2
T he leather scrap lay on my workbench, innocuous yet damning. I ran my fingers over its supple surface, marveling at the quality. Such fine material could save my shop, but at what cost?
Mrs. Thackeray’s order loomed over me. The wealthy widow had swept into my shop yesterday, her fur coat reeking of mothballs and self-importance. She thrust a crumpled page from a French fashion catalogue at me, her manicured finger jabbing at a pair of pumps that made my heart skip. The shoes were a masterpiece—sleek satin uppers with delicate beadwork cascading down the sides like frozen champagne bubbles.
“These. I want these for the Christmas gala,” Mrs. Thackeray declared, her voice brooking no argument.
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. This wasn’t a simple repair job. She wanted me to recreate couture footwear from scratch, using only a grainy black-and-white photo as reference. My fingers itched to get started, but doubt gnawed at me.
“Ma’am, I’m not sure I?—“
“Nonsense,” she cut me off. “I’ve seen your work, Mr. Hart. I need them perfect. It’s the social event of the season. I simply can’t be seen in anything less than immaculate shoes.”
I nodded, already calculating. The job would pay handsomely—enough to cover next month’s rent and restock my dwindling supplies. But the pumps required a specific type of leather, the very kind that had inexplicably appeared in my shop, taunting me with its ill-gotten presence.
My grandfather’s voice echoed in my head. “A cobbler’s reputation is built on trust, Milo. Once lost, it’s harder to repair than the oldest shoe.”
“I’ll have them ready by next Thursday afternoon.”
Mrs. Thackeray’s face lit up. “Splendid! I knew I could count on you.”
“The pumps will require a calfskin vamp.” My fingers traced the edge of the leather swatch nestled on the shelf beneath the counter where my ancient cash register sat.
I’d be crossing a line if I used it.
“If I may, I’ll need a swatch of your gown.” I flashed her a charming smile.
“A swatch?” Mrs. Thackeray’s brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose... if it’s absolutely necessary.”
“The swatch is essential. It ensures the pumps match your gown. I’d like to dye the uppers to match perfectly.”
Her expression softened, apparently satisfied with my reasoning.
I jotted down her address in my ledger, the nib of my pen scratching against the paper. “Thank you for your patronage. I’ll have them delivered promptly next Thursday.”
Mrs. Thackeray swept out, leaving behind a cloud of perfume and impossible expectations. I found myself studying the catalogue page. The construction, the arch support, the precise placement of each bead—it would be a challenge, but an achievable one, given the right tools, materials, and talent.
I reached for my grandfather’s old leather-working tools, feeling their familiar weight. Maybe, just maybe, I could pull this off. And if I did... well, it could change everything for my little shop.
I sighed as I wrapped the leather in a scrap of cloth. I’d take it to Sheriff Dawson, explain how I’d found it. Surely he’d understand?—
The bell above the door jangled, startling me. I shoved the wrapped leather into my workbench drawer. The worn wood creaked as I slid it shut. My heart raced as I turned to see Martha Sawyer hurrying in, her face pinched with worry.
My nostrils flared as the rich aroma of expensive leather hit me like a punch to the gut. The scent clung to the air, thick and unmistakable. I glanced at Martha, praying her beta nose wouldn’t pick up on it. My heart hammered against my ribs as I forced a smile, willing my scent not to betray my anxiety.
“Miss Sawyer,” I said, my voice a touch too high. “What can I do for you today?”
“Mr. Hart,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I need your help.”
I forced a smile. “Of course. What can I do for you?”
She thrust a pair of well-worn oxfords at me. “The sole’s come off. I need them fixed right away. Today, if possible.”
I examined the shoes. A quick job, nothing complex. “I can have them ready by closing time,” I said.
Martha nodded, her eyes darting around the shop. “Thank you. I’ll be back then.”
Martha hurried out the door, the bell jingling in her wake. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right with her today.
I didn’t know Martha all that well. She’d only moved to town about six months ago, setting up shop in old Mrs. Finch’s vacant storefront. She was a newcomer to Millcrest, still finding her place.
