Chapter 1

"Hello? Anybody home?"
The side door to the bakery was unlocked, but no one answered my words. The smell of fresh-baked sweet treats filled the air with tantalizing aromas of sugar and butter, caramel and almond. I knew the bakery was closed on Sundays, but Elodie should be here, preparing to go to the farmer's market across town in a few hours. She'd surely give me a croissant and a coffee
to start the day.

A goofy smile crept over my face at the thought of the tall, dark-haired Frenchwoman. We recently made our relationship official after dating for a few months.I couldn't wait to see her.

But she didn't seem to be in. I stepped into the small front room of the bakery. She must have popped out for a minute. I'd wait for her. And while I waited, a croissant. I licked my lips at the thought of flaky layers and creamy frangipane. Luckily Elodie doesn't seem to mind that I'm a chubby girl who's not on a diet.

Well, lately it seems like I'm on an anti-diet. Lots of fancy romantic dinners, rich food, glasses of wine, and of course, little treats from the bakery. I can feel the waistband of my short black skirt digging into the soft, puffy flesh of my belly, rising like dough under a straining button. I feel a frisson of happiness and a flash of something else, a heat in my core, at the thought. Yes, definitely a croissant is in order. Maybe two.

But a locked doorknob halts me as I try to enter the kitchen area. I can see racks of fresh pastries cooling inside through the pass-through window. Surely it won't be long until my new girlfriend returns. But actually… that pass-through window… I think I can get through it, at least far enough to snitch a pastry. I pull over a wooden crate and step on it, but at 5' 2" I am still too short to hoist myself into the frame. I have to swap it out for a chair.

I manage to scrape and squish my arms, shoulders and breasts through. Just a little further…

There's no way my hips are going to fit. I must have misestimated how small the window was. Or how wide my body has become. One more squirm, another inch, and I can hook my fingers onto a tray and roll it toward me. My mouth is watering and I stuff the first bite into my mouth ravenously. Bits of flaky layers go flying as I wolf down my first almond croissant. Definitely
having two. Or maybe three.

A pastry in each hand, I go to pull myself back to standing. But I can't. The upper roll of my gut has poured through the frame, filling it up. My hips won't fit through and now my belly won't fit back. I'm stuck.