completely.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she replayed the moment. The way his eyes had swept over her, taking in her carefully applied makeup, her slightly wrinkled jacket, and Linda’s too-big shirt. Had the stale cigarette stench followed her?
Whatever the reason, he’d taken one look and found her lacking.
She raised her hand to knock again, then let it fall. What would she say? That she didn’t usually stink like cigarettes? That she had nicer clothes back home? That she’d grown up in a bigger house than this one and she belonged here, even if she didn’t look the part?
Those facts didn’t qualify her for the job, and anyway, he already knew her qualifications. The agency must have sent them along.
It wasn’t her experience. It was…her.
She simply wasn’t good enough.
The walk back to the sidewalk felt endless, each footfall echoing her humiliation. She’d known she might not get the job, but she hadn’t considered that she might not even make it through the front door.
She turned to look again at the beautiful Victorian that she’d believed, for a few glorious seconds, could be her home. A live-in position that might solve all her problems.
A curtain twitched in an upstairs window, and a child peered down at her. The curtain fell back into place before Delaney was able to get a good look.
By the time she made it to the corner, tears streamed down her face, hot and angry and filled with frustration and shame.