The rest of the day crawled by, each tick of the clock an accusation. By closing time, my nerves were frayed. Martha returned and paid without comment. I noticed her face appeared drawn, with dark circles under her eyes, but the nervous energy that had surrounded her earlier seemed to have dissipated.
Once she left with her newly repaired shoes, I locked up the shop and my attention turned to the leather scrap in my workbench drawer. I needed advice, a friendly ear. Leaving the shop, my feet carried me to Mabel’s bakery of their own accord.
The warm scent of cinnamon and apples enveloped me as I entered. Mabel looked up from where she kneaded dough, her smile faltering as she took in my expression.
“Milo? What’s wrong?”
I sank onto a stool at the counter, pouring out the whole sordid tale. Mabel listened, her hands never stopping their rhythmic work.
When I finished, she sighed. “Oh, Milo. What a mess.”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of my predicament. “I’m in a real pickle here. Mrs. Thackeray’s got her heart set on those pumps, but I don’t have the leather to make ‘em. Not to mention the silk and pearls—or glass beads, if we’re being honest. Who can afford real pearls these days?”
Mabel’s eyes lit up. “What about that scrap you found?”
“No, I can’t.” I shook my head, my jaw clenching. “Much as I need it, using that leather wouldn’t be right. I’ve got to turn it in to the Sheriff.”
“Always the boy scout, aren’t you?” Mabel teased, sliding a steaming cup of coffee my way.
I managed a weak smile. “Someone’s got to keep this town honest.”
“And who’s keeping you fed, hmm?” She wagged a flour-dusted finger at me. “You can’t cobble on an empty stomach.”
“Is that your way of offering me a day-old danish?”
“Day-old? I’ll have you know everything here is fresh as a daisy.”
Our banter lifted my spirits for a moment, but the weight of my decision still pressed down on me. I was about to ask Mabel if she had any more practical advice when her expression suddenly turned serious.
“You haven’t heard, then?” Mabel fidgeted nervously. She grabbed up a cloth and began wiping the counter furiously, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by unease.
“What haven’t I heard?” I asked, my stomach knotting with sudden dread. Mabel’s serious tone set off alarm bells in my head.
“Mr. Thompson’s threatening to close the tannery unless the stolen leather is found.” I watched Mabel twist the cloth between her fingers. We both understood the implications—if the tannery closed, my little store wouldn’t stand a chance.
My blood ran cold. “Close the tannery? But that would?—”
“Affect half the town, yes. No leather means no work for cobblers, saddlers, bookbinders... It’d be a disaster.”
I slumped, the weight of the situation crushing me. “What am I going to do?”
Mabel reached across the counter, squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
I squeezed Mabel’s hand back, bittersweet memories flashing through my mind. Through hardships and personal losses, the Wilsons and Harts had always banded together. Mabel’s parents would slip us extra loaves when times were lean, and we’d patch their shoes for free. “That’s the mark of good folk, Milo. Not just surviving, but making sure your neighbor survives too. It’s how we weather the storms together.” Grandpa’s words echoed in my mind. I could almost feel his calloused hand on my shoulder, smell the rich scent of leather that always clung to him. The memory brought a lump to my throat. “You’re right, Mabel. We’ve always found a way, haven’t we?”
I left the bakery with a heavy heart and a paper bag of danish rolls. Mabel had pressed them on me, refusing payment as usual. Her kindness only added to the burden of guilt I carried.
As I walked home, a thought nagged at me. The Sterling brothers. Their shop stood to gain the most from Thompson’s closure. With no local tannery, smaller shops like mine would struggle to get supplies. But Sterling’s Fine Footwear, with its connections to big city merchants, would thrive.
Before I could think better of it, I found myself darting across the street. Crouching low, I crept along the side of Sterling’s Fine Footwear, my fingers brushing rough brick as I made my way to the back of the building. A sliver of light shone through the back window. They were still here, working late.
I crept around to the alley behind the store. A partly open window provided a perfect vantage point. I told myself I just wanted information, but the truth sat bitter on my tongue. I was spying, plain and simple.
