Page 1 of The Cobbler and His Elves

1

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped out of Hart’s Shoe Repair into the crisp winter air. Snowflakes danced on the breeze, settling on my worn woolen coat. I tugged my scarf tighter and set off down Main Street, my breath puffing out in small clouds.

Millcrest’s town square bustled with activity despite the cold. Garlands of pine and holly adorned shop windows, and twinkling lights wrapped around lamp posts. In the center, our town’s massive Christmas tree stood proud, a symbol of hope in these hard times.

I made my way through the square, nodding to familiar faces. Old Mrs. Peterson waved from her porch. She wore her ever-present cardigan with its fraying sleeves over a faded floral housedress and a simple cloche hat perched atop her gray curls. A pair of mended boots peeked out from beneath her housedress. I’d fixed those last week, refusing payment as usual. Times were tough for everyone, especially widows like her.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from Mabel’s bakery, making my stomach growl. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s meager supper, and my stomach protested its maltreatment.

The tantalizing aroma of Mabel’s fresh baked white bread lingered in my mind, but I pushed the tempting thought aside. I’d grab a day-old loaf of soda bread—it’d be cheaper. Supplies for the shop came first.

The bakery’s bell chimed as I entered. Mabel’s bright smile greeted me from behind the counter, her honey blonde curls escaping from under her cap.

“I was wondering when you’d show your face,” she said, wiping flour-covered hands on her apron.

I grinned back, unable to resist her infectious cheer. “Morning, Mabel. Busy as always, I see.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You know how it is. Everyone wants fresh bread for Sunday dinner.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a paper-wrapped loaf. “Here, take this. It’s still warm.”

The aroma made my mouth water, but I shook my head. “I can’t, Mabel. You know I?—“

“Nonsense,” she interrupted, thrusting the loaf into my hands. “Consider it payment for fixing Mama’s shoes last month. And Papa’s the month before that. And?—”

I laughed, holding up a hand in surrender. “Alright, alright. Thank you.”

Mabel’s eyes softened. “You’re too kind for your own good, Milo. You need to eat, too.”

I tucked the bread into my coat, warmth seeping through the fabric. “I manage. How’s your family doing?”

We chatted for a few minutes, catching up on town gossip. Mabel’s beta scent, warm and comforting like her baked goods, helped ease some of the tension in my shoulders.

As I turned to leave, Mabel called out, “Oh, I almost forgot! Did you hear about Mr. Thompson’s tannery?”

I paused at the door. “No, what happened?”

She leaned in, voice low. “Someone broke in last night. Stole a whole shipment of rare leather, they say.”

My eyes widened. “That’s terrible. Is Mr. Thompson alright?”

Mabel nodded. “Shaken up, but fine. He’s more furious than anything else. Sheriff’s investigating, but no leads yet.”

I frowned, mind racing. That leather shipment had been the talk of the town for weeks. Every cobbler and leatherworker had been eyeing it, myself included, though I knew I could never afford even a scrap of it.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said.

Leaving the warm bakery, I headed towards Caldwell’s General Store. My meager savings weighed heavy in my pocket. I needed leather for repairs, thread, and shoe polish. And food for the next couple of weeks, my traitorous stomach reminded me with another growl.

Lost in mental calculations, I didn’t notice the two men exiting the store until I collided with a broad chest. Strong hands steadied me as I stumbled back.

“Whoa there, Hart. In a hurry?”

I looked up into Jack Sterling’s smirking face and felt heat rush to my cheeks. His alpha scent—cedar and bergamot with a hint of spice—enveloped me, making my omega instincts sit up and take notice.

I cursed inwardly, hating how my body betrayed me at Jack’s intoxicating scent. My inner omega purred, but my mind rebelled against the unwelcome attraction.

“S-sorry,” I stammered, stepping back. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Elijah Sterling appeared at his brother’s shoulder, his scent—sandalwood and citrus—mingling with Jack’s in a way that made me dizzy. The tantalizing blend of their combined scents made my mouth water against my will. I clenched my jaw, furious at my body’s betrayal as it responded to not one, but both alphas.