Package Arrives

It was just a package.

That’s what she told herself.

Emily opened the door with Chloe fussing on her hip and sweat clinging to her back beneath the nursing tank. The afternoon sun spilled into the entryway, lighting up the dust motes and highlighting how flushed her cheeks were from rushing around the house all morning. She hadn’t expected anyone.

But he stood there—delivery guy, probably late 20s. T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. Tattoos on his forearm. Eyes that dipped fast down her body and didn’t pretend to be shy about it.

She signed without thinking, balancing Chloe in one arm while scrawling her name with the other. He lingered just a second too long as he handed over the box.

Then his eyes locked on hers.

“You, uh… look like you could use a break.”

She laughed. Short. Tired.

But didn’t shut the door.

Instead, she shifted Chloe up to her shoulder, adjusting her grip. “She’s teething.”

“Rough.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

His gaze dropped to her chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She never did anymore, not at home. Her nipples had gone stiff in the air conditioning, pressing against the damp fabric. Milk stains had started to bloom—small, but visible.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did she.

She didn’t invite him in.

But she didn’t close the door either.

Not yet.