Maid to Shrink(Complete)

[Firewall]

Maid to Shrink


Chapter 1


Tiffany stood outside the gate of the old Carrington estate, résumé clutched tightly in her hand, staring up at the towering silhouette of the house beyond the iron fence. She took a breath, tried to steady her nerves, and reminded herself: it was just a job interview. Sure, the employer was a genius inventor. Sure, the house was worth more than her entire existence. But it was still just a job. Cleaning. Organizing. Sanity.

She’d been a paralegal, once. A damn good one. But layoffs came swiftly in the legal world when firms wanted to cut costs. Three months later, Tiffany was applying to clean rooms for a man she had only read about in the news.

That man was Garrett Wexley.

Twenty-five years old, heir to the Carrington fortune, and already known for several groundbreaking inventions—one of which had revolutionized emergency water filtration in developing countries. Photos of him circulated online: handsome, boyish, slightly unkempt, always in a hoodie and goggles. A genius with the social polish of a house cat.

Tiffany had expected a stern butler or a secretary to greet her at the front door. Instead, Garrett himself opened it.

He looked... tired. Messy hair, a smudge of grease on his jawline, and a smile that was part awkward, part charming. "Hi. You must be Tiffany."

She blinked. “I... yes. That’s me.”

“Cool. Uh, come in.”

The inside was stunning—sleek, modern, but with strange little details. A glowing orb hovering in a glass case. A ceiling panel that flickered slightly, as if it didn’t obey normal electricity. A hallway that curved ever so subtly, as though the house had been designed by Escher with a love of sci-fi.

Their interview happened over tea in a sunlit sitting room.

“I inherited this place when my uncle passed.” Garrett explained. “It’s too much house for me. I built a lab here, but I’m... not great at domestic stuff. I need someone who can keep the place in order, and ideally not be freaked out by gadgets or explosions.”

“Explosions?” Tiffany raised an eyebrow.

“Low-level. Usually contained.” He smiled, sheepishly. “Mostly.”

She studied him—bright eyes, boyish grin, a brain clearly running ten times faster than his mouth. He was cute. Too cute. And young. Too young. Five years wasn’t a lot in the grand scheme, but it was just enough to make her feel the gap when he looked at her with such casual intensity.

Still, the pay was good. The house fascinating. And he wasn’t arrogant. Just... distracted.

“I can handle gadgets.” she said finally. “Just don’t ask me to fix them.”

He laughed. “Deal.”
====
Weeks had passed, and the job turned out to be better than expected. Tiffany found a rhythm—cleaning the living areas, keeping Garrett’s chaotic office from becoming a science hazard, and gradually developing a routine in the sprawling mansion. Garrett popped in and out, often excited about some breakthrough or apologizing sheepishly for the mess.

And there was the chemistry.

Little things. The way he paused when she tucked her hair behind her ear. How his compliments weren’t just “thanks,” but more like “you make this place feel alive.” He’d bring her coffee, linger in the kitchen when she was there. Nothing overt, but it made her heart stir.

It’s not a crush, she told herself. He’s younger. He’s your boss. He’s...Adorable.

Then came the day….the day that changed everything.

Garrett had asked her not to clean the lab too thoroughly, but she hated dust. She waited until he went into town and decided to at least tidy the benches. One machine—a sleek, gun-like device with blue coils—was oddly placed on the edge of the shelf.

She reached to adjust it and that was proved to be an mistake as it slipped from the shelf onto the floor.

The blast was instant—light, noise, the scent of ozone—and the world expanded in a blur. Or rather, she shrank. Clothes tight, then seamlessly adapting as if stitched by magic.

Tiffany landed in the dust next to the device, now taller than a truck. She screamed. High-pitched and strange. Then looked down at herself. She assumed she was around four inches tall.

“...Oh. My. God.”

The machine sparked and hissed. No hope of restarting it.

She panicked. Ran behind a canister twice her height. When Garrett returned and saw the scorched floor, he rushed in, eyes wide.

“Tiffany?” he called. “Are you okay?”

She peeked out. “Down here, you maniac!”

He turned, stared—then crouched, jaw slack. “Holy hell...”

She crossed her arms. “You built a shrink ray. And didn’t label it.”

He sputtered. “It’s a prototype!”

“It’s a hazard!”

“I—I’ll fix it. I can fix it!”

And he meant it. But in the meantime... she wasn’t going anywhere.

Tiffany stared at the massive hand descending toward her.

Garrett's palm lowered near her—steady, warm-looking, calloused from long nights of invention. The sheer scale of it made her heart pound. His fingers were thicker than her legs, his thumb a towering wall of flesh. It should have been absurd. It was absurd.

But somehow, standing there at four inches tall, the sight of it made her knees weak.

“You okay?” Garrett asked gently, his voice thunderous but soft in tone.

Tiffany swallowed. She took a hesitant step back.

Her mind raced. If I get in his hand, I’m not just small. I’m... helpless. At his mercy. Dependent. Vulnerable in every possible way.

“I…” she said, voice high and uncertain. “Just... gimme a second.”

Garrett didn’t push. He waited, hand unmoving, open and steady. His eyes watched her with concern—not pity, not fascination. Just care. It helped.

Tiffany exhaled, adjusted her miniature uniform skirt that still clung surprisingly well, and took a shaky step forward. Then another. She placed a hand on his finger first—warm, smooth, trembling just slightly—and looked up at him.

“You’re not gonna, like, drop me, are you?”

“Never.” he whispered.

With a deep breath, she climbed up—one leg, then another, awkwardly hoisting herself over his knuckles. It was like crawling over a recliner chair. When she finally settled in the cradle of his palm, she gasped at how much heat radiated from him. His skin was soft and strong beneath her, and when he slowly lifted his hand, she clutched at his thumb instinctively for balance.

“Whoa—easy!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He moved slower, holding her like the most fragile thing in the world.

“You’re... wow. You’re really tiny.”

“Gee, thanks.” She crossed her arms and gave him a pointed glare. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

Garrett laughed, his breath washing over her in a warm wave. “No, I mean—you’re okay. You’re you. You look... perfect.”

Tiffany’s cheeks burned. At full size, she might’ve brushed it off. But here? In his hand? With his eyes locked on her like she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen?

A shiver ran down her spine.

She tucked her legs underneath her, trying to ignore the way his thumb rested near her hip, unmoving but present. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but the closeness sent a little flutter through her chest.

“So, what now?” she asked. “You gonna build a growth ray?”

Garrett looked sheepish. “I need time. I’ll reverse-engineer the pulse data, but I can’t promise a timeline.”

“Fantastic.” she muttered. “Guess I’m your tiny houseguest now.”

He smiled, crooked and boyish. “I’ll take care of you. I swear.”

She looked up at him. Really looked. For all his genius, Garrett still had the heart of a boy trying to do the right thing. And right now, he was holding a full-grown woman—albeit fun-sized—in the palm of his hand like she was his whole world.

And that did something to her.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. So did his.

“You know.” she said, cocking her head, “this whole situation would be a lot more embarrassing if I didn’t know you were checking me out before I shrank.”

He blinked, startled. “W-what? I wasn’t—! Okay, I was. But not in a creepy way!”

Tiffany smirked. “Relax. I’m flattered. Just don’t get any ideas about Barbie and Ken.”

He chuckled, but his cheeks flushed. “Trust me, I have... questions. But right now? Just want to keep you safe.”

She leaned back slightly in his palm, sighing. “Then step one: no sudden moves. Step two: no weird experiments. And step three…”

She looked up at him, a playful glint in her eyes. “If I’m stuck like this for a while... we’re gonna need to talk about boundaries. And where you let me sleep. Because if you even think about putting me in a shoebox...”

Garrett raised his other hand in surrender. “No shoeboxes. Got it.”

And with that, he carried her carefully out of the lab, both of them wondering exactly how long this strange new phase of their lives—and whatever was growing between them—was going to last.
==
Later that night, Garrett had done his best to make her comfortable.

On the nightstand beside his bed, he’d cleared space and gently constructed a miniature setup using fabric swatches, stacked washcloths, and a silk pillowcase folded like a mattress. There was even a bottle cap of water and a sliver of a granola bar cut down to size.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was oddly cozy.

Tiffany sat cross-legged on the tiny makeshift bed, still in her snug housekeeping uniform, brushing out her long brown hair with a toothpick she’d fashioned into a brush.

Garrett sat on the bed beside her, typing on his laptop, looking over blueprints and molecular data. His presence loomed, warm and protective, and she couldn’t help but feel a strange intimacy in how he occasionally glanced at her to make sure she was okay.

But her mind wasn’t in the room.

It drifted back, unbidden, to a night just two weeks ago.
=====
Two weeks ago

The bar was loud, the drinks strong, and the conversation increasingly inappropriate.

Tiffany was sandwiched between her two best friends—Jasmine and Rina—both leaning in, drinks in hand, eyes glittering with curiosity.

“So, tell us again.” Jasmine said, swirling her cocktail. “You got hired by Garrett freaking Wexley?”

“Yep!” Tiffany said, already halfway through her margarita. “I’m a glorified housekeeper for a baby genius billionaire. It’s weird, but it pays like crazy.”

Rina leaned in, smirking. “And he’s cute, right? Come on. Admit it.”

Tiffany hesitated, chewing her straw. “He is cute.”

“Knew it.” Rina said. “Tall, lean, awkward-inventor hot?”

“Yeah,” Tiffany laughed. “And really sweet, too. Like... endearing. Kinda shy, kinda intense. But—”

“There’s a ‘but’.” Jasmine said.

