Page 21 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

Jake clasped Victor's outstretched hand. "I'm Jake."

“Well, I’m thrilled you could both come.” Victor’s tone was polite and seemed genuine.

He led us to a display area where he’d set up enlarged photographs of historical footwear alongside fabric swatches and design sketches. The Thomas Wong shoes from the 1973 photograph were featured prominently, but I was struck by how much additional research Victor had clearly done.

“The eyelet oxford with the overlapping buckle design is actually quite unusual for formal footwear,” Victor explained, his enthusiasm genuine and infectious. “Most dress shoes stick to either a lace-up or slip-on design, rarely both. Your grandfather’s Wong commission showed this beautiful balance between traditional craftsmanship and artistic creativity.”

Jake moved closer to examine the photographs, his natural curiosity overriding any social awkwardness. “The silver work is really intricate. How long would something like that have taken to complete?”

“Weeks, easily,” I said. “The integration of metalwork with leather requires both sets of skills, and in the 1970s, very few craftsmen could do both at this level.”

“Exactly!” Victor’s eyes lit up. “That’s what makes your grandfather’s work so remarkable. Sebastian found some fascinating documentation in my father’s papers—correspondence between my great-uncle and various district artisans about preservation projects. Your grandfather’s nameappears several times as someone who could handle both traditional cobbling and custom metalwork.”

Sebastian nodded enthusiastically. “The letters describe him as having ‘exceptional technical versatility’ and ‘artistic vision.’ It’s clear he was highly respected in the trade.”

My chest swelled with pride hearing my grandfather described that way. Neither Victor nor Sebastian's expressions betrayed any judgment regarding my grandfather's designation, their comments focused solely on the craftsmanship of his work—not one hint of "for an omega" or any raised eyebrows suggesting amazement that an omega could possess such extraordinary skill.

“For the commission,” Victor continued, “we’d love to create a piece that honors both the historical techniques and your family’s legacy. The boutique’s grand opening is planned to correspond with the Centennial Celebration kickoff—having a recreation of authentic Millcrest-connected bespoke footwear of the time as part of our heritage display would be incredible.”

“The timeline is tight,” I said, “but doable.”

Victor opened his portfolio and pulled out a folder thick with documentation. “I’ve compiled everything I could find to complement your shop’s records—copies of this photograph and several others from the Historical Society collection, period leather samples, even some technical notes about 1970s silver alloy compositions.”

Jake whistled softly, clearly impressed by the thoroughness. “You don’t mess around.”

Victor laughed, the sound warm and self-deprecating. “Sebastian says I go overboard with research. With massproduction being common in the 70s, bespoke made-to-order shoes were becoming a specialty item. I believe if you’re going to honor historical craftsmanship, you need to understand it completely.”

“I can respect that,” I said, genuinely meaning it.

We spent the next hour going through the materials, with Victor and Sebastian proving themselves surprisingly engaged clients. Their questions were intelligent and their appreciation for the complexity of the work was sincere. By the time we finished reviewing everything, I found myself genuinely excited about the project.

“This is going to be incredible,” I said, gathering up the reference materials Victor was letting me borrow. “I can already see how the silver work should integrate with the leather construction.”

“Wonderful.” Victor’s smile was purely professional satisfaction. “Should we plan to check in again next week? I’d love to see your initial sketches once you’ve had time to review everything.”

“That sounds perfect.”

As Victor disappeared into his office to handle a phone call, Sebastian walked us to the door, chatting easily with Jake about the neighborhood’s plans for the Centennial Celebration.

“Thank you both for coming by,” Sebastian said as we reached the sidewalk. “Victor is pleased you agreed to take this commission.”

“I’m grateful for the opportunity,” I replied.

Sebastian’s expression shifted slightly, becoming more hesitant. “Leo, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… how is Penny doing?”

Jake, with his usual perceptive instincts, immediately caught the shift in tone and took a few steps away to examine the next door boutique’s window display, giving us the illusion of privacy while staying within eyesight.

The question was carefully casual, but my protective instincts immediately sharpened. After what Victor had put Penny through at the restaurant—the public humiliation, the territorial posturing—Sebastian had some nerve asking about my friend’s wellbeing.

“He’s fine,” I said, my tone cooler than before. “No thanks to the situation he was put in.”

Sebastian’s scent shifted, carrying notes of regret and guilt underneath warm amber. “I know. What happened at the restaurant was… Victor can be intense about boundaries.”

Intense? That was one way to put it. I thought about Penny’s description of the public verbal lashing, of Victor’s loud comments about “omegas who don’t understand their place.” My friend might talk a big game, but underneath all that theatrical confidence and dramatic flair was someone genuinely inexperienced in the messy realities of adult relationships.

My fingers tightened around the leather strap of my messenger bag, knuckles whitening. “It was a childish way to act for two adult alphas, especially considering it was a date for charity.”

Sebastian's face reddened as I continued, my words slicing through the polite veneer between us. "You had every opportunity to speak to your husband before involving my friend.”