Page 22 of The Cobbler and His Elves
She beamed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Marvelous, Mr. Hart. Or should I say, Mr. Sterling-Hart now?”
I chuckled, one hand absently rubbing my swollen belly. “Milo is just fine, ma’am.”
Mrs. Thackeray’s gaze softened as she took in my pregnant form. “My, my. When are you due, dear?”
“Any day now,” I replied, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttering in my chest. “Jack and Elijah are beside themselves with anticipation.”
As if summoned by their names, a crash echoed from the new addition to the shop, followed by a string of colorful curses that would have made my grandfather blush. Mrs. Thackeray raised an eyebrow, and I felt my cheeks heat.
“Speaking of my husbands,” I said hastily, “why don’t I fetch them? They can show you the plans for the new shop front while I finish up your shoes.”
I waddled—there was no other word for it at this point—to the door connecting the original shop to the new L-shaped addition. Jack and Elijah stood amid a sea of sawdust and wood shavings, arguing good-naturedly over a set of blueprints.
“Boys,” I called, unable to keep the amusement from my voice, “we have a customer.”
They looked up, matching grins spreading across their faces. Even after two years of marriage, the sight still made my heart skip a beat.
“Coming, sweetheart,” Jack said, brushing sawdust from his trousers. Elijah followed, pausing to press a kiss to my cheek as he passed.
As they entertained Mrs. Thackeray with tales of our expansion plans, I returned to my workbench. The familiar scents of leather and polish mingled with the earthy aroma of fresh-cut wood from the addition. So much had changed in the past two years, but this—the core of our families’ now combine cobbling businesses—remained the same.
The bell chimed again, and Mabel bustled in, a basket of pastries balanced on her hip. “I brought you some of those cinnamon rolls you’ve been craving.”
My mouth watered at the heavenly aroma wafting from the basket. “You’re a saint,” I said, reaching for a warm, gooey roll.
She laughed, setting the basket on the counter. “How’s the little one today?” she asked, nodding towards my belly.
“Active,” I replied around a mouthful of pastry. “I swear, this child has Jack’s energy and Elijah’s penchant for late nights.”
Mabel’s eyes twinkled. “Well, with those two as fathers, what did you expect? Speaking of which, how’s the expansion coming along?”
I gestured towards the open doorway, where we could see Jack and Elijah animatedly describing their plans to Mrs. Thackeray. “Slowly but surely.”
I took another bite of the heavenly roll, savoring the sweet, buttery and cinnamon flavors. “You know, I still can’t believe your family bought Sterling’s. How’s that working out?”
Mabel’s eyes lit up. “Oh, it’s been wonderful! Mama and Papa are thrilled. Jack and Elijah gave us such a good deal, we couldn’t pass it up. They said something about wanting to focus on... well, you know.” She winked at me.
I felt my cheeks warm. “Right, the merger.” The word still felt strange on my tongue. “It’s surreal, thinking about combining Hart’s with Sterling’s. If you’d told me two years ago...”
“Life’s funny that way,” Mabel said, her voice soft. “One minute you’re rivals, the next... well.” She gestured to my belly with a grin.
I chuckled, running a hand over the swell. “I guess life had other plans for Sterling’s Fine Footwear.”
“Who’d have thought?” Mabel teased. “But seriously, it’s been great. The old shop had the perfect layout for display cases. And the location? Prime real estate.”
I nodded, remembering the countless times I’d walked past that storefront, green with envy. Now, the thought only brought a bemused smile to my face.
We chatted for a few minutes more before Mabel had to leave, promising to bring more pastries tomorrow. As she stepped out, Martha and Mr. Thompson walked in, arm in arm.
The sight still amazed me sometimes. Two years ago, they’d barely been on speaking terms. Now, they were inseparable.
“Milo!” Martha exclaimed, rushing over to hug me as best she could around my protruding belly. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a beached whale,” I admitted with a laugh. “But happy. How are things at the tannery, Mr. Thompson?”
The older man’s eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. “Couldn’t be better, my boy. We’ve just landed a contract with a big city department store. And please, call me Gus. You’re family now.”
As they settled in to wait for their orders, I marveled at how much had changed. The tannery was thriving under Gus and Martha’s joint management. Millcrest had elected a new sheriff—young Deputy Rogers, who’d been instrumental in helping us in bringing down Dawson’s corruption. And the town itself seemed to have shrugged off the lingering shadow of the Depression, its new vitality evident in the bustling streets and well-stocked shops.