Jack Sterling’s voice drifted out. “...can’t let Thompson close the tannery. It’d ruin half the businesses in town.”
“I know,” Elijah replied. “But what can we do? It’s not like we can magic the leather back into his tannery.”
“We could offer to buy out his stock,” Jack suggested. “At least keep things running until the sheriff sorts this mess out.”
I frowned. This didn’t sound like the gloating of successful thieves. If anything, the brothers seemed genuinely concerned.
“It’s not just about the money,” Elijah said. “Thompson’s pride is hurt. He feels like he let everyone down.”
Jack snorted. “As if he’s the only one affected. I can name several people who are depending on his tannery’s leather for their very livelihood. What about Hart? His little shop won’t last a month without local leather supplies… even if he only gets scraps.”
My breath caught. They were worried about me ? I strained my ears, barely catching Elijah’s words through the window.
“We could do something about it,” Elijah said.
Jack replied, his words unintelligible. I strained to catch Elijah’s muffled reply. The old brick building conspired against me, swallowing most of the sound. I caught only fragments—something about “...could help...” and “...not our problem...” My fingers dug into the wood window frame as I silently willed them to speak up.
The unexpected note of sympathy in their voices caught me off guard. I’d never thought the Sterling brothers paid me much mind, let alone considered my struggles. A strange mix of emotions churned in my gut—surprise, confusion, and a reluctant flicker of... what? Gratitude? Anger at being pitied and looked down on? I pushed the confusing jumble of feelings aside, reminding myself they were still my rivals.
I leaned closer, eager to hear more?—
CRASH!
I stumbled back, my elbow connecting with a stack of crates. They toppled, spilling their contents across the alley with a cacophony of thuds and clangs.
“What was that?” Jack’s voice, suddenly alert.
“Someone’s out there!”
Footsteps approached. I looked around frantically for an escape route, but it was too late. The back door flew open, spilling light into the alley. Jack and Elijah stood framed in the doorway, their expressions a mix of surprise and suspicion.
“Hart?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
My mind raced. I couldn’t tell them the truth—that I’d been eavesdropping like some common sneak. An idea struck, born of desperation and half-truths.
“I... I came to ask for help,” I blurted out. “I have an order I can’t fill. A wealthy customer, needs special leather. I thought... maybe you had some scraps you were planning to throw out?”
The brothers exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher. Then, to my surprise, their faces softened.
“Come inside,” Elijah said, stepping back. “Let’s talk.”
Sweat beaded on my palms as I followed them into the workshop. The familiar scents of leather and polish wrapped around me, mingling with the brothers’ alpha pheromones. My traitorous body responded, a warmth blooming low in my belly.
Jack leaned against a workbench, arms crossed. “So, you need leather for a special order?”
I nodded, explaining Mrs. Thackeray’s request and the potential impact on my shop. As I spoke, I saw something like respect flicker in Jack’s eyes.
“That’s quite a predicament,” Elijah said when I finished. “We might be able to help.”
Hope surged in my chest. “Really? Once Mrs. Thackeray gives me the money, I’d be happy to pay?—”
Jack held up a hand, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, we don’t want your money, Hart.”
I frowned. “Then what?—”
“A kiss,” Jack said, his voice low and husky. “One kiss, and we’ll give you the leather you need.”
My jaw dropped. “A... a kiss?”
Jack stepped closer, his scent enveloping me. “One kiss each,” he clarified. “That’s our price.”
My gaze darted between Jack and Elijah, heart hammering in my chest. Jack’s infuriating smirk taunted me, while Elijah shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes. I glared at Jack, my mind racing. Was this some kind of sick joke? But the intensity in his eyes told me he wasn’t kidding. My gaze flicked to Elijah, silently pleading for him to intervene, but he remained frustratingly mute.
Jack’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk of his as he invaded my personal space. The scent of cedar and bergamot enveloped me, making my head spin. I took a step back, but found myself trapped against the counter.
“Well, Hart?” Jack’s voice was low, almost a purr. “What’s it gonna be?”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The warmth radiating from his body seemed to seep into my skin, and I cursed my traitorous omega instincts for responding to his alpha pheromones.
