The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

- 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟖 -

Camden, London 1912.

Spring was finally warming the air, loosening the grip winter had left behind. The bakery's door stayed open longer in the afternoons now, letting in the scent of budding flowers from the street and the sound of children playing on the corner. Inside, the scent of cinnamon and fresh loaves filled the air, and the soft chatter between Florence, Val, and Betsy blended easily with the hum of the oven.

"Next week, Flo," Val said, dusting flour from her fingers as she leaned on the counter. "You'll be eighteen." Florence glanced up from where she was shaping rolls. "Mmm."

"Mmm?" Betsy said dramatically. "It's your birthday, not a toothache. We're taking you out." Val stated. "Hold on, I haven't agreed to anything."

"Oh but, you will," Val grinned. "We're dressing up, dancing till our feet fall off, and pretending we've got no responsibilities." Florence rolled her eyes. "Val..."

The door jingled just then, as if summoned. Ollie stepped inside, wind-tossed and sharp-looking in his dark coat, his curls mussed just enough to look unbothered. His eyes scanned the room and landed, as they always did, on Florence.

Ollie had started coming by more often. Never announced. Always breezing in like a gust of wind—smelling faintly of tobacco and the Thames fog. His visits were brief, almost hurried, but he never left without saying her name or flashing her a lopsided grin. There were days she didn't know what to make of him anymore, but still, something in her chest eased whenever he stepped through the door.

"Ladies," he greeted, offering a quick smile as he stepped up to the counter. "Still got any of those apple rolls left?"."For you?" Florence said, reaching for a warm one wrapped in wax paper. "Just in time. Two left."

Betsy was already rounding the counter, swaying just a little more than usual as she approached him. "Apple roll