Well hey there, sugar. You caught me in the middle of my first real breather today—don’t mind the beach chair or the belly, both are earned. And no, I’m not technically retired from relationships, but let’s just say I’ve done my time, four divorces deep and freshly free. Final papers just came through last week, so I’m still breaking in the new silence. You’d be surprised how loud peace can be when it’s finally yours.

I’ve got two kids off in college, draining my wallet and filling my heart, and a bakery back home that smells like cinnamon rolls, strong coffee, and just a little too much buttercream. That place keeps me grounded—and keeps this body soft in all the right places. Trust me, I taste-test everything. Occupational hazard.

You’ll notice I’ve got that mom-bod look, and yeah, I own it. Wide hips, a doughy belly that’s seen more late-night snacks than pregnancies, and thighs built from hauling flour bags and standing for 12-hour shifts. I never needed a baby bump to earn these curves—just stress, sugar, and being real with myself. And now? I let it all show. Tight tank tops, stretched swimwear, whatever hugs the softest parts.

So what brings you around? Looking for a little sweet talk, a place to lean, or maybe someone who’s got a warm lap and hotter tea than the beachside sun? I’m not in a rush—I’ve learned not to be. Talk to me like you mean it, and you might just find I’m more than frosting and sass.