“You can’t be serious,” I managed to croak out, hating how breathless I sounded.
Jack’s eyes glinted with amusement and something darker that made my pulse quicken. “Oh, I’m dead serious, sweetheart. One kiss each, and all that lovely leather is yours.”
My fingers gripped the edge of the counter behind me, knuckles turning white. I should’ve told him to go fry a stale egg, to take his ridiculous offer and shove it. But the thought of all that high-quality leather and Mrs. Thackeray’s Christmas gala shoes...
All I had to do was kiss these alphas.
My traitorous heart skipped a beat at the thought. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamed of it. My gaze lingered on Jack’s chiseled jawline, then flicked to Elijah’s warm brown gaze. A jolt of attraction shot through me before I could squash it down.
No. These men might be handsome, but they were vultures circling my grandfather’s legacy. I’d seen how they operated—ruthless and calculating, they’d crush Hart’s Shoe Repair without losing a wink of sleep.
I licked my lips nervously, and Jack’s eyes followed the movement.
I should have been outraged at his proposition. Should have stormed out in a huff of righteous indignation. Instead, I found myself nodding, my mouth suddenly dry.
“J... Just one kiss each,” I stammered, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.
Jack surged forward, his large hand cradling my jaw as he angled my face upward. Our lips collided with unexpected intensity, his mouth hot and demanding against mine. A jolt of electricity shot through me as his tongue traced my lower lip, seeking entry. I gasped, inadvertently granting him access. He tasted of coffee and something uniquely Jack—rich and intoxicating. My fingers clutched at his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. A low growl rumbled in his chest, the vibration sending a delicious tremor racing through my body. My knees weakened, and I found myself leaning into his solid frame for support.
When Jack pulled away, I swayed on my feet, dazed. My lips tingled, still burning from his touch.
“Your turn, Eli,” Jack’s husky voice cut through the haze of desire.
Elijah’s warm brown eyes darkened with want as he stared at me. I shivered, caught between their heated gazes, my body aflame with need.
My heart raced as Elijah approached. His gaze locked onto mine, and I felt a magnetic pull drawing us together. He cupped my face with gentle hands. When his lips met mine, I melted into the kiss. Where Jack had been all fire and passion, Elijah’s kiss was slow and tender, yet no less potent. He tasted of honey and citrus, a sweetness that made my head spin.
I found myself responding with equal fervor, my fingers tangling in his thick brown locks. The world faded away until there was nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his body, and the intoxicating blend of our scents mingling in the air.
I broke the kiss, panting slightly. The brothers watched me, their eyes dark with hunger. For a moment, I imagined giving in to the heat building between us. Three bodies tangled together, hands and mouths exploring...
I shook my head, dispelling the fantasy. “The leather?” I managed to croak out.
Jack chuckled, moving to a cabinet. He returned with a roll of supple leather, far more than mere scraps.
“This should be enough for your order,” he said, pressing it into my hands. “And then some.”
I clutched the leather to my chest, overwhelmed by their generosity. “I don’t know what to say.”
Jack’s expression turned serious. “Say you’ll be careful. This business with Thompson’s tannery... we don’t know the score yet.”
My body tensed as unease crept through me. “What do you mean?”
“Just stay out of it,” Elijah said, his voice gentle but firm. “For your own safety.”
I nodded, unsure of how to respond. As I turned to leave, Jack caught my arm.
“Milo,” he said, using my given name for the first time. “We mean it. Don’t go poking around in this. Please.”
The genuine concern in his voice shook me more than any threat could have. I mumbled a hasty goodbye and fled into the night, my mind whirling.
I crossed the street, heading to my shop. I tucked the leather under my arm and tried to ignore the taste of the Sterling brothers still on my lips. I smiled as I looked down at the leather the Sterlings had given me.
The cobbler’s elves, it seemed, had taken an unexpectedly alluring form. But whether they really intended to help or to hinder remained to be seen.
My smile faded.
Was I being a fool, blinded by a pair of handsome faces?
With a sigh, I quickened my pace.
Despite Jack’s warning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was already in too deep to back out now.