I pressed my lips together in a firm line to avoid telling this jackass what I really thought.

How could he do this to me?

It wasn’t just downright unprofessional, it was also cruel.

Hadn’t he thought of that?

I stared at this man, who was wearing a button-down shirt, and dark jeans. He was dressed to the nines, and he didn’t seem even the least bit apologetic as he looked at me. It almost made me reach across the desk to throttle him.

But that could be because I’d just driven for hours on end with only one pit stop in the middle. I’d pulled off to the side of the road at a run-down motel that I could barely afford just so I could get some shut-eye. The entire place creaked and groaned, so in the end, I wasn’t able to get much sleep.

Just enough to make sure I could get to my destination. Now, I was wondering if I should’ve just continued sleeping.

At least I wouldn’t have been subjected to this.

This complete and utter bullshit.

I took a deep breath. “Mr. Baker. I’m not sure I understand.”

I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I truly did, but his words were echoing in my ears, and they were filling me with a sense of dismay.

“Your CV is impressive. You graduated top of your class, and you’ve been working at summer schools pretty much since you were 15 which is a rare commodity because most teachers have to be trained from scratch,” Mr. Baker complimented.

Chris Baker was obviously a man who was used to getting his way. I could tell by the way he was smiling at me that he was a regular charmer who could talk his way out of anything. It was a talent, one that would ordinarily impress me, but at this particular point, I wasn’t feeling too charitable.

Especially considering I was the one he was trying to dupe.

Like hell I was going to let that happen.

“These are all good things, right?” I gave him a bright smile as I adjusted myself in my seat and sat up straighter. I wasn’t a tall person to begin with, “petite” seemed to be invented for me, but I was determined not to let that hold me back.

Chris Baker might’ve been tall and muscular, but he had another thing coming if he thought his size would intimidate me. I’d learned pretty early on how to defend myself, and my parents often called me a firecracker because of how much energy I had.

Obviously, things had changed since then. But one thing hadn’t.

I still wouldn’t hesitate to give people a piece of my mind if they crossed me. My rapid-fire tongue was often what got me in trouble when I was a student, so when they first enrolled me in an after-school program to help kids, I scoffed.

The idea that I would be able to not only tolerate kids but teach them during the summer was not only laughable but downright impossible. The first 2 weeks, I’d sulked and refused to do the work. I hated that they were making me do this, but they said it would help foster a sense of belonging.

I had a lot of rage as a teenager. At the world, at my parents, who gave me up, at my foster parents, who couldn’t seem to fix that, and at the system that forced me to accept it.

Like I said, lots of rage.

What I had no way of knowing was that working at summer school was the best thing that ever happened to me. Being around those kids all day was tedious - until they started getting to me.

There was something about having a deep conversation with a 4-year old that really got a person thinking. No one else asked me to sniff the dandelion they’d just pulled out, or why I didn’t have a second favorite color.

At first, I took all their questions with a grain of salt, but pretty soon, they had me wondering about things I’d never paused to question before. Like why did we say the ocean is blue when it’s really transparent? Why are adults always in a hurry? Why can’t kids play more?

They seemed like silly questions in the beginning, but soon enough, I looked forward to hearing them. The transformation was almost instantaneous. My parents couldn’t believe that I’d changed that much.

But I had.

Deep down, I was no longer the same angry little girl. Suddenly, I began to view things differently, and I credited the kids for this positive change.

“Ordinarily, yes. They are excellent things. You are more than qualified. This isn’t an issue of qualification. It’s more a matter of preference,” Mr. Baker explained as he clasped his hands in front of him.

My smile faltered, and my eye twitched. “So, you’re telling me that it’s okay to make a person drive across the country to accept a job, only for you to decide that you’ve changed your mind?”

Chris Baker, the school principal, frowned and gazed at me disapprovingly. “Now, Ms. Pratt. You know that it isn’t like that. It isn’t quite that simple.”

“It sounds simple to me,” I insisted. “You offered the job, and I said yes. Why did you offer it to someone else?”

Chris Baker wasn’t fazed by my frustration or my impatience. Frankly, it only made me more irritated. “We decided to go in a different direction. We’re a small town, Ms. Pratt. It makes more sense for us to choose someone local.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I said through gritted teeth.

“There are other small towns nearby. Maybe you can inquire there.” Chris Baker stood up and held out his hand. After debating if I should just slap it away, I gingerly took it and immediately released it. I snatched my purse and stormed out of the room, the adrenaline flooding my veins.

