4
I was exhausted.
All last night, my mind whirled with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. On top of being restless over the revitalization plans and the vandalism, when I did finally fall asleep, my dreams were haunted by a certain silver-eyed alpha. The man was threatening everything I held dear, yet my omega instincts hummed with dangerous interest every time those steel-gray eyes locked onto mine. By dawn, dark circles had carved themselves under my eyes, and now my tongue tasted bitter from too many cups of coffee.
My fingers traced familiar patterns across worn leather, the steady rhythm of repair work a balm for my scattered thoughts. The brass bell above the door chimed throughout the day and a parade of shoes crossed my workbench—Mrs. Henderson’s orthopedic shoes needed new insoles. Mr. Gates’ work boots required resoling. A teenager’s beloved sneakers earned fresh laces and cleaned canvas. Each stitch and polish anchored me to the present, away from silver-eyed distractions.
The wall clock ticked past eleven. I flipped the “OPEN” sign and gathered my tools, tucking each into its proper place. Keys jingled as I stepped outside into the morning sun.
“There’s my favorite cobbler.” Penny leaned against the brick wall beside my door, sipping on what was probably his third bubble tea of the day. “Ready for some scheming?”
I twisted the key in the lock, testing the handle twice—an old habit I’d never bothered to attempt to break. “Scheming implies we’re up to no good.”
“Oh honey, I’m always up to no good.”
As Penny and I approached Wilson’s vandalized storefront, my heart ached at the sight of the broken windows and angry red graffiti.
Rosie stood in the doorway, her usually cheerful face drawn with worry. Her eyes lit up when she saw us.
“Oh, Leo, Penny! You’re angels, both of you,” she exclaimed, pulling us into a hug.
“We’re here to help however we can,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. “Just tell us what you need.”
For the next couple of hours, we worked tirelessly. Shards of glass tinkled against my dustpan like bitter wind chimes as I swept up what remained of the broken storefront window. Penny attacked the red spray paint with a wire brush, his pink hair falling into his eyes as he muttered curses under his breath. The scent of bleach burned my nostrils, mixing with the sweetness of the strawberry tarts that Rosie brought out to thank us for our help.
“Here, you two need fuel to work,” she said as she sat the tray on the counter. Penny and I accepted the offering, grabbing two of the sugary pastries each.
The bell above the door chimed and Mr. Gates from the hardware store entered.
“I’ll tackle that replacement window right away, Mrs. Rosie,” he said. “If I can get it in place this afternoon, I should be able to finish the signage by this time tomorrow.”
“That sounds perfect,” Rosie said, before offering Mr. Gates a strawberry tart.
One by one, our neighbors filtered in, armed with mops, brooms, and determination to lend a hand in any way they could. Mrs. Henderson from the flower shop arrived with a bucket of cleaning supplies. Behind her, the Martinez twins carried fresh rolls of paper towels.
“Chemical fumes giving anyone else a headache?” I rubbed my temples. The harsh cleaning products stung my sensitive omega nose. A gust of crisp air swept in as I propped the bakery door open with a worn brick.
“Here, let me get the back door too.” Penny darted through the scattered crowd, his pink hair bouncing. “Cross breeze will clear this out in no time.”
A knock at the door frame drew our attention.
Minnie stepped through, balancing a silver tray laden with coffee and croissants from her own shop.
“Room for one more?” she asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
I watched Rosie’s face flicker with surprise before she broke into a bright smile. Her hands fluttered to her apron. “Of course, so glad you could come!”
She bustled forward and relieved Minnie of the gleaming tray, placing the offering on the freshly polished counter beside what remained of her strawberry tarts.
“Who would’ve thought?” Penny whispered, elbowing me. “The queen of fancy pastries, slumming it with us common folk.”
“Hush.” But I couldn’t help smiling as Minnie rolled up her silk sleeves and grabbed a sponge.
Things started winding down once the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the cobblestone street. We stepped back to survey our progress. The bakery looked better, the scars of the vandalism mostly gone now.
The bleach-scrubbed brick facade still bore faint traces of the hateful graffiti, like old bruises refusing to fade. But the new storefront window sparkled, and the brass fixtures gleamed with renewed dignity. I rubbed my neck, sore from hours of scrubbing.
“Not half bad for a day’s work,” Penny said as he extended his arms overhead, his shoulders cracking.
The first streetlamps flickered to life, catching the dust motes dancing in the air and transforming them into floating specks of light.
“Thank you all so much,” Rosie said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I don’t know what I’d do without this community.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans, streaks of paint and grime marking the denim. Sarah materialized at my side.
“That’s what we do in the Historical District,” she said. “One of us falls, we all pick them up. Been that way since forever.”
“And we’ll make sure it stays that way,” Penny chimed in.
