Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Adelaide looked up from the stack of documents laid out on her desk when I knocked on her partially open office door.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Come in, dear.”
She pushed her chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as she stood up. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m managing.” I stepped over the threshold. Her domain smelled like old paper, lemon oil, and a faint trace of bergamot. “Have you had the chance to pull those copies yet?”
“Oh! Yes, I have them right here.” She began rummaging through the piles of paperwork on her desk. “One minute… now, where did I—”
I sank into the worn leather seat, the springs groaning softly beneath my weight. The corner of my mouth quirked upward as I watched Adelaide fluttering through her paperwork like an over anxious hummingbird. “How’s the investigation coming along?”
“The police haven’t made much progress, I’m afraid.” She stooped to fish around in a cardboard box overflowing with papers and folders. “Ah! Here it is!”
Adelaide's glasses sat askew on her nose as she stood. She adjusted them, passing me the stack of folders, her gaze turning contemplative. “It’s primarily construction permits, architectural plans, and correspondence related to the establishment of our preservation guidelines. Nothing really earth shattering, I’m afraid. ”
She paused, studying my face. “A few of those are copies of reproductions we made for the upcoming Centennial Celebration.”
I smiled. “I still can’t believe that’s going to be this year.”
“It’s quite exciting, despite everything else going on.” Her voice warmed with genuine enthusiasm.
A soft knock on the office door interrupted us. “Aunt Adelaide? I hope I’m not interrupting.”
A man appeared in the doorway—tall, impeccably dressed, with icy-blond hair and the kind of polished appearance that screamed expensive taste.
Victor Fairfax. His familiar face flashed in my memory—those rare childhood glimpses when he'd return to Millcrest, designer luggage in hand, between terms at his prestigious boarding school.
His scent carried notes of leather and cedar, with an underlying sharpness that made my omega instincts wary.
“Victor! Perfect timing.” Adelaide brightened. “Leo, you remember my nephew Victor, right? Victor, this is Leo Sterling-Hart, the cobbler I was telling you about.”
“Officially, it’s Fairfax-Saunier.” Victor’s pale blue eyes focused on me with interest. “Sterling-Hart… I remember your family had quite a reputation for quality craftsmanship in footwear.”
His lips parted, revealing the sharp glint of alpha canines. “This is serendipitous. I was hoping to speak with you about a commission.”
“What kind of commission?” I asked carefully.
“I saw this photograph during while helping Aunt Adelaide clean up after…” Victor's voice faded as he shot a glance toward his aunt, his expression betraying reluctance to distress her further about the break-in. “The shoes in the photograph—the ones your grandfather made—are positively exquisite. The silver buckle work, the hand-stitched welting… it’s the kind of artistry that’s nearly extinct today. ”
“You mean the shoes Thomas Wong was wearing?” I asked.
He nodded. “The very same!”
“Victor and Sebastian are opening their new boutique downtown to coincide with the Centennial Celebration,” Adelaide supplied.
“For our boutique’s grand opening, I’d like to commission an exact replica of those shoes,” Victor continued. “They would be the centerpiece of our historical elegance exhibition.”
“That’s quite a specific request,” I said. “Custom work like that would require detailed examination of the original item… and we only have a couple of photographs to go by.”
“Of course.” Victor’s smile sharpened slightly. “I’d be willing to pay handsomely. How does three thousand dollars sound?”
Three thousand dollars for a single pair of replica shoes was far beyond normal pricing, even for complex reproductions.
“That’s very generous,” I said carefully. “Perhaps we could discuss the details further? I’ll be at my shop later today.”
Adelaide’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she gazed at her nephew, her face softening with unmistakable affection. “Victor is quite passionate about historical posterity.”
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated. "Excuse me," I said, pulling the device from my pocket. I glanced down at the screen.
Blake
Shop security cleared. You and Penny have 2 hours. I’ll pick you up at 7pm.
“That works perfectly,” I said. “I’ll be at Cobblers’ Corner around five.”
“Excellent.” Victor’s smile, while pleasant enough, didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I look forward to our collaboration, Mr. Sterling-Hart.”
My shop felt different after four weeks of forced closure.
The familiar scents of leather and polish had grown stale, and dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight streaming through windows that hadn’t been opened in too long.