I immediately pressed my fingers to my forehead to ward off the onslaught I was sure was coming as I gazed around at the empty street.

Now what?

I’d sold everything so I could move here for a fresh start. There was nothing left for me in Philly anymore, and I knew that. I hadn’t anticipated that my fresh start would be thwarted by small town ideals.

Otherwise, I would’ve applied somewhere else.

As it was, I’d been stupid enough not to.

When I heard about this job, sitting in my pajamas in my bleak and cold apartment in Philly, Rockford seemed like the place for me.

It sounded like a perfect fit. A small-town life for a big-city girl sounded like exactly what I needed. I sank down onto the steps and placed my head in my hands as I stared at my beat-up old Corolla and wondered what to do next.

I would have to start job hunting again. I ran my hands through my blonde hair and scrubbed my face, wishing that I could climb into a hot shower and wash everything away. As it was, I was tight on money and had to find a job within the next few days, or I would be forced to live in my car.

I sighed as I walked towards my car and yanked the door open. I sat there for a few minutes as I counted out the bills. Indulging wasn’t the best choice right now, but after the day I had, I would kill for a mocha, and the map said that there was a diner not too far from here.

I went over the map once more, backed out of my parking spot and gave the elementary school a withering look over my shoulder. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and let my mind switch off for a few minutes as I drove on autopilot.

I arrived a few minutes later, and I quickly ran my hands over my clothes to make them look somewhat presentable. I was dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose floral top that I thought made me look friendly and approachable.

Perhaps too friendly?

After all, I looked like I wasn’t older than 15 on most days. I had no idea. Genetics, I supposed, as I swung the door open, and a little bell signaled my arrival. It was a quaint place with a vintage feel.

It was done in bright neon colors, and the Elvis posters gave it a retro look. I liked this place a lot. I smiled as I walked towards an empty booth, keeping my eyes trained forward.

I sank into the cushions and took a cursory look at the menu, happy to find that they did indeed serve mochas here. I wasn’t sure they would because I’d never been in a small town before, and Philly had had pretty much everything.

“Hi, there. What can I get for you?” A young and perky brunette in a high ponytail asked in a bright voice.

“Hi,” I said, awkwardly unused to someone being this friendly, or this awake, this early in the morning. People mostly shuffled and groaned at this time of day. “Um, can I get a mocha, please?”

The waitressed jotted down the order. “Would you like any cream or sugar with that?”

“A dollop of cream, one spoon of sugar, and a little bit of milk please,” I instructed as I handed her the menu with a small smile.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” the waitress asked as she took the menu from me and tucked it underneath her arm.

“Yes, thank you.”

She ambled off, and I placed my hands in front of me, tuning in and out of conversations around me.

“Did you hear about what happened?” an old lady in the booth right behind me was saying to her friend.

“About Sheriff Baker?” the friend tutted. “Yes, I heard. Poor thing can’t seem to catch a break. All he really needs is a proper nanny, but apparently he can’t find one.”

“This is the 4^th nanny he’s gone through, right?” The first older lady asked.

“Yes, I believe so, or was it the fifth?”

“Regardless, he’ll be looking for another one soon. That little girl is just shy of five months after all. He can’t possibly manage on his own.”

My ears perked up as I leaned back in my booth and pretended to be reading the paper that was left in my booth. A sheriff who needed a nanny?

This sounded like just the lucky break I needed.

I needed to know more though. Like why four people had already come and gone. That didn’t sound like a good omen. Although, honestly, I wasn’t in a position to be picky.

Beggars can’t be choosers after all.

“Hasn’t he had enough bad luck? First, that runaway grants him custody of a girl, something he never asked for, and now he can’t find decent help,” the old lady said sympathetically. “Poor Sheriff Baker. I’d offer to help, but I’m too old for this now.”

“Me too,” her companion agreed. “We should make him something to eat though. Poor man will be in desperate need of a proper meal right about now.”

My mind was reeling.

I didn’t understand the logistics of the situation, but it seemed like this was the right job for me. I had experience with infants. The only question was whether he’d hired someone else already.

When the waitress placed the steaming mug of mocha in front of me, I impatiently began to tap my feet as I waited for it to cool off. Eventually, I gulped it down, counted out the money, and hurried out of the diner.

After a quick peek at my map, I was able to determine where the station was, and I was on my way.