“He’s twenty-five.” Tiffany replied flatly.

“So what?” Rina rolled her eyes. “That’s not even that big a gap.”

“I’m thirty. It feels like a big gap. Especially when he looks at me like I’m this... mystery to be solved.”

“You are a mystery to be solved.” Jasmine said. “And if a hot young genius wants to take a crack at it... girl, why not?”

Tiffany shook her head, smiling but unconvinced. “It just feels weird. Like... I’d be corrupting him or something.”

“Trust me.” Rina said, raising her glass. “If he’s rich, brilliant, and single, he’s already been corrupted. You’re just bringing flavor.”

Tiffany laughed, but something about the topic lingered. Even back then, she felt it—that low burn of attraction, of curiosity, of wondering what it would be like to cross that invisible line.
====
Shaking her head from thinking about that evening two weeks ago, She laid down now on the soft cotton square Garrett had laid out, staring up at the ceiling. His desk lamp loomed over her like a streetlight, bathing her in soft gold.

“So….” Garrett said suddenly, without looking away from his screen, “what were you doing before this job?”

Tiffany blinked, pulled from the memory. “Paralegal work. Office stuff. Got laid off. You know how it goes.”

He glanced at her. “Hard to imagine you in a law office.”

“Why?” she asked, arching a brow.

“You’ve got... presence. Personality. People probably had no idea how to handle you.”

Tiffany smiled, flattered. “You saying I’m too much to handle?”

He looked over at her fully now, eyes earnest. “No. Just enough.”

The silence between them stretched. Not uncomfortable—just charged. Tiffany sat up slowly, legs folded beneath her.

“Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not freaking out.”

He smiled. “You’re the one who shrank to the size of an action figure and kept her cool. You’re kind of incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed and that dangerous little thought came crawling back in again: Age difference be damned, this guy gets me.

She lay back down, rolled to her side, and pulled a small swatch of velvet over her like a blanket. “Goodnight, big guy.”

“Night, Tiff.” he murmured. “Sweet dreams.”

And in the warm glow of the lamplight, surrounded by inventions and impossibilities, Tiffany closed her eyes—wondering what kind of dreams she might have now that her whole world had shrunk down... and her feelings for Garrett had started to grow.
==
The next morning, sunlight streamed into the bedroom in hazy golden beams. Garrett was already up, showered, and half-dressed in his usual jeans and hoodie combo, zipping around the room looking for his keys and muttering to himself.

“I’m just running out for an hour.” he said as he pulled on his shoes. “Groceries, parts, maybe coffee. You’ll be okay?”

Tiffany stretched on the nightstand, still wrapped in her makeshift velvet blanket. Her brown hair was tousled and her uniform a bit wrinkled, but her smirk was intact.

“You’re acting like you’re leaving a puppy home alone.”

“I just don’t want anything weird to happen.” he said, glancing at her like she might vanish again. “You’re kinda... important to me.”

Her chest fluttered—again.

“Relax, Professor. I’ll stay right here. Read a bit. Nap. Not touch anything that glows.”

“Deal.” He smiled, gave her a long glance, then headed out the door.

The click of the lock echoed like a vault sealing shut.

For the first few minutes, it was actually nice. Quiet. Peaceful.

Tiffany wandered to the edge of the nightstand, stretching out her arms and peering over the side like a queen surveying her domain. The bedroom looked even bigger from up here. Garrett’s desk, the messy floor, the open closet—it all felt like a landscape.

She wandered over to a matchbox Garrett had turned into a “dresser,” poked at some of the bits of thread and cloth he’d set aside for her future outfits. She smiled. The guy was really trying.

Maybe being tiny wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Then something moved behind a stack of pencils. Something moved fast and it made Tiffany freeze.

A twitch. A leg. Then two.

Her blood went cold. “Oh. Hell no.”

From behind a dusty eraser, a spider—small by normal standards but the size of a damn Doberman to her—scuttled into view. Its legs twitched, mandibles flexed, and it was moving straight toward her.

She bolted. Sprinting across the desk, breath shallow, heart hammering, Tiffany leapt over a paperclip and scrambled past a stack of coins. The spider followed, silent and jerky, unblinking.

“Nope nope nope!” she shouted, veering toward the edge of the nightstand.

She didn’t stop to think—she jumped.

The fall was terrifying, but she landed with a soft thump into a pile of discarded laundry beside Garrett’s bed. The fabric absorbed the impact, and she rolled down a slope of twisted cotton until she landed in the depths of the clothes hamper.

It was warm, dark, and smelled very much like Garrett—soap, sweat, and something uniquely male.

Tiffany pushed herself upright with a groan, tangled in a pair of boxers and one of Garrett’s old undershirts. She wrinkled her nose, then immediately regretted it.

“God, you couldn’t have worn clean clothes yesterday?” she muttered, trying to climb onto a more stable surface. “I just escaped an eight-legged nightmare and now I’m in your armpit dungeon.”

But it wasn’t all bad.

The scent, though strong, was oddly comforting. Garrett smelled good, even when a little ripe. She tried not to notice the way her stomach fluttered as she leaned back against a sock roughly the size of a futon.

A sigh escaped her lips.

“This is my life now.” she muttered. “Getting hunted by spiders and hiding in a guy’s laundry. Living the dream.”

Still, there was something about the closeness—being wrapped up in his scent, his world, that felt... weirdly intimate. She closed her eyes, tried to slow her breathing, and let herself rest. Just for a few minutes.

She didn’t notice the spider scuttling away, discouraged and she definitely didn’t notice the bedroom door creaking open again.
==
A little later, the bedroom door clicked open and Garrett stepped inside, balancing a tote bag of groceries and a small box of components under one arm. He toed off his shoes at the door and set everything down with a sigh.

“Tiff?” he called out, closing the door behind him. “I got those snacks you like—and some fabric scraps from the craft store in case you wanna upgrade your wardrobe.”

The only response he got was silence and that alone was suspicious.

He walked into the bedroom, expecting to see her perched on the nightstand or maybe lounging in her tiny makeshift lounge chair like a smug little empress. But the surface was empty. A pencil had been knocked over. One of the matchbox drawers hung open. And—

“Wait... where’d you go?”

He leaned in, eyes scanning the table, then the floor. Nothing.

His heart skipped. “Tiff?”

Then a tiny sound—muffled. Was that… rustling? It came from the hamper.

Garrett stepped over cautiously, lifted the lid—and froze.

There she was, tangled in a soft mess of his shirt sleeves and boxer briefs, blinking up at him like a guilty cat caught on the counter.

“Tiffany?”

“Hi.”

He blinked. “Are you... in my laundry?”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Garrett arched a brow. “It looks like you fell asleep in my underwear.”

“Okay. So maybe it is what it looks like.” she muttered, pushing herself up onto an old gym tee. “But it’s not like I was sniffing it, okay? I was hiding.”

“Hiding from what?”

“Spider.”

His expression immediately turned serious. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” she said quickly, brushing herself off. “Little bastard chased me off the desk. I jumped. Landed here. You should really empty this thing, by the way.”

He reached in, hand flat again, and she stepped onto it with a huff of dignity—despite smelling vaguely like cedarwood deodorant and cotton sweat.

He lifted her gently, cradling her in both hands now.

“You’re sure it didn’t bite you? Or touch you?”

“I’m fine.” she said. “Well, emotionally scarred and covered in boxer lint, but otherwise good.”

Garrett chuckled, visibly relieved. He sat on the edge of the bed, still holding her. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve left you with a safer spot.”

“Yeah, like a spider-proof bunker.”

He smirked. “Maybe I’ll start designing one.”

There was a pause. Then he looked at her—really looked—and his voice softened. “You smell like me.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Don’t say that!”

“You do, though.”

She squirmed a bit in his palm, face turning red. “It’s your fault. I was literally rolling in your armpit laundry.”

“I mean... if you ever miss the smell, I guess I could bottle it for you.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “I will kick you. I swear I will climb your nose and kick you in the face.”

He laughed—fully, easily, genuinely—and it made something flutter in her chest. There was something disarming about his affection. Even in the weirdest moment of her life, he made her feel cared for. Safe. Maybe even wanted.

Still cradled in his hands, she crossed her arms. “You better be upgrading my sleeping quarters after this.”

“I’ll build you a penthouse.” he said. “With spider-proof walls. Heated floors. Maybe a little sound system.”
“And a closet.”
“Walk-in?”
“If it doesn’t count as a walk-in for me, we’re starting over.”

He smiled at her—so sweet, so sincere—and in that second, Tiffany forgot about the age gap, the size difference, the absurdity of her day. All she saw was him.

And damn if she wasn’t starting to really fall for this boy genius.

[ensmallen]

[MarauderTDL]

Okay, the premise is simple, the interaction is fun. I love it! More, please!

MarauderTDL

[Firewall]

lol hopefully, that is a good laugh.

Okay, the premise is simple, the interaction is fun. I love it! More, please!

MarauderTDL

There will definitely be more. I'll upload the next chapter soon. In the meantime, I was able to craft a whisk gif which shows what I envision Tiffany looks like.

[theangelofdeath1986]

Love this! Nice to see a gentle dynamic and slice of life kinda setting

[Raso719]

lol hopefully, that is a good laugh.

Okay, the premise is simple, the interaction is fun. I love it! More, please!

MarauderTDL

There will definitely be more. I'll upload the next chapter soon. In the meantime, I was able to craft a whisk gif which shows what I envision Tiffany looks like.