My grandfather’s tools sat exactly where I’d left them, waiting patiently for hands that had been too shaken to use them properly these past few days.
“God, I missed this place,” Penny said, bursting through the front door in a swirl of cotton candy scent and nervous energy.
He carried a bag from Tang’s Tea House and wore an outfit that somehow managed to be both vintage fabulous and practical for shop work.
“It feels like forever since we’ve been able to just… exist here normally.”
“Nothing’s been normal lately,” I admitted, accepting the tea he offered. The warmth felt good against my hands.
Penny’s expression flickered. Now that it was just the two of us, his smile faded and his shoulders slumped, revealing the side of Penny he typically shared only with his mothers and me.
“That’s true,” he said. “The whole district feels wrong with Dominic locked away and you stressed out of your mind. Plus…” He gestured vaguely. “Other complications.”
“What kind of other complications?”
Before Penny could answer, the shop bell chimed.
Victor Fairfax-Saunier stepped inside, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
His expensive cologne mixed unpleasantly with the honest scents of his leather and cedar pheromones, creating an odd chemical tang that made my nose itch.
I looked at the clock. 4:59pm. “Right on time, Mr. Fairfax-Saunier.”
“Please, call me Victor,” He said smoothly, but his pale blue eyes immediately fixed on Penny with an intensity that felt vaguely hostile. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” I replied, though I noticed Penny had gone very still beside me. “This is my friend, Penny Lee. Penny, Victor Fairfax-Saunier.”
Penny and his mothers had arrived in Millcrest long after Victor had married Sebastian and disappeared to France.
Victor himself had barely left footprints in Millcrest's community, his formative years spent behind the stone walls of English boarding schools.
I studied Victor's face, searching for clues in the sharp angles and practiced smile, wondering about the seemingly lonely child who'd grown into this polished stranger standing in my shop.
“We’ve met,” Penny said quietly, his usual dramatic flair completely absent. His saccharine scent had taken on a sour edge, tinged with genuine distress.
Victor’s smile sharpened. “Yes, we have. Through my husband Sebastian.” The way he said husband carried subtle emphasis, like he was marking territory. “How lovely to see you again, Mr. Lee.”
The tension in the shop ratcheted up several notches. Penny clutched his pendant and took a half-step closer to me, seeking security in a way that was entirely unlike his usual confident demeanor.
“Perhaps we should discuss the commission,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse whatever undercurrents were flowing between them.
“Of course.” Victor turned his attention back to me, but I caught the way his gaze kept flickering toward Penny. “The Thomas Wong shoes. As I mentioned, they would be perfect for our centennial exhibition.”
Victor slipped a photograph onto my workbench.
The paper whispered against the wood as he released it.
"Aunt Adelaide made this copy for me. She's combing through more documents from that era, hoping to uncover additional images of the shoes.
" His fingers tapped the edge of the photo.
"Perhaps your grandfather kept shop records from back then? "
I glanced down at the image, my fingers hovering over the familiar photograph. It was a copy of the same one that Penny and I had viewed in the Historical Society hallway during the fundraiser planning—the same one Richard Fairfax had demanded Adelaide remove.
"Yes, it's all in storage." My voice softened with reverence as I traced the contours of the craftsmanship. The silver buckles gleamed even in the faded reproduction, their intricate patterns catching my eye. "These buckles required both leather work and silver smithing."
“A rare combination of skills.” Victor said, moving closer to examine the image. “The silver work especially. It’s almost like jewelry integrated into footwear. Very avant-garde for the period. Your grandfather had quite a talent.”
“Hopefully, I can live up to his legacy.” His knowledge seemed genuine, which surprised me. Most people wouldn’t notice the technical complexity of the metalwork integration, especially in a faded photograph.
My fingers traced the curved lines of the silver buckles, my eyes narrowing as I absorbed every detail of the pattern that I could manage to make out. “The commission timeline would depend on research and sourcing materials,” I said. “Work like this can’t be rushed if you want accuracy.”
“Naturally.” Victor’s smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Though I should mention that the Centennial Celebration is scheduled to start six weeks from now. The boutique opening is the centerpiece event, so timing is somewhat crucial.”