The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 10 ~

Camden London 1911.

A few months had passed the busy days of winter over and the warming months of spring began to come to Camden, and Florence had settled into her routine at the bakery. It was far from the life she had once imagined for herself, but it was honest work, and she was grateful for it. Each morning, she would wake before dawn, the cold air biting at her skin as she made her way down the familiar streets of Camden. The bakery was small but warm, with the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, pies, and pastries wafting through the air.

Florence quickly became a favorite among the customers. With her striking green eyes, dark hair, and the quiet beauty that seemed to radiate from her, she had a natural way of drawing people in. But it wasn't just her appearance that made her popular—it was her kindness, the way she listened to people when they spoke, and the warmth in her smile that made even the grumpiest of regulars soften under her gaze.

Florence worked alongside two other young women who had become her friends for the first time in her life she could say she had friends. Val was nineteen, a lively and sharp-witted woman with short, dark hair and deep blue eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever she smiled. She had a strong work ethic but wasn't above making the occasional joke or teasing Florence when the bakery got too quiet.

Betsy, on the other hand, was only eighteen, with blonde hair that fell in soft waves around her face and warm brown eyes that always held a hint of mischief. She was bright and energetic, often humming as she worked, filling the quiet moments with her gentle melodies. She had a way of finding humor in even the dullest tasks, often pulling Florence and Val into fits of laughter over something silly.

The three of them made a good team. Val, with her no-nonsense attitude, was often the one to handle the more difficult customers, always quick with a firm but polite word when someone tried to haggle or complain. Betsy was more soft-spoken but endlessly charming, often able to persuade customers into buying an extra loaf or pastry just by flashing her brilliant smile. And Florence, with her quiet grace and warmth, was the glue that held them. She brought a sense of calm to the bakery that soothed even the busiest of days.

One afternoon, as they worked together behind the counter, Val glanced over at Florence, her hands busy kneading dough. "Flo," she said with a grin, "you've been getting a lot of attention lately, haven't you?" Florence raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the bread she was slicing. "What do you mean?"."Oh, come on," Betsy chimed in, laughing as she arranged some pastries on a tray. "You know exactly what she means. Half the men that come in here can't keep their eyes off you." Florence flushed slightly, shaking her head. "They're just being polite. They come for the bread, not for me." Val smirked, rolling her eyes. "Sure, Flo. Keep telling yourself that."

Florence smiled but kept her focus on her work. She wasn't one to pay much attention to the glances or occasional compliments from customers. She had far too much on her mind—too many responsibilities weighing on her shoulders to think about anything else. The bakery was her lifeline now, and she couldn't afford to let herself get distracted. But she appreciated the camaraderie between Val and Betsy; their teasing was lighthearted and always brought a smile to her face.

As the day went on, the bakery grew quieter. The rush of customers from the early morning had died down, leaving them with only a few regulars trickling in and out. Florence found herself with a moment of peace, standing by the window as she watched the gray skies over Camden. She thought of her parents—of her father's sweet smile and her mother's soft laughter. The ache of their absence never fully left her, but it had dulled over time, settling into a familiar sadness that she carried with her.

"Flo?" Betsy's voice broke through her thoughts, and Florence turned to see her friend standing by the counter, holding out a fresh loaf of bread. "Do you want to take this one to Mrs. Evans? She usually comes in around now, but she hasn't been feeling well lately. I thought we could deliver it to her. Florence nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Of course. I'll take it."