“See you at the Hideaway in the morning?” Sarah hefted her bucket, keys jingling in her apron pocket. “First round of coffee’s on the house.”
I waved goodbye to Sarah. Penny and I lingered, watching as the others began to disperse. Something nagged at the back of my mind.
“Rosie,” I said once the three of us were alone, “has anyone unusual been asking about your business lately? Maybe someone interested in buying the property?”
Rosie frowned, thinking. “Now that you mention it, there was a man in a fancy suit last week. Said he represented some big company interested in ‘investing in the area.’ I told him I wasn’t interested in selling, and he left. But he seemed... disappointed.”
My heart raced. Could it have been Dominic Steele? Or someone else from Vertex Acquisitions?
“Did you happen to catch the man’s name?” I asked. “Or maybe he left a business card?”
Rosie’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid it’s slipped my mind. And that card...” She shook her head. “I tossed it in the bin. Didn’t think much of it at the time.”
Penny piped up. “What about his appearance? Anything stand out?”
“Well...” Rosie tapped her chin. “Tall fellow. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. And those eyes...” She shivered slightly. “He had the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen on an alpha. Wore an expensive suit, too.”
Rosie’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she let out a girlish giggle. “Oh my, he was quite the looker. Handsome as they come, I’d say.”
My stomach clenched. It had to be Dominic Steele.
“Was it Mr. Steele from Vertex?” I asked. “Did you get a look at him at the council meeting?”
“I didn’t attend.” Rosie shook her head. “The sheriff had some questions for me, so I didn’t make it in time.”
“But I’d know him in a heartbeat if I saw him again,” she added, her voice firm. “Not the sort of face you forget easily.”
I caught Penny’s eye, a silent conversation passing between us. His brows furrowed slightly, mirroring my own concern. We’d known each other long enough that words weren’t always necessary.
“Thanks, Rosie,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “If you remember anything else, let me know, okay?”
“Of course, dear.” Rosie smoothed her flour-dusted apron, her eyes crinkling with worry. Just don’t go getting yourself in trouble, you hear? Sheriff Hawkins is already looking into it.”
My mind went to the collection of yellowed newspaper clippings and vintage photographs taking up one entire wall of the bakery. How often had my gaze lingered on that old monochrome print showing two brothers posing in front of what used to be Sterling’s Fine Footwear, before it became Wilson’s?
“You and Wilson’s are just as much a part of me as Cobblers’ Corner.” The words caught in my throat. “Someone’s threatening everything you’ve built here. I respect Sheriff Hawkins, and I wouldn’t dare step on his toes, but if my shop—or anyone else’s—had been vandalized, I know you would do everything in your power to help. It’s who you are, Rosie. I just want to do the same for you.”
“Ditto!” Penny said with a bright smile.
I matched my pace to Penny’s as we strolled toward our shops, our shoes clicking against the cobblestones. My mind churned with all the new information, pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together.
“So, what do you make of all this?” Penny asked.
I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair. “I’m not sure.”
“You think Mr. Daddy Material’s involved?”
I cast Penny a dour glare. He just shrugged innocently in response.
“It’s clear Mr. Steele’s involved somehow, but to what extent?” I replied, placing emphasis on his name. “And why turn to vandalism?”
Penny nodded, his usual bubbly demeanor subdued. “It’s fishy, that’s for sure. And poor Rosie, caught in the middle of it all.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
I slowed my pace as we approached the intersection where our shops stood. The weathered brick of my store wrapped around the corner. A gentle evening breeze rocked the wooden sign hanging above the door, its paint-chipped letters spelling out “Cobblers’ Corner” in faded gold. I gazed up at the cheerful elf figurine perched atop the sign, its arms clutching a pair of shoes. A couple of doors down, Penny’s storefront burst with color, mannequins in the window sporting fashion from decades past.
“Night, Leo. Try not to let this keep you up til daylight, okay?” Penny said, giving my arm a squeeze.
“No promises,” I replied with a wry smile. “Night, Penny.”
As Penny trotted off, I dug through my pockets for my keys. Something caught my eye at the base of the street lamp in front of my shop. I bent down to get a closer look.
There, glinting in the warm glow of the street lamp, lay a cufflink. Not just any cufflink, but an expensive-looking one with an intricate design. My breath caught in my throat as I picked it up, remembering the impeccable suit Mr. Steele wore at City Hall.
And the night of the vandalism.
The night he’d appeared in my shop with a conveniently broken shoe.
I straightened, my gaze drawn to Wilson’s Bakery. The street lamp faced the bakery’s direction head-on, its light creating a perfect spotlight on the storefront. A shiver of unease rippled through me, prickling my skin as I looked from the cufflink to the bakery and back again.
I clutched the cufflink tightly. The metal was cool against my skin, its weight surprisingly hefty for such a small object.
Was Dominic Steele’s appearance that night not just a mere coincidence after all?