The spy who stuffed me

Chapter 1 - The Spy Who Stuffed Me

Cecelia Clearwater's impeccably manicured fingernails drummed a slow, steady rhythm on the table.

She sipped the last couple drops of her caramel frappuccino, daintily wiping her mouth with a napkin once finished.

Where was he?

She’d expected her contact to arrive half an hour ago, but he hadn’t--yet.

The clock in the corner of the cafe’s window ticked quietly. After about a minute of watching the handle climb its face, Cecelia sighed, pulling out a pocket mirror. Examining her face for any spots of makeup that needed touching up, she quickly noticed how round and puffy her cheeks looked. Was she bloated? It was awfully humid on the coast, after all.

But to her dismay, as she craned her neck to get a better view, she saw a budding double chin begin to wobble.

Flustered, Cecelia snapped the mirror shut, abruptly stuffing it in her purse. She had put on a little weight during this assignment, so what? The persona she’d been ordered to portray led a very sedentary lifestyle. Reminding herself that this would be temporary, and she could even stand to gain a few more pounds before the damage was irreversible, Cecelia relaxed. Though after a minute or two, she began to wonder why the thought of gaining more weight filled her with elation.

Perhaps she had grown too attached to the sedentary lifestyle of Harriet Turner, the role she’d been playing for the past seven months. Well, it was no matter. As long as she could still fit in through the door, she should be alright. And given that she frequently went to the gym, she should still be able to defend herself in the worst case scenario.

“Sorry I’m late! You wouldn’t believe the traffic I had to sit through.”

Cecelia arched an eyebrow, not taking her eyes off of her phone.

James Jenkins, her contact in the secretaries’ department, was exceptionally bad at blending in with the crowd. Without even looking up, she could tell he was nervous about something.

“I don’t suppose you’re trying to shatter my eardrums with that shrill voice of yours?”

Biting his lip, James blushed, ducking his head.

“It’s not my fault they had hazelnut creamer next to the coffee machine this morning,” he mumbled, pouting.

She couldn’t see him pout, but she could hear the childish shame in his voice. Sighing sympathetically, she pushed the uneaten gingerbread muffin on her plate towards the poor simpering fool. After weeks of careful observation, she had determined it was his favorite pastry.

As he happily unwrapped it and got to work, the corners of her mouth twitched upward. If there was one thing Cecelia loved more than tackling a new and challenging undercover assignment, it was being right.

“So how’ve you been? You look--” James’s eyes darted over her newly plump curves, dimpled hands, and budding double chin. He swallowed, then took a moment to collect himself.

“Good. You look good.”

Choosing to ignore his incredibly obvious fluster, Cecelia nodded.

“I feel good. Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

The bakeries in this backwater town were treating her like a queen. And if there was one thing she loved more than being right, it was being pampered.