That gif reminds me of some line drawings from one of the Indian in the Cupboard books. There was a tiny maid sitting on a thimble or spool of threads and it definitely was part of my size fetish awakening!

[DocRick]

"Spider proof" penthouse under construction......

[Firewall]

"Spider proof" penthouse under construction......

I can definitely see Garrett making that....though he wouldn't stop there.

[DocRick]

The scene where Garrett finds her in the laundry hamper.

[Firewall]

I'm glad you all are enjoying this story. I'll have a couple of one shots to post in the near future but for now? Here is the second chapter.

Chapter 2

Later that evening, Garrett had moved Tiffany from the hamper to a fresh new space he’d quickly put together on his desk—a small plexiglass cube lined with satin, complete with a hinged door, a bottle cap sink, and even a cotton hammock suspended between two chopsticks. He called it “The Cozy Cubicle.” She rolled her eyes at the name, but she hadn’t stopped smiling since he showed it to her.

Now she sat curled up inside the hammock in a new outfit—a tiny, hand-stitched tank top made from an old T-shirt sleeve, and a skirt pieced from denim scraps. Her legs swung gently as she watched Garrett at his workbench across the room. He wasn’t working, not really. Mostly staring at his notes and tools without doing anything.

She could see the worry in his shoulders.

“Garrett?” she called, her voice soft.

He looked over, a little startled.

“Come here.”

He set his notebook down and walked over, sitting in the desk chair and leaning in so she could see his face closer now, eyes tired but warm. She stood in the entrance of the cube, gripping the edge of the doorway with both hands.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I should be asking you that.” he replied, trying to smile. “You got chased by a spider and ended up face-first in my laundry pile.”

Tiffany smirked. “Yeah, I’m totally putting that on my résumé.”

His smile faded, replaced by something quieter. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come back when I did. If that thing had gotten to you.”

“Hey….” she said, stepping out of the cube onto the desk. “I’m okay. You got me out. And I got in your boxers, so really, I won.”
He didn’t laugh this time.

“I’m serious.” he said, voice low. “I’m the one who built that thing. The shrink ray. I’ve triple-checked the containment safeties now, and it shouldn’t have even had an active charge left. That’s on me. You trusted me, and I—”

She walked right up to the edge of the desk where his hands rested and placed a tiny palm on his knuckle.

“You didn’t screw up. I was the one messing with your lab gear, remember?”

“Still.” he said, eyes locked on hers. “You could’ve died.”

There it was—that deep, twisting guilt. He wasn’t just a genius. He was a guy who carried the weight of everything he built, of everyone he touched.
Even when it wasn’t his fault.

Tiffany sat down cross-legged on the desk beside his hand.

“You want to know the truth?” she said. “I wasn’t scared because I shrank. Or because I had to dive into your laundry to hide. I was scared because... I thought I’d be stuck like this. That I’d have to live the rest of my life in this dollhouse version of reality while you kept trying to fix me.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “You won’t. I’ll find a way—”

She nodded. “I know. I believe you. That’s not the hard part.”

“Then what is?”

She hesitated. The words hovered on her tongue. Too honest. Too vulnerable. But there was no point hiding anymore. Not after everything they’d shared—even just in the past twenty-four hours.

“I don’t know what scares me more—being stuck like this... or the fact that I don’t hate it. That I get to see this version of you up close. The version no one else sees.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “What version is that?”

“The one who makes me tiny clothes and heats my sleeping blanket with a hairdryer because he’s afraid I’ll be cold. The guy who—despite being one of the smartest people in the world—still gets nervous around a girl five years older than him.”

Garrett’s lips parted, his voice quiet. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

Tiffany smiled sadly. “I noticed. And I keep telling myself it’s weird. That I shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. But here I am. Tiny, terrified... and stupidly grateful that it’s you who found me like this.”

His gaze softened.

“You know I’ve been drawn to you since the day you showed up, right?” he said. “You had this fire, this presence. You made this house feel like someone actually lived in it. I kept trying to pretend it was just admiration. Or curiosity.”

She tilted her head. “And now?”

He reached out slowly, placing a fingertip beside her. She touched it with her palm—two beings from different scales, connected anyway.

“Now?” he said quietly. “I’m scared, too. Of what it means to feel this close to you. Of what happens if I fix the ray and you go back to your normal life... and leave.”

Tiffany’s breath hitched. They stayed like that—her hand on his finger, his eyes locked to hers—until the silence became heavy with everything unsaid.

Eventually, she said, “Let’s just not think about tomorrow. Just tonight. Just... this.”

And Garrett nodded because for now, that was enough.

The quiet hum of Garrett’s computer filled the room like background music, soft and steady, as the glow from the desk lamp cast a golden warmth over the two of them. Tiffany sat beside his hand, still lightly touching the pad of his fingertip with both of her tiny hands, and for a while, they just stayed like that.

No words. No questions. Just closeness.

“I’ve never had anyone see this side of me.” Garrett said finally, voice low. “The way you do.”

Tiffany looked up at him, her chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. “It’s a good side.”

His eyes searched her face—the delicate features now so small and yet so expressive. She was sitting there in a makeshift tank top and skirt that barely covered her thighs, her skin bathed in amber light, and he knew that if she were full-size right now, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

Even now, he wasn't sure he could.

“Can I... hold you?” he asked.

Her breath caught. Not from fear, but something else. Deeper.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just be gentle.”

Always gentle.

He scooped her into his hands with the care of someone holding a fragile glass figurine, cradling her against his palm and bringing her closer to his chest, where his hoodie was unzipped, revealing bare skin beneath. Tiffany could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, rhythmic and grounding.

He sat back in his chair and let her rest against him, the heat of his body radiating around her like a blanket. She stretched out slightly in his palm, the curve of her back nestling into the dip between his fingers and tilted her head back to look up at him.

“You’re so warm,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he said, voice like velvet. “Like... impossibly warm.”

She reached up, her tiny hand brushing along his collarbone, her fingers light and soft on his skin. It was surreal—her size, the context—but not once did it feel wrong. Her touch wasn’t timid. It was deliberate. Curious. Real.

And his body responded, slow and involuntary, a deep exhale leaving him as his eyes half-closed.

Tiffany shifted slightly in his palm, sitting up, her legs straddling his middle finger now for balance as she moved closer to his chest. Her hand traced the curve of his pectoral, marveling at the smoothness, the way his muscles moved beneath her touch.

“You ever think…” she murmured, “that maybe we were supposed to get here in some roundabout, completely insane way?”

He chuckled softly. “That’s one way to describe getting blasted with a shrink ray.”

She smiled. Then, slowly, her eyes lowered to his lips. They were full and soft, slightly parted as he looked at her with an intensity that made her heart race. There was desire there—but more than that, restraint. He wasn’t going to make a move unless she did.

And she knew it.

“I think…No...I want to kiss you.” she said, almost shyly. “Even if it’s just... your lower lip.”

His voice was barely a whisper. “You can do anything you want.”

He brought her closer to his mouth—slowly, reverently—until she was level with his lips. Tiffany leaned forward, pressing both her hands gently to his stubbled chin for balance, and tilted her face upward.

She kissed him. A small, perfect press of lips against the corner of his mouth—feather-light, tentative but real. And when she pulled back, Garrett exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

Tiffany looked up at him, cheeks flushed, legs still braced around his finger.

Garrett’s voice was husky now. “That felt like way more than just a kiss.”

She smiled softly. “It was.”

And as he held her close, wrapped in nothing but warmth, skin, and quiet promise, they both knew that whatever this was—whatever it was becoming—it had stopped being strange a long time ago.
==
Later in the evening, Garrett was hesitant at first when Tiffany asked if she could sleep in his bed instead of the cube.

“Are you sure?” he asked, standing beside the mattress, holding her in his palm. “You’d be safer in the enclosure.”

“I’d be lonely in the enclosure.” she replied, giving him a look. “I’ve had enough of feeling like a pet. I want... closeness. I want to fall asleep to your heartbeat.”

That hit him right in the chest.

So he nodded, pulled back the covers, and gently laid her down on the pillow near the center of the bed. She sank into the soft fabric, her body dwarfed by the vast folds of the cotton case, but her eyes never left his.

He climbed in slowly, shirtless, wearing only soft lounge pants. The bed dipped under his weight, and the motion sent a small ripple across the pillow like a gentle wave. She laughed as she rolled with it.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel like a princess on a marshmallow.”

He chuckled, then leaned over carefully, his head coming down beside her, one arm resting behind his head. She curled up near his jawline, the curve of his cheek like a warm hillside beside her. Every breath he exhaled was a breeze, every subtle movement a vibration through the bed.

“You smell like citrus.” she murmured, eyes half-lidded.

“Soap.” he said. “Wanted to be clean... in case you got close.”

She smiled. “You’re really trying.”

“I really like you.” he said simply.

That hung between them for a moment.

She walked up to his face again, resting her tiny palm on his lower lip. “I like you too. You make me feel... seen. Even like this.”
He closed his eyes at her touch, exhaling slowly.

She laid down then, stretching out along the curve where his collar met the pillow. His arm shifted slightly, forming a valley of warmth she could nestle into. He instinctively cupped his hand protectively around her like a shell—never pressing, just there, a soft barrier between her and the world.

And there, wrapped in the scent of skin and fabric, against the warmth of a heartbeat the size of a drumbeat, Tiffany let herself relax.
Garrett didn’t sleep for a while.

He watched her—tiny, vulnerable, but stronger than anyone he knew—breathing softly against his neck. He could feel her body move with each breath, her presence impossibly small but now impossibly important.

He wanted her. God, really wanted her.

