Page 9 of The Cobbler and His Elves

“You seem to know everyone,” I observed as he waved to yet another early-rising shopkeeper.

Elijah smiled, the expression warming his eyes. “It’s important to us, being part of the community. This town has been good to us.”

I blinked in surprise. It had never occurred to me that the Sterlings might feel a connection to Millcrest beyond just running their business here.

We reached Adler’s shop just as Frank was unlocking the door. The burly alpha raised an eyebrow at our unlikely pairing but invited us in with a gruff nod.

As Elijah explained our purpose—under the guise of gathering information about the tannery situation—I found my gaze drawn to him. The morning light caught in his hair, highlightingstrands of gold among the brown. When he smiled at something Frank said, a dimple appeared in his left cheek.

I shook myself, forcing my attention back to the conversation. This was no time to be admiring Elijah Sterling’s dimples.

I watched as Elijah deftly steered the conversation, his easy charm working its magic on Frank. “Say, Frank, didn’t you mention a new shipment of calfskin from that tannery up north? The one with that unique grain?”

Frank’s eyes lit up. “Indeed I did! Let me grab my ledger. I’ve got the details on that beauty right here.”

As Frank disappeared into a back room, I caught Elijah’s subtle wink. “Jack’s not the only clever bastard in our family.”

I stifled a grin, feeling heat rise to my face. His deft handling of the situation left me thoroughly impressed, despite myself. As much as I hated to admit it, they both had a way with people that I could never hope to match.

Frank reemerged from the back room, a leather-bound ledger tucked under his arm. He set it on the counter with a thump and flipped it open, the pages rustling as he searched for the right entry. Elijah leaned in, his eyes scanning the neat rows of figures and notes. I couldn’t help but crane my neck, curiosity getting the better of me as I tried to catch a glimpse of Frank’s handwriting.

“Shame about old Thompson,” Frank said as Elijah pulled a small leather-bound notebook and a stubby pencil from his jacket. He started jotting something down, his hand moving quickly across the page. “Never thought I’d see the day he’d consider closing up shop.”

“You’ve known Mr. Thompson a long time?” Elijah asked.

Frank nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. “Since we were boys. Used to see his girl at the tannery sometimes, before... well, before she left town.”

Elijah and I exchanged a quick glance. I furrowed my brow, trying to recall any mention of Mr. Thompson’s daughter. Despite growing up in Millcrest, I’d never heard a whisper about her. She must have left town long before I was born. I caught Elijah’s eye and gave a slight shake of my head.

“His daughter?” Elijah prompted casually.

“Aye, though he doesn’t speak of her now,” Frank replied. “Shame, that. She was a bright little thing.”

After bidding Adler good day, we stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. The bell above the door chimed softly behind us as I pulled my worn coat tighter, bracing against the chill that nipped at my nose and ears.

“I didn’t know Mr. Thompson had a daughter,” I said.

Elijah frowned, his brows drawing together. “From the sound of it, he’s not keen on people knowing.”

We made our way back to Sterling’s Fine Footwear, where Jack waited with sandwiches from Mabel’s bakery. As we ate, Elijah and I filled him in on our conversation with Frank.

“Frank’s handwriting doesn’t match,” Elijah said, his voice low and thoughtful.

I reached for my coffee. The porcelain was warm against my palms, grounding me as I considered our next move. One pieceof the puzzle had fallen into place, but it only raised more questions.

“Mr. Adler did mention that Mr. Thompson had a daughter who vanished years ago.” I drummed my fingers on the wood table, my mind racing. “Apparently, he doesn’t even like talking about her…”

“A secret daughter, eh?” Jack mused as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Sounds like it’s time we paid old Thompson a visit.”

An hour later, Jack and I stood outside Thompson’s Tannery. The acrid smell of chemicals and leather permeated the air, making my nose wrinkle.

“Ready?” Jack asked, flashing me a grin that set my heart racing.

I nodded as Jack’s hand slid under my worn coat to settle on the small of my back. He guided me into the tannery, the warmth of his touch seeping through my shirt.

Gus Thompson looked up from his work, surprise flickering across his weathered face. “Mr. Sterling, Mr. Hart. What can I do for you?”

As Jack smoothly explained our presence—something about leather quality and market trends—I let my eyes wander around the office. A framed photograph on the cluttered desk caught my attention. It showed a younger Thompson standing next to a little girl with familiar features.