I can feel the timing even before my phone reminder buzzes. A warmth builds low in my chest first, subtle, then insistent. My breasts feel fuller now, rounder against the fabric of my bra. The sensation of my breasts growing heavier is both intimate and startling. When I move too quickly, there’s a tug, a reminder that something inside me is responding exactly as promised.
I adjust the strap beneath my cardigan and glance toward the back room where I keep the pump tucked discreetly in a cabinet. I’ve already had two sessions today. The first one surprised me,the soft, electric tingling that rippled outward just before the suction began. The second time, I recognized it. My body is preparing.
Not dramatic. Not overwhelming.
Just… working.
Dr. Madsen had told me it would begin like this. A fast responder, she’d called me after reviewing my labs and performing that careful, methodical exam. My hormone levels were well within range. My tissue is responsive. My cycle is steady. My system is primed.
I hadn’t expected to feel so aware of myself.
My bras fit differently now. The difference isn't drastic; it's just enough that when Erik's eyes linger, I can feel the heat creep up my neck. My shirts stretch in a way they didn’t three weeks ago. There’s a softness along my upper chest that wasn’t there before, a fullness that feels deliberate. Alive.
And the hunger. God, the hunger.
I’m eating more without even trying. Protein bars are available behind the counter. Greek yogurt between customers. I eat toast, avocado, and handfuls of almonds. My body demands fuel like it understands what it’s building toward.
The front bell chimes, and I look up automatically, and it’s him.
Erik walks in like he belongs here, with broad shoulders, a quiet gaze, and all that coiled stillness wrapped in a charcoal button-down. The air shifts when he crosses the threshold, like the store itself is straightening up.
He’s not alone. A younger guy follows him inside, backpack slung over one shoulder. Late teens, maybe. He has dark blond hair, earnest brown eyes, and a nervous energy that vibrates under his skin, as if he's trying very hard not to mess this up.
“Claire,” Erik says, his voice low and steady. “I’d like you to meet Leander.”
The young man offers a quick, awkward smile. “Hi, Ms. Claire. It's… it's delightful to meet you.”
Ms. Claire.I’m officially old.
I blink at Erik. “What’s going on?”
“A solution,” he says simply. “You’ve been doing the work of three people. You need help.”
“I never said…”
“You didn’t have to.”
He gestures toward the counter. “Interview him.”
Leander shifts his backpack around, digging for something. “I, uh, brought my résumé. And references.” He pulls out a neatly folded packet, smoothing the edges. “One of them is my brother, Sven; he works two doors down at the deli with Grace and her dad. They said you’d know him.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders dissolves. “Oh. Yes, I know him. Sven is wonderful.”
Leander lights up. “Grace and Sven both said you’re the nicest person on the block.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “They’re biased.”
Behind him, Erik’s mouth curves in the faintest smirk. He’s absolutely enjoying this.
I take the packet and skim the top page. “So, Leander. Why do you want to work in a bookstore?”
He straightens a little, swallowing. “Reading got me through some rough stuff. I like how books make people feel… breathe easier. And I’m good at organizing, carrying boxes, memorizing layouts, and that kind of thing. I don’t panic easily.”
That last part lands heavier than the others.
He hesitates, then adds, “Sven says I talk too much, but in a store that’s a plus, right?”
I laugh. “It can be.”