But he wasn’t going to rush it. He wasn’t going to break this trust just for the sake of his own desire.
He’d wait. As long as it took.

Tiffany shifted in her sleep, rolling against the pad of his thumb. She murmured something unintelligible, then sighed and curled up again, trusting him with everything.

He kissed the top of her head—a soft, slow brush that barely moved a strand of her hair.

Then whispered, “Goodnight, Tiff.”

And with her warmth tucked against his skin, he finally let himself drift.
==
The next morning, Garrett woke slowly, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains. For a brief moment, he forgot everything.

The strange experiments, the lab accident, the tiny woman curled against his neck…

And then he felt her. A soft weight. Barely there. But warm. Present.

He tilted his head slightly and looked down.

Tiffany was still asleep, her body curled like a comma in the dip of his clavicle, one arm draped lazily over the curve of his shoulder muscle. Her hair was mussed, fanned out like silk strands, and her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep, unguarded sleep.

He didn’t move and didn’t breathe too deeply.

He just watched her.

God, he thought. She’s beautiful.

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and then her eyes fluttered open. Drowsy at first, then focused. She looked up at him.

“Morning.” she croaked, voice hoarse and miniature.

“Hey.” he whispered back. “Sleep okay?”

She stretched like a cat, her tiny limbs pushing against his skin as she let out a soft groan. “Mmm... warmest bed I’ve ever had. A little... rumbly, though.”

He chuckled, the sound deep in his chest, which made her bounce slightly.

“Sorry. Can’t turn off the heart.”

“Good.” she murmured, sitting up and brushing hair from her eyes. “I like hearing it.”

There was a pause—something thick and unspoken between them. The way she looked at him, the casual intimacy of waking in his bed, tucked into his body like she belonged there. It was dangerous, this closeness. And inevitable.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” he said.

“You didn’t. The sunlight did.” She looked toward the window. “What time is it?”

He turned his head to the clock. “Eight.”

Tiffany sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I dreamed I was normal-sized again. We were sitting on the couch watching bad sci-fi movies, and I kept pretending not to notice your arm around me.”

Garrett’s brow lifted slightly. “Was I smooth in the dream?”

“No.” she smirked. “But you were trying, and that was cute.”

He grinned, resting his cheek lightly on the pillow near her. “We could still do that, you know. Bad movies. You in my hand, stealing popcorn crumbs.”

She laughed, brushing her fingers over his jaw. “You’re getting awfully comfortable with all this.”

He didn’t deny it. “I just like... waking up to you.” he said, more quietly.

Tiffany’s eyes softened. She let that hang for a beat longer than either of them expected.

“We’re not dating, you know.” she said softly.

“I know.”

“But we’re not... not, either.”

His smile grew faint, thoughtful. “We’re in the middle. I’m okay with that. I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiled, leaning in and pressing her forehead to the warm curve of his neck. “Neither am I.”

They lay like that for a while—no pressure, no declarations, just two people wrapped in something delicate, growing, and unspoken.
Whatever it was... it wasn’t small.
==

Garrett was in the lab, making adjustments to the damaged shrink ray’s casing, when he spotted it.

Out of the corner of his eye, just beyond the workbench—near the pencil holder where Tiffany had first encountered it—eight spindly legs twitched against the wall.

The spider. Same size. Same erratic movements. Still lingering around the house.

His breath stilled. He lowered his tools slowly and stood upright.

“No.” he muttered. “Not today.”

He moved toward it carefully, grabbing a nearby glass beaker in one hand and a notepad in the other. No panic. No hesitation. Just focus. Cold and clear.

This thing chased her. It had no idea who it had messed with.

The spider began to scurry down the wall as he approached, sensing vibration—but Garrett was fast. His hand moved with the precision of someone who could solder a circuit with his eyes closed. He trapped it clean under the beaker with a sharp thunk.

He held the pad tight over the opening. Watched it writhe.

“Yeah.” he muttered. “You picked the wrong girl to mess with.”

He carried it out to the garage, flipped the lid off his old compost bin, and with one motion, flung the beaker’s contents into the shadows.
Then he slammed the lid.

Back in the bedroom, Tiffany sat cross-legged on her cotton hammock, sipping a capful of black coffee Garrett had left for her. She was lost in thought, wondering what her life would be if none of this had happened—when the bedroom door creaked open.
Garrett stepped in, a little smug, a little proud.

She looked up immediately. “Where’d you disappear to?”

He held up the beaker—empty now—and tapped it with a finger. “Took care of our eight-legged roommate.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait. The spider?”

He nodded. “Same one. Saw it slinking around by the wall.”

“And you didn’t just smash it?”

He grinned. “Thought about it. But I figured getting tossed into a compost heap was a more fitting punishment.”

Tiffany set down her coffee and stood, walking toward the edge of the desk where he now leaned in, arms crossed. “You really did that?”
He shrugged. “You deserve to feel safe here.”

Something about the way he said it—simple, unboastful—landed in her chest with real weight. It wasn’t just about the spider. It was what it represented.

She looked up at him, brow furrowed, lip twitching like she was holding back emotion. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“Yeah.” he said. “But I wanted to.”

She walked to the edge of the desk and knelt there, placing a hand on his thumb as he rested it on the surface.

“You didn’t just protect me,” she said softly. “You heard me. That thing made me feel small in the worst way. But now?”
She looked down at his hand, then back into his eyes.

“Now I feel small in... better ways.”

He swallowed hard at that.

“You’re kind of a hero!” she added. “In a dorky hoodie-wearing, laundry-hamper-owning, accidental-shrink-ray way.”

“I’ll take that.” he said, smiling.

Then she did something unexpected.

She curled up beside his hand, laid her head against his skin, and just… rested there. No teasing. No flirting. Just closeness. Trust. His other hand came around her slowly, protectively, cupping around her like a barrier against the world.

And for the first time since her accident, Tiffany let go of the tension in her shoulders. Because no matter how small she was, or how strange things had become—Garrett was bigger where it counted.

He showed up. He saw her. Fought her monster for her and won.

“So…” Garrett said, grinning down at her from above the desk, “how do you feel about field trips?”

Tiffany crossed her arms over her chest, one foot tapping impatiently on a notepad the size of a rug. “Depends. Am I riding in a jar like a science project, or are we talking first-class?”

He held up his hoodie—unzipped—and gently tapped the small chest pocket over his heart. “Premium seating. Great view. Full body warmth.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to ride in your pocket?”

“I’ll even give you snacks,” he said, holding up a tiny corner of a granola bar.

Her face twitched like she wanted to object, but she sighed and threw up her arms. “Fine. But if you bend over too fast and I go flying into a coffee grinder, I’m haunting you.”

“Fair enough.” he said, lowering his palm.

She climbed on with ease and this time—there was no hesitation anymore. Just the occasional sarcastic comment.

Garrett lifted her gently and slid her into the front pocket of his hoodie, making sure a small, folded cloth was in there for cushioning. Her tiny head peeked out just above the edge, and she tugged the fabric into a little reclining position.

“This is absurd.” she muttered. “I look like a mouse in a sweatshirt.”

“You look adorable.”

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like you’re falling for me.”

“Starting?” he teased.

She blushed and swatted at the inside of his pocket.
==
Garrett brought her down to his lab to show her something new—something he’d been working on while she napped earlier. On a cleared side table, a small metallic platform stood with a network of copper wiring and small wheels. It looked like a tiny hoverboard with handlebars.

Tiffany poked her head up. “Okay... what is that?”

He grinned. “A personal mobility prototype. Just needs a few more tweaks, but I figured you might like having your own ride.”

“You made me a hover scooter?”

“With stabilizers.” he said proudly. “So you don’t end up flipping over and launching into the trash again.”

She slid down from his pocket and hopped onto the desk, walking over to the prototype and circling it like a curious cat.

“Is it safe?”

“Mostly.”

She shot him a glare.

“Okay, yes, it’s safe.” he amended. “Tested it with a model weighted to your mass. Just don’t try ramping off any paperweights yet.”

Tiffany climbed on, holding the tiny handlebars with a grin that made her look ten years younger. “You spoil me.”

“You shrank for me. I owe you.”

He tapped a small remote and the platform hummed to life, floating just a centimeter above the surface. Tiffany gasped, then let out a delighted laugh as it glided forward slowly.

“Okay, okay—this is cool.” she said, weaving in figure-eights between a set of pencils. “Like... Jetsons cool.”

Garrett leaned on the table, watching her zip around, laughter spilling freely from her as she twirled and tested the limits of her new ride.

She looked so happy. So light. So herself.

And he realized—moments like this? They weren’t just distractions from the craziness of her size. They were life. Real and shared.
As she skidded to a stop in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes shining, she pointed at him with one tiny finger.

“I want a racing helmet.” she said, grinning.

“Deal.” he replied. “And maybe... matching jumpsuits?”

Tiffany groaned. “You were so close to being perfect.”

They both laughed. And for a little while, there were no rays to repair, no timelines to race against. Just joy, jokes, and the spark of something real growing between a man and the four-inch woman who’d crashed into his world.
==
After a full day of scooting around the lab on her hover-scooter and bossing Garrett around like a miniature forewoman, Tiffany was exhausted. He had carried her up to the bedroom again, this time not in his pocket, but in the crook of his fingers—gently, carefully, like someone handling a precious gem.

She was quieter than usual as he set her down on the pillow.

“You okay?” Garrett asked, crouching next to the bed, eyes scanning her tiny face.

