1
T he 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.
“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.
But how had it ended up here? I never left my shop unlocked, and I certainly hadn’t brought it in. Unless...
A chill raced down my spine as I remembered the figure I’d seen running from my shop. Had someone broken in? Planted the leather to frame me?
I sank onto my worn stool, the leather clutched in my trembling hands. The rich scent of it filled my nose, mingling with the familiar smells of my shop—polish and old leather and the faintest trace of vanilla and cocoa from my own omega scent.
What was I going to do?
As if in answer, my grandfather’s voice echoed in my memory. He’d always said that in times of trouble, Christmas elves would come to help those with kind hearts and clever hands.
I almost laughed at the childish thought. I was a grown man, an omega struggling to survive in a world that often seemed stacked against me. I couldn’t rely on fairy tales and Christmas magic to solve my problems.
And yet...
I looked down at the leather in my hands, then around at my shabby little shop. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. My grandfather had built this business with nothing but determination and skill, and I’d be damned if I let it slip away now.
Setting the leather aside, I rolled up my sleeves. Elves or no elves, I had work to do. And tomorrow... tomorrow I’d figure out what to do about the leather.
As I settled into the familiar rhythm of my work, I pushed away the temptation of charming alpha smiles and thoughts of warm beds and full bellies. I had shoes to mend and a reputation to uphold.
Let the Sterlings have their fine shop and fancy, big city suits. I had my pride and my grandfather’s legacy. For now, that would have to be enough.