“I bet you can.”
Her lips part slightly, maybe in surprise, maybe in protest, but she remains silent.
“You want to look around?”
“Sure.”
I lead her through the house, pointing out rooms, letting her see the dust, the wear, the things we’ve let fall behind. Her eyes don’t miss a thing. The chips in the paintwork, the laundry that needs folding, the boxes of my dad’s junk we never parted with. She’s making a list in her head, cataloguing the difference she can make.
We reach the back porch, and she steps ahead of me to stare out at the land.
“You’ll get used to the quiet again,” I say.
“I already like it,” she replies. “I missed that part, at least. No one watching. No pressure to be something I’m not.”
She turns to me, her arms at her sides like she’s forgotten what’s happening beneath her shirt. It’s damp on both sides now, and her nipples are hard and outlined, leaking milk inlarge rings.
I swallow.
“Joelle,” I say, low and thick.
She stiffens.
“You know you’re leaking, right?” I let my eyes drift, and her shoulders tighten. She crosses her arms over her chest and avoids my gaze.
“I haven’t nursed for a while. I’m trying to wean.”
“You’re in pain?”
She hesitates, then nods. “I’m managing.”
I shake my head. “It’s not going to dry up immediately. You can’t just switch it off. It doesn’t work like that.”
She exhales, biting her lip, probably wondering how the fuck I know.
“It’ll go away if I wait it out.”
“If you don’t taper down slowly, it builds. You’ll get engorged. Skin’ll go tight, hot. Might spike a fever. Worst case, you get mastitis. That's an infection, Jo. You’ll need antibiotics. Might end up in the hospital.” I shake my head and rub my chin, the bristles there rasping against my work-calloused fingers.
She presses her arms tighter and makes a soft gasping noise, maybe pain or embarrassment.
I step closer, careful not to spook her, wondering what the fuck I’m even doing. I should offer her the job, but I don’t want to saddle us with a worker who can’t keep up with the pace or isn’t fit for purpose. I need her to work a few days on trial. We have to be sure she’s what we need before she brings a baby out here—because if she isn’t, sending her away could leave them both homeless. “Can you stay three days… enough to work out if you fit?”
She bites her lip, eyes dropping, considering her currentstate and what it will mean. “I can.”
“Good.”
Sweat trickles down her temple, the heat of her engorgement and the dry air in the damned place getting to her.
“You’ll need to drain it,” I tell her. “The milk.”
She freezes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have a pump?”
She shakes her head. Shit. No pump. There’s nowhere nearby that stocks that kind of thing. It’ll be an order and days of waiting before it arrives.
I consider what I’m about to say for all of three seconds. If she’s offended and storms off, it won’t matter to me. There’ll be other applicants for the job. Ones with less baggage and history. But if she says yes? My dick thickens behind my jeans. It’s been a while since I touched a pretty woman. And Joelle sure is pretty.