“Yeah.” she said, stretching her arms above her head with a long sigh. “Just... tired. Like bone-deep tiredness. I think all the excitement finally caught up with me.”

He smiled gently. “You’ve had a hell of a week.”

She gave a tired laugh. “Understatement.”

He reached for the nightstand and brought over a little cloth she used as a blanket, laying it over her like he was tucking in a child—but his touch lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

And she noticed.

Her voice softened. “Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever think about how weird this all is?”

“Constantly.”

“I mean... I’m sleeping on your pillow. You carried me around in your pocket. And somehow, it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.”
He nodded, settling onto the bed, facing her again. His head rested on his folded arm, and they were practically nose to nose now—her whole body barely the size of his face.

“I think.” he said slowly, “that maybe weird is just what happens when something feels too new to explain. Not wrong. Just... new.”
Tiffany’s eyes softened. “You’re good with words when you stop trying to be.”

He chuckled, but his gaze held hers. Then, instinctively, she stepped closer. One hand reached up to touch his jaw, her fingers tracing the faint stubble there. He stayed perfectly still, letting her explore, letting her feel the size difference, the texture of him. She sat down again, cross-legged, like she had the night before—but this time, it wasn’t tentative.
It was intentional.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything.”

“If you do fix the shrink ray... and I go back to normal… What happens to this? To us?”

Garrett’s brow creased. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” he admitted. “I don’t have the answer. But I know I don’t want this to disappear just because your size changes.”

Tiffany exhaled. “Neither do I.”

They stared at each other in the low light. There was no kiss. No physical escalation. Just two people tangled in something tender and strange and real.

“Can I sleep closer to you tonight?” she asked quietly. “Like... here?” She pointed to the dip just below his collarbone, where the weight of the blanket pulled slightly at his chest.

His answer was immediate. “Always.”

He cupped his hand around her again, lifting her gently and setting her down in that little hollow, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumped just beneath her. She curled into it, one hand against his bare skin.

He draped a fold of the blanket nearby, careful not to cover her, just enough to cocoon the space around her in warmth.
And as he closed his eyes, she listened to his breathing—slow and deep, comforting.

“I don’t know where this is going.” she murmured.

“Me either.” he said. “But it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She smiled softly into his skin. And then sleep took them both—her small and safe in the curve of his chest, him steady and still, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

[Firewall]

I plan to work on Shrink to Fit again just so we can put another chapter on the board. But for now? Enjoy the latest chapter!

Chapter 3

After a full day of scooting around the lab on her hover-scooter and bossing Garrett around like a miniature forewoman, Tiffany was exhausted. He had carried her up to the bedroom again, this time not in his pocket, but in the crook of his fingers—gently, carefully, like someone handling a precious gem.

She was quieter than usual as he set her down on the pillow.

“You okay?” Garrett asked, crouching next to the bed, eyes scanning her tiny face.

“Yeah.” she said, stretching her arms above her head with a long sigh. “Just... tired. Like bone-deep tiredness. I think all the excitement finally caught up with me.”

He smiled gently. “You’ve had a hell of a week.”

She gave a tired laugh. “Understatement.”

He reached for the nightstand and brought over a little cloth she used as a blanket, laying it over her like he was tucking in a child—but his touch lingered for just a beat longer than necessary.

And she noticed.

Her voice softened. “Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever think about how weird this all is?”

“Constantly.”

“I mean... I’m sleeping on your pillow. You carried me around in your pocket. And somehow, it doesn’t feel as weird as it should.”

He nodded, settling onto the bed, facing her again. His head rested on his folded arm, and they were practically nose to nose now—her whole body barely the size of his face.

“I think.” he said slowly, “that maybe weird is just what happens when something feels too new to explain. Not wrong. Just... new.”

Tiffany’s eyes softened. “You’re good with words when you stop trying to be.”

He chuckled, but his gaze held hers.

Then, instinctively, she stepped closer. One hand reached up to touch his jaw, her fingers tracing the faint stubble there. He stayed perfectly still, letting her explore, letting her feel the size difference, the texture of him. She sat down again, cross-legged, like she had the night before—but this time, it wasn’t tentative.

It was intentional.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything.”

“If you do fix the shrink ray... and I go back to normal… What happens to this? To us?”
Garrett’s brow creased.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” he admitted. “I don’t have the answer. But I know I don’t want this to disappear just because your size changes.”

Tiffany exhaled. “Neither do I.”

They stared at each other in the low light. There was no kiss. No physical escalation. Just two people tangled in something tender and strange and real.

“Can I sleep closer to you tonight?” she asked quietly. “Like... here?” She pointed to the dip just below his collarbone, where the weight of the blanket pulled slightly at his chest.

His answer was immediate. “Always.”

He cupped his hand around her again, lifting her gently and setting her down in that little hollow, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumped just beneath her.

She curled into it, one hand against his bare skin.

He draped a fold of the blanket nearby, careful not to cover her, just enough to cocoon the space around her in warmth.

And as he closed his eyes, she listened to his breathing—slow and deep, comforting.

“I don’t know where this is going.” she murmured.

“Me either.” he said. “But it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She smiled softly into his skin. And then sleep took them both—her small and safe in the curve of his chest, him steady and still, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
====
The next evening, things had become a rhythm.

Garrett would work during the day—tweaking circuits, reviewing particle data, reverse-engineering the damn shrink ray with a steady mix of determination and caffeine. Tiffany, meanwhile, had become something between his assistant and his muse. She’d ride her hover-scooter around the desk, fetch him tools by dragging paperclips across the table, or lounge in a thimble chair while offering commentary that was half-flirting, half-sarcasm.

But the nights… the nights belonged to them.

Tonight, he brought her a new outfit—one he’d carefully sewn from a piece of old black silk. It was a simple wrap dress, sleeveless, with a ribbon that tied around her waist.

She stepped out from behind the privacy screen on the desk, adjusting the hem, which hit just above her knees.

Garrett looked up from where he sat on the bed, and for a long moment, he said nothing.

Tiffany raised a brow. “Well?”

“You look...” His voice caught. “Like trouble.”

She smirked. “That’s the correct answer.”

Then later in bed, the room was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of a desk lamp across the room. Tiffany sat curled against Garrett’s chest again, in her usual spot just below his collarbone. His skin was warm beneath her, his breathing calm and even. But this time... the air between them felt charged.

Neither of them spoke at first. They just listened to the silence and each other. Then Garrett shifted slightly, his hand lifting from the bed to rest against his chest—just near her.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am.” she said, her voice soft. “But... I keep wondering what would happen if I leaned a little more into this.”

He turned his head slowly. “Into what?”

“You. Me. This weird, slow-burning thing that’s not quite anything, but feels like everything.”

Garrett’s fingers twitched slightly—close but not touching her.

“You can lean.” he said. “I’ll catch you.”

She stepped forward, placing her hands gently on the curve of his pectoral, and eased herself into the space between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers closed instinctively—not tightly, just... enclosing, cupping her without holding her.

Tiffany exhaled a quiet breath and leaned into the pad of his thumb, brushing her cheek against it.

His skin was soft, a little rough from the day, but warm and full of life. The simple touch made her feel tethered to something powerful and kind.

Garrett’s voice was barely audible. “That feels... really good.”

She smiled and walked across his chest slowly, letting her hands explore the smooth curve of his skin—feeling the shifting of muscle beneath as he breathed. He didn’t move, didn’t even dare breathe too deeply, afraid he might break the moment.

When she sat down on the dip of his chest again, she looked up at him, her cheeks flushed.

“I’ve never been this close to someone like this,” she whispered. “Every touch feels ten times more intense.”

His voice was deeper now. “That goes both ways.”

She lifted his thumb and pulled it closer—pressing it gently against her chest, just over her heart. “Can you feel that?”

He nodded, visibly swallowing. “Yeah.”

“I want to go slow,” she said. “But I also want you to know that I’m not afraid of you touching me.”

His expression shifted—half awed, half reverent. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.”

He brought his hand down, curling it gently behind her like a lounge chair, his fingers curved protectively. With his other hand, he reached up and ran the very tip of his finger—light as a breeze—down her back. She shivered.

Tiffany tilted her head and laughed quietly. “Okay. Maybe some parts of me are a little afraid.”

He grinned. “Too much?”

“No,” she whispered. “Just enough.”

She leaned forward again, her tiny hands on his chest, and laid herself down against him—her body stretched out, one leg draped slightly over the subtle curve of his ribcage. His hand remained beside her, fingers softly curled inward like a shelter.

And there they stayed, tangled in warmth, anticipation, and trust. They weren’t lovers yet. But they were something real. And they were getting closer.
====
It had been nearly a week since Tiffany had been shrunk, and things were routine between them. When Tiffany wasn’t spending time with Garrett, she was relaxing in the makeshift shelter. Garrett had also propped up her phone so she could stay in contact with her friends and family. She didn’t tell anyone about her current situation since she didn’t want to be pressured with questions.

As Garrett got to work on her hover pack, she relaxed while watching him work.

“You know..” Tiffany called from the top shelf of the bookcase, arms crossed over her chest, “if you ever want to impress a girl, maybe don’t build her a jetpack that can only fly straight for five seconds before veering into a Ficus.”

Garrett looked up from the floor, laughing as he cradled her hover pack in one hand and examined the bent stabilizer fin. “It was a test run! Besides, I told you not to try a barrel roll.”

She grinned down at him. “You also told me it could ‘probably handle moderate turbulence.’ I didn’t realize you meant ‘like, the air displaced by a yawn.’”

He stuck out his tongue and reached for her. “You want a ride down, sass queen?”

