Some women wore confidence like lipstick.
Amy wore hers like a bra she didn't believe in—barely there, undeniably bold.
At 46, Amy didn't apologize for her curves. Especially not the ones that seemed to defy gravity, fabric, and attention spans. Her bust had been the subject of silent grocery aisle stares, PTA meeting whispers, and a few broken tape measures in her time. She didn't mind. In fact, she found it amusing—until one particular day, one particular man, and one very accidental encounter made her start seeing her assets in a new light.
Peter was 29, laid-back but observant, with a quiet magnetism and a sharp tongue. He wasn't afraid to look—but more importantly, he wasn't afraid to talk back. And Amy, for the first time in a while, wasn't sure she could keep control of the conversation—or the situation.
It began with one too-tight top, a spilled coffee, and a suggestion she never saw coming.
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