Page 2 of The Cobbler and His Elves

“No harm done,” Elijah said with an easy smile. “Heading in to do some shopping?”

I nodded, trying to edge around them. The Sterling brothers always made me uncomfortable, and not just because they were alphas. Their fine clothes and easy manner spoke of a life far removed from my daily struggles.

“Better hurry,” Jack said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Heard Caldwell’s running low on leather polish. Shame if someone bought it all up.”

My fists clenched at my sides. It was an open secret that Sterling’s Fine Footwear often bought out supplies, leaving little for smaller shops like mine. “Thanks for the warning,” I bit out.

Elijah shot his brother a look I couldn’t decipher. “Actually, we were just?—”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as my precious loaf of bread slipped from my grasp. the package hit the snowy ground with a soft thud.

“Oh, damn,” I muttered, crouching to pick it up. I blinked rapidly, fighting the sting in my eyes. Damn it all, I wouldn’t let them see me break over a measly loaf of bread.

To my surprise, both Sterlings knelt to help. As we reached for the loaf, my hand brushed Jack’s. A jolt of electricity shot up my arm, and I jerked back as if burned.

Jack’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilating slightly. For a moment, the air between us crackled with tension. Then Elijah cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

“Here you go,” he said as he picked up the loaf and handed it to me.

I took it from him, my fingers gripping the crinkly brown paper package Mabel had securely wrapped it with. I clutched the loaf to my chest like a shield. “Thanks,” I mumbled, not meeting either of their eyes as I quickly brushed past them.

Inside the store, I tried to focus on my shopping list, but my mind kept wandering. The Sterling brothers’ combined scents clung to my nostrils, stirring something deep and primal that I ruthlessly squashed.

At the counter, reality came crashing back as I counted out my meager coins. Even with skipping meals, I was short. I stared at the items before me, stomach sinking. Supplies for the shop or food? I needed both to survive, but?—

A hand reached past me, setting down a crisp bill. “Add his items to ours,” Jack Sterling’s deep voice rumbled from behind me.

I whirled around, face burning with embarrassment and anger. “I don’t need your charity,” I snapped.

Jack raised an eyebrow, unperturbed. “It’s not charity, Hart. Consider it a professional courtesy.”

“Professional courtesy?” I scoffed. “Since when do you consider me a professional?”

Something flashed in his eyes—hurt? But it was gone before I could be sure. “Despite what you might think, we’re not out to run you out of business,” he said quietly.

Elijah stepped up, his presence a soothing counterpoint to the tension between Jack and me. “We respect your work, Milo. The repairs you do, the care you take with each shoe—it’s admirable.”

Their words should have been comforting, but they only stoked the fire of my resentment. I didn’t need their respect or their pity. I needed customers, and their shiny new shop was drawing them all away.

“Keep your money,” I said, turning back to the counter. “I’ll just take the polish and thread.”

“Milo—” Elijah began, but I cut him off.

“I said no. Thank you,” I added stiffly, gathering my purchases.

I left the store without a backward glance, the bell’s cheerful jingle at odds with the storm of emotions in my chest.

The walk back to my shop seemed longer than usual, each step heavy with the weight of my pride and empty stomach. As I approached Hart’s Shoe Repair, a flicker of movement caught my eye.

A figure darted away from my shop’s window, disappearing down the alley beside it. My heart raced as I hurried to the door, fumbling with my keys.

Inside, everything looked as I’d left it. Shoes lined the shelves, tools sat neatly on the workbench. But something felt... off.

I moved through the shop, checking every corner. It wasn’t until I reached my workbench that I saw it—a scrap of leather that didn’t belong. My breath caught as I picked it up, running my fingers over its supple surface.

This was no ordinary leather. The quality was exquisite, far beyond anything I could afford. With dawning horror, I realized where it must have come from.

The stolen shipment from Thompson’s Tannery.