She took a step toward the edge of the shelf. “Can you catch me if I jump?”

Garrett’s eyes widened. “Don’t you dare.”

She jumped anyway.

It wasn’t far—maybe a foot in real distance—but to her, it was like diving off a rooftop. Garrett caught her effortlessly in both hands, cradling her midair with a sharp intake of breath.

Her laughter echoed between his fingers.

“You’re insane.” he muttered, trying not to smile too hard. “What if I hadn’t caught you?”

“You would’ve.” she said confidently. “You always do.”

He looked at her—flushed from the adrenaline, wind-swept hair, that mischievous spark in her eyes—and felt his chest pull tight.

“You’re getting reckless.”

“Correction: I’m getting comfortable.” she corrected. “With you. With this.”

He started to lower her toward the desk, but she tapped his thumb with one finger.

“Wait.”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“You know what I realized?” she said, leaning back in his palm like she was lounging on a daybed. “I haven’t thought about our age gap once today.”

His brows lifted, surprised but pleased. “No kidding?”

“Nope.” She stretched, folding her arms behind her head. “Not even when you said
‘epic fail’ this morning.”

“That was ironically.” he said, grinning. “I’m fluent in cringe.”

“I know.” she said, smirking. “And I think I like that about you.”

There was a pause—an easy one, filled with mutual amusement and the warmth of a bond that had grown stronger through awkward meals, wild experiments, emotional confessions, and maybe a slight spider trauma.

Then Tiffany sat upright in his palm and pointed a finger at him. “But if you ever say
‘YOLO’ unironically, I’m launching myself back into the ficus.”

“Deal.” Garrett said. “But only if I get to design you a parachute.”

She laughed, her body bouncing slightly in his palm.

“God, you’re such a nerd.” she teased.

“You say that like it’s not why you’re still here.”

She tilted her head. “It’s exactly why I’m still here.”

Then, without ceremony, she flopped down in his palm, hands behind her head again, legs crossed. “Now go get me a cookie. I’ve earned it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he said, grinning. “One crumb-sized chocolate chip cookie coming up.”

As he walked toward the kitchen, carefully holding her close to his chest like a little queen demanding tribute, Tiffany closed her eyes and smiled.

She didn’t feel older anymore or smaller. She just felt right.

And that was all that mattered.
==
Later in the evening, the rain came in soft sheets, drumming gently against the windows while a low jazz playlist filled the room with warm, sleepy notes. The lab was dark, the tools and machines powered down. Garrett had brought Tiffany back to bed hours ago, and now the two of them lay there in the quiet, wrapped in comfort.

She rested once again in her usual spot—just beneath his collarbone, her body tucked into the curve of his chest. One of his fingers rested beside her like a guardrail, close enough that she could lean into it when she wanted to, which she often did now without thinking.

Garrett’s breathing was slow and even, but his eyes were still open. Tiffany could tell.

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers. “About the fix? Yeah. I’m close. Maybe
two or three days out.”

“You really think you can do it?”

“I know I can.” He paused. “I just don’t know what happens after.”

Tiffany was quiet for a moment. The rain tapped like tiny fingertips against the glass.

“You want to know something weird?” she said, shifting slightly so she could stretch out along his chest. “I started imagining it too. Being back to normal.”

His brow lifted slightly. “And?”

“And it’s not as easy as I thought it’d be.” She let her hand glide over the smooth warmth of his chest. “Because when I first shrank, all I could think about was getting back to my old life. But now... I keep thinking about this life. With you.”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“I picture what it’d be like.” she continued. “Still working for you. Still cleaning the house. But, like being your maid and your girlfriend. Living in this big place, waking up next to you—not in your pocket, I mean next to you.”

Garrett’s breath caught softly. “That’s a hell of a fantasy.”

She smiled, just a little. “It’s not even the sexy stuff I think about. I think about doing your laundry—properly this time—folding your hoodies, maybe trying to convince you to wear real pants when we go out.”

He laughed quietly.

“I think about movie nights.” she went on. “Making you watch trashy rom-coms.
Cooking you dinner. Bickering over what to put on the grocery list.”

Garrett turned his head, now fully watching her, his eyes soft. “You really want all that?”

“I think I do,” she said, voice low. “I used to get so stuck on the age thing. But now? You make me feel... chosen. Like this weird accident cracked open something I didn’t even know I needed.”

He reached up, slowly, and let the tip of his finger gently graze her back—barely there, feather-light. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”

She glanced up at him, curious.

“That I’ll fix this machine, get you back to normal... and then you’ll decide this was all just a phase. Something you outgrew.”

Her expression softened. “No. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I just don’t want to lose this.”

Tiffany stepped up and kissed the pad of his thumb—soft, intentional, right over the fingerprint.

“You won’t.” she said. “When I grow back, I’m not going anywhere. But I am making you get a real couch. That one downstairs is a crime.”

He laughed, and it broke the tension like sunlight through clouds.

They lay there for a while longer, wrapped in dreams neither of them had dared to imagine just a week ago. The rain kept falling. The night held them like a promise. And even though they weren’t lovers yet, and nothing was official, their hearts had already settled into a rhythm.
==
The following evening, Garrett had done it.

After hours of tests, recalibrations, and the near-sacrilegious dismantling of a coffee grinder for spare parts, the device finally powered up. Stable energy. Controlled pulse. Measured precision.

He hadn’t tested it on Tiffany yet—it was late, and neither of them wanted their last night like this to end on a rushed shot of white light and uncertainty.

No, tonight was about something else.

Something they both had been building toward for days.

They lay in bed together, the tension hanging between them like the charged pause before a storm. Garrett on his back, bare-chested, and Tiffany curled just below the dip of his collarbone. Her new silk dress hugged her small frame as she sat up, legs folded under her.

She looked down at him, her gaze steady, thoughtful.

“You know.” she murmured, tracing a slow, deliberate path across his chest with her fingertips, “if you do fix me tomorrow... this might be our last night like this.”
He looked at her—really looked at her—and swallowed. “I’ve thought about that all day.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want it to pass us by.”

Her lips curled into something soft, hungry. “Neither do I.”

She stepped forward—slow, deliberate—walking down the slope of his chest toward his stomach. Garrett’s breath hitched as she moved, his muscles tightening beneath her feet with each step.

“You okay?” she asked, smirking.

“You know I’m not.”

Tiffany smiled to herself. Her size had once made her feel powerless—now it gave her a strange, intoxicating control. She could feel the effect she had on him in the smallest twitches of his skin, in the shallow rhythm of his breath, in the way his fingers flexed against the sheets like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“You ever wonder what this would feel like?” she asked quietly, kneeling now near the waistband of his lounge pants.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But the look in his eyes was all the answer she needed.

Tiffany placed both hands gently on the edge of the fabric. Her touch was feather-light, reverent, exploratory. A single movement from her was like a spark—Garrett’s breath stuttered, and she could feel the heat building beneath her.

She looked up at him one last time.

“If I do this...” she whispered, voice trembling with desire but grounded in clarity, “it’s not just curiosity. It’s us. Right now. Because I trust you. And I want you to remember what it felt like to be touched this way. No matter what size I am tomorrow.”
His hand came up slowly, two fingers resting beside her like a silent yes.

“I’ll never forget.” he said hoarsely.

Then, with one last inhale, she stepped forward—toward the place where desire, love, and impossibility finally met.

And for a little while, time stopped.

[ensmallen]

[Firewall]

Here we are, at the end of the story. Thank you to those that have read it and have commented on it. More stories to come!

Chapter 4

The Morning after, sunlight spilled gently across the bedsheets, pale gold warming Garrett’s bare shoulder. He stirred first—eyes blinking open, breath slow, measured. His chest rose and fell beneath the covers, and in the quiet space between dreams and wakefulness, he became aware of the small weight of his tiny lover tucked just below his collarbone.

She was still asleep, curled on her side, one arm resting lightly across his skin, her silk wrap dress wrinkled and askew in the most endearing way. Her breath was soft and steady. At peace.

And God did he love her. He also didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to break whatever spell had lingered from the night before. It hadn’t just been about heat. It had been about surrender. Trust. Intimacy more powerful than anything their mismatched sizes should have allowed.

He had felt everything. Every whisper of her touch and every heartbeat between them.

And now, as the shrink ray sat ready in the lab downstairs—fully calibrated, fully functional—he found himself afraid of the very thing he’d worked so hard to achieve.

Because it meant this... them, as they were now, was about to change.

Tiffany stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open and met his with a lazy, contented smile. “Morning, giant.”

He grinned. “Morning, little trouble.”

She stretched, her body arching just slightly against his chest, and let out a satisfied sigh before nestling back down. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then: “So... it’s ready?”

Garrett nodded slowly. “Yeah. All the readings look good. It’s stable. One pulse should return you to your original size.”

She didn’t react right away.

Then she sat up, legs folded under her as she looked down at him—really looked. Her hair was messy, her dress slipping slightly off one shoulder, and yet there was a gravity to her that made her feel ten feet tall.

“I should be excited.” she said quietly. “And I am. But part of me is terrified.”

He reached up, let his fingertip rest beside her again. She leaned into it naturally now.

“You don’t have to do it today.” he said. “We can wait.”

Tiffany shook her head. “No. I need to do it. I need to remember what life feels like with my feet on the floor and the ability to open a full-sized door. I need my body back.”

There was a pause. “But I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t.” Garrett said. “I don’t care what size you are. You’re still you. And I’m still yours... if you’ll have me.”

She swallowed hard at that. Then stood. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

He nodded, heart pounding.

He scooped her into his hand once more, the way he had so many times now—but this time, she stood in his palm with absolute trust and a quiet, almost regal calm.

As he carried her toward the lab, she glanced up at him and smirked.

“You better have my clothes ready when I grow.”

He smiled. “Already set them out. And, uh... a robe. Just in case.”

She laughed, then looked back down at the floor far below.

“Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“If this works... and I’m back to normal... I want our first kiss—like, real kiss—to happen standing face to face. Not hand to lip.”

His chest tightened. “Deal.”
==
The machine sat center-stage on the lab table, humming softly. Garrett had fine-tuned the energy core down to the molecular decimal. The room smelled faintly of ozone, like possibility. Everything was ready.

Tiffany stood in the middle of a small, smooth circle on the platform—a beam reflector built just for this moment. Her tiny hands smoothed down her dress, her stance straight despite the nervous flutter in her chest.

Garrett stood nearby, hands hovering at the controls, his heart drumming louder than any hum of the machine.

“Twelve days.” Tiffany said softly, not looking at him yet. “That’s all it took.”

He looked up, brow furrowed slightly.

“To fall for you.” she clarified, finally turning to face him. “To go from your reluctant maid to your lab accident, to... this.”

Her voice didn’t tremble. It was calm. True.

“Twelve days is fast.” she went on. “I used to think love needed years. Time. Patience. But I’ve never felt this seen. This safe. Not even in my real-sized life.”

Garrett stepped closer to the table, eyes locked on her. “You changed my life the second you stepped into my house. The size thing? That’s been the least strange part of all this.”

She laughed quietly, and it broke the tension just enough for both of them to breathe again.

“Promise me.” she said, voice low. “That when I’m back to my normal size... you won’t look at me differently. That it won’t feel weird. That we’ll still be whatever this is. Or whatever it becomes.”

He leaned in, his hands resting gently on the table beside the platform. “Tiffany... when I look at you, I don’t see someone tiny. I see you. Brave, brilliant, endlessly smart-ass you. And the only thing that’ll change when you’re full-size again is I finally get to hold you the way I’ve been aching to.”

Her breath caught.

“I want that.” she whispered.

He smiled. “So do I.”

A beat. Then: “You ready?”

Tiffany looked around the lab one last time—the bits of fabric Garrett had turned into clothes, the matchbox drawers, the hover-scooter, her ridiculous lounge chair. All tiny signs of how well he’d cared for her. All temporary.

She turned back to him, straightened her spine, and nodded. “Let’s grow me up.”

Garrett stepped to the console. His fingers danced across the controls.

The device powered up and Tiffany closed her eyes.

And the moment before the beam fired, one final, quiet thought settled in both their hearts: Nothing’s going to change.

Because they hadn’t fallen for each other in spite of the accident. They’d fallen for each other because of everything it revealed. Because size wasn’t the miracle. Love was.
==
The shrink ray—now configured to reverse—let out a rising whine. Its coils glowed a soft blue, energy building in the chamber like a pulse preparing to take a breath. Garrett’s hand hovered near the activation switch, but his eyes were only on her.

Tiffany stood still at the center of the platform, back straight, chin high, her heart pounding. Her fingers twitched slightly with nervous energy. This was it.
She looked at him one more time. “I’m ready.”

Garrett nodded. “On three.”

“One..” he said softly, his voice barely above the hum.

“Two...”

Click.

The energy beam burst forward—silent, bright, enveloping Tiffany in light that pulsed around her like a heartbeat. Garrett shielded his eyes instinctively, stepping back.

Then it faded and she was gone. For a second, his heart stopped.

But then— From the far side of the lab, a soft voice: “...Whoa.”

Garrett’s head snapped up.

Tiffany stood there—life-size. Her hair tousled, her makeshift silk dress now barely hanging together, clinging dangerously to her frame in all the wrong (and right) places.

She was barefoot, flushed, and blinking like someone waking from a dream.

Garrett stared.

Tiffany took a step forward, then another, slow at first, like she was relearning gravity. She looked down at herself, then at him.

“Guess it worked.” she said breathlessly.

He still didn’t move.

She smiled. “You’re the one with the legs now. Are you gonna come over here or do I have to cross the lab half-naked?”

That snapped him into motion.

He closed the distance fast, stopping inches in front of her, his eyes sweeping over her—taller now, warm and real and everything he’d been aching to hold. She was just a few inches shorter than him now. The exact height she’d told him about that first day.

“Hey.” she whispered.

“Hey.” he replied.

Then she reached up, curled her fingers into his hoodie, and pulled him in.

The kiss was instant. No hesitation, no uncertainty. It wasn’t soft—it was hungry. Pent-up desire. Nights of sleeping beside each other without touching, days of building trust in a world too big for her. It all crashed into that first kiss—messy, perfect, real.

His hands came to her waist, holding her now with no fear of breaking her, no caution. Hers threaded into his hair, anchoring herself to him like she didn’t ever want to let go.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Tiffany rested her forehead against his chest.

“You still nervous about the age gap?” he asked, grinning against her hair.

“Nope.” she said. “But I am nervous about how fast I’m gonna jump your bones if you keep looking at me like that.”

He laughed. “That’s fair.”

They stood like that for a moment longer, wrapped in a quiet new normal neither of them could’ve predicted—no longer bound by scale, but still bound to each other.
Whatever happened next, they’d face it together. Because love—real love—doesn’t care how big or small it starts. It just is.
====
Epilogue

It had been three weeks, and The Carrington estate felt different now.

Not quieter. Not louder. Just... lived in.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting soft patterns on the hardwood floors. The lab was still cluttered with projects, but now the kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon, and the couch in the living room had been replaced with one Tiffany deemed “respectably adult and not a war crime against backs.”

She was humming when Garrett found her that morning—barefoot, wearing one of his T-shirts as a nightdress, hair in a messy bun as she stirred her coffee. She looked over her shoulder and smiled as he padded in, shirtless, groggy, and already watching her like she was still a miracle.

“Sleep okay, genius?” she asked.

“Dreamed I was tiny and riding around in your bra,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

She snorted. “You were tiny once—in my heart.”

“Not even subtle.” he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She leaned into him. “Don’t need to be.”

After her return to normal size, things had been... seamless. Surprisingly so. There were no awkward moments, no distance. They kissed. They touched. They talked. And they laughed—a lot.

Being lovers now was just an extension of everything they’d already built—just warmer, closer, and a hell of a lot more satisfying.

Tiffany turned in his arms and looked up at him. “You have your follow-up interview today, right? The funding board for your next project?”

He groaned. “Why do they insist on asking me things like ‘Do you consider public relations strategy when testing plasma-based neural input converters?’”

“Because ‘I let my tiny girlfriend test my hovercraft’ isn’t going to land you a government grant.”

He grinned. “I should still put that on a slide.”

She reached up and kissed his jaw. “I’m proud of you.”

He stilled. “You know that goes both ways, right?”

She looked at him, questioning.

“I still think about those nights.” he said. “When you were small. You were so vulnerable, but you never folded. You made me laugh. You challenged me. You let me in. That’s not just brave, that’s... you.”

Tiffany’s throat tightened.

“I fell for you.” Garrett said, brushing his thumb along her cheek, “when you could fit in my hand. But holding you now—like this—it’s even better.”

She kissed him again. Long, slow, deep.

“Don’t be late to your meeting.” she whispered against his lips. “You’ve got a future to invent.”

He smirked. “Only if you’re in it.”

Tiffany watched him go with a soft smile, coffee cooling in her hand.

She glanced around the kitchen, then down at the floor, where a certain hover-scooter sat on a shelf beside the toaster—her favorite souvenir from a time she’d never forget.
She wasn’t small anymore. But her love for him? Bigger than ever.
====
A bit of time later….

Tiffany stretched in bed, the sunlight warming her bare legs under the sheets. Garrett had left the bed an hour ago, whispering something about a “secret breakfast mission,” and now the house was quiet except for the soft sound of music playing somewhere downstairs.

She padded out of bed, still in her sleep shirt, and followed the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

When she reached the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway and blinked.
There, standing proudly beside a beautifully stacked pancake tower decorated with strawberries, chocolate shavings, and a single pink birthday candle... was a familiar sight.

The hover-scooter.

Only now, it had been polished, mounted on a miniature pedestal, and tagged with a little plaque that read:

"For services rendered: surviving ficus crashes, spider evasion, and emotionally confusing cuddle sessions."

Tiffany burst out laughing.

Garrett stepped out from the pantry holding a gift-wrapped box, grinning. “Happy Birthday, full-sized trouble.”

She walked toward him, still laughing. “You preserved the hover-scooter?”

“I considered donating it to science.” he said, “but it felt more like art.”

She leaned in and kissed him, then turned to the box. “Okay. What’s this?”

“Your real gift.”

She unwrapped it carefully—revealing a custom-made necklace. The pendant was small, delicate... and shaped like a tiny silver thimble.

Tiffany stared at it, eyes suddenly wet. “You didn’t.”

“It’s a reminder.” he said gently. “Of how small things can become the biggest part of your life.”

She kissed him again—longer this time, her arms around his neck.

“I love you, Garrett.”

“I know.” he whispered back, holding her tight. “But I never get tired of hearing it.”
====
Several months later…

Tiffany stood barefoot on the wooden deck, her long white robe swaying in the ocean breeze. The sun was just setting—casting amber and rose hues across the water—and Garrett was behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as the waves rolled gently below.

“This is insane.” she murmured, leaning into him. “A private villa? Candlelit dinner? Silk sheets? You’re setting the bar ridiculously high for every future birthday, anniversary, and Tuesday night.”

Garrett pressed a kiss behind her ear. “I regret nothing.”

Earlier that day, they’d spent hours tangled in bed—slow, exploratory, no rush. After all
they’d been through—those strange, cautious days of hand-cradling and hammock naps—making love now, skin to skin, full-sized and wrapped in one another, still felt surreal. And yet... right.

He didn’t say much then. He didn’t have to.

And now, as twilight painted the sky, he stepped back briefly and cleared his throat.

“Wait here.”

Tiffany turned. “Garrett?”

He disappeared inside the villa for just a moment, then re-emerged holding a small velvet box.

Her heart skipped. “No.”

He smiled softly. “Yes.”

“I’m in a robe.” she laughed breathlessly.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “And this? This is exactly us.”

He got down on one knee.

“Tiff... we went from strangers, to maid and employer, to two crazy people in love with nothing but lab disasters and a lot of hope holding us together. I never knew I could feel this kind of calm, this kind of joy, until you—literally—fell into my hands.”

Tears pricked her eyes. Her hands trembled as she covered her mouth.

“I know life is weird. I know I’m younger. I know we took the scenic route to get here.

But I also know I don’t want a future without you in it. So... marry me?”
She stared at him, the sea crashing behind them, her robe fluttering, her heart pounding.

“Yes.” she whispered, voice cracking. Then louder: “Yes.”

He stood, slipping the ring onto her finger—simple, elegant, with a tiny engraved swirl on the band that mirrored the coil of the old shrink ray.

She launched into his arms, kissing him so hard he nearly lost balance on the deck.

“God.” she murmured, forehead against his, “I thought nothing could top the night I returned to normal.”

Garrett grinned, holding her close. “We’re just getting started.”
====
One year after marriage

Sunlight poured in through the oversized kitchen windows, painting the marble counters gold. The scent of cinnamon waffles filled the room, mingling with fresh coffee and the faint citrus of Garrett’s cologne.

Tiffany leaned against the counter in pajama shorts and an oversized tee that once belonged to Garrett. Her bare feet tapped the floor rhythmically while she stirred sugar into her mug.

Garrett stood behind her, arms lazily wrapped around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.

“You know.” he said, nuzzling her neck, “this whole ‘domestic mornings with you’ thing never gets old.”

“Mmm…” She smiled into her coffee. “You’re only saying that because I haven’t burned breakfast in three weeks.”

He kissed the corner of her jaw. “No, I’m saying that because this—us—still feels like magic.”

She leaned back into him with a contented sigh.

They stayed like that for a while—just breathing each other in, comfortable in the rhythm they’d created: shared laundry, late-night invention tweaks, grocery debates, and occasional reliving of the “tiny Tiff” saga with dramatic flair.

Garrett broke the silence first. “So... Rina called last night.”

Tiffany groaned. “She’s still trying to get us to join that parenting podcast she listens to, isn’t she?”

“She’s got this whole vision board.” Garrett chuckled. “Matching baby tech, co-op nursery design—apparently your name is already penciled in under ‘coolest future mom.’”

Tiffany turned, setting her mug down and facing him fully. Her hands slid up to his chest.

“I love her.” she said, then softened. “But I’m not ready. Not yet.”
Garrett stilled, listening.

“I mean, I want that with you,” she added quickly. “I really do. One day I want the full chaos—sleep-deprived nights, science-fair meltdowns, maybe a kid who builds a time machine in the garage before puberty.” She laughed gently. “But right now? I just want us. A little longer.”

Garrett’s gaze never wavered.

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll have.” he said. “Us. No pressure. No timelines. Just more mornings like this.”

She exhaled, relieved and happy, then poked his chest. “And maybe one day, we do sign up for Rina’s baby boot camp, but only if you promise to invent a robotic diaper pail first.”

Garrett grinned. “Deal. But only if our kid doesn’t end up smarter than me by age ten.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” she said with a smirk, wrapping her arms around his neck, “that’s already a lost cause.”

They kissed, slow and smiling, and the morning continued—just as it was.

Not parents. Not yet. But already building the future, one perfectly ordinary, beautiful moment at a time.
====
Several years later…

The house was filled with the comforting hum of lived-in joy: a dog snoring in the hallway, wind rustling through the garden windows, and distant clinks of dishes being put away.

On the plush living room carpet sat a small whirlwind of energy—Milo, age four, with his mother’s curious eyes and his father’s endless questions. He was currently building a precarious tower of magnetic blocks while perched on a pillow twice his size.

Tiffany lounged on the couch behind him, barefoot in joggers and a loose cardigan, watching him with the quiet smile of a woman who had never stopped being amazed by the life she’d found.

Garrett entered the room holding two mugs, handing one to Tiffany before lowering himself beside her.

Milo looked up, eyes wide. “Mama?”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Did Daddy really make you tiny once?”

Garrett choked on his tea.

Tiffany raised her eyebrows. “Who told you that?”

Milo pointed dramatically toward the hallway. “Auntie Rina! She said you were small enough to ride in a pocket and that Daddy carried you around like a pet bug!”
Garrett groaned into his hand.

Tiffany tried not to laugh. “Okay, first of all, I was never a pet. And second—yes. It happened. Kinda.”

Milo’s eyes sparkled. “Can you tell me the story? Please? The one where you were tiny and rode a bug scooter?”

Tiffany looked at Garrett. He just smiled, leaned back, and gestured grandly. “Tell him. Let him know how his mom once ruled this house from the top of a nightstand.”
She turned back to Milo, leaning down, her voice dropping into storytelling mode.

“Well.” she began, “it all started when I accidentally knocked over a very, very dangerous invention in your dad’s lab...”

Milo gasped. “Was it a laser?”

“Yup. A shrink ray.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Nope. Just made my voice sound squeaky for a while.”

Garrett chimed in. “And made her sass even more powerful per inch.”

Tiffany gave him a sideways glare and continued. “I was only four inches tall, bug. Smaller than your stuffed turtle. I had to sleep in a sock drawer and ride a hover-scooter your dad built from scrap parts.”

Milo was transfixed, mouth slightly open. “Did you fight any monsters?”

Garrett leaned forward dramatically. “There was a spider. Big. Furry. Pure evil.”

Tiffany smirked. “And who saved me?”

“You did.” Garrett said, softer now. “You saved me, too.”

Milo didn’t catch the pause between them—he was already stacking blocks again, babbling about building a shrink ray so he could “ride Mom’s bug scooter” too.

Tiffany leaned against Garrett, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Think he’ll ever believe it was real?” she asked.

Garrett kissed the top of her head. “I hope he does. And if he ever doubts it... we still have the scooter.”

Tiffany laughed, then smiled quietly as she watched Milo play—healthy, happy, and safe.

Tiny moments had brought them here. And now, everything about life was just the right size.
==
It was a bright spring morning. Birds chirped outside the windows, Milo was at preschool, and Tiffany—now in her late-thirties, confidently radiant in a soft blouse and jeans—sipped her coffee while leaning against the lab doorway.

Garrett was elbow-deep in his latest personal project, humming to himself as he carefully adjusted something inside a circuit panel. The lab, for once, was relatively organized. The infamous shrink ray now lived under a heavy plexiglass cover on a side shelf, powered down and labeled “DO NOT TOUCH. SERIOUSLY.”

Enter: Daisy.

She was twenty-one, bright-eyed, eager, and on her very first day as the Wexleys’ new part-time maid. Tiffany had hired her herself—something about her reminded Tiff of... well, Tiff. Back when everything was a little messy, and the future had no name.

Daisy called from the hall, “Mrs. Wexley? I just finished dusting the upstairs hall. Should I—?”

But before Tiffany could respond, Daisy stepped into the lab with a duster in one hand and wide-eyed curiosity on her face.
And then—clink.

Tiffany’s heart dropped. Garrett’s head jerked up. The familiar sound of metal toppling. A faint electrical buzz.

And then—ZAP.

A brilliant flash of light. When it faded, Daisy was gone. Sort of.

She stood on the table, dazed, looking up in horror at Tiffany and Garrett—now skyscraper-tall compared to her—and down at her own four-inch-tall frame wrapped in a thankfully proportionally shrunken cleaning uniform.

Tiffany walked slowly over to the table, coffee still in hand, smirking.

“Well…” she said, crouching slightly to meet Daisy’s wide, squeaky-eyed gaze. “Let me be the first to say: welcome to the family, fun-sized edition.”

Garrett winced. “I thought we labeled that thing.”

Tiffany shot him a grin. “You labeled it like a man. It needs a do not dust me sticker.”

Daisy stammered, arms flailing slightly. “W-what just happened?! What—why am I—?!”

Tiffany set her mug down, bent a little lower, and offered her finger for Daisy to steady herself.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart.” she said gently. “You’re not dreaming. You’re not broken. You’ve just officially joined a very exclusive club.”

Daisy blinked up at her. “What... club?”

Tiffany grinned. “The 'I fell for the shrink ray and didn’t read the room' club. I was the founding member. And now... you get to see what it's like being very small in a very strange house.”

Garrett was already sighing, heading toward the workbench. “Guess I’ll dig out the reversal files.”

Tiffany winked at Daisy. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a spare hammock, a recipe for crumb-sized waffles, and one hell of a story for your journal.”

Daisy, still processing, sat down on a pencil eraser, stunned.

Tiffany stood up and sipped her coffee.

“Déjà vu.” she murmured. “Only this time... I get to be the one holding the tiny hand.”

~ Fin