Annie Romano tucked the loose end of her red wool scarf into the front of her jacket and snuggled down into the soft lining. Puffing out a breath, she tried to warm her chilly face as she waited at the corner of Eleventh and Harris in the historic district of Fairhaven, Washington. A brisk, early-November breeze blew up the hill, carrying the fresh, salty scent of Bellingham Bay.Clenching her hands in her pockets, she gazed across the street at Jameson's Bakery and lifted a silent prayer. Please, God, help me find a job. Not just for my sake, but also for Emma's.With her stomach knotting in a tight ball, she stepped off the curb and crossed the street. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Irene Jameson, or that she was afraid to ask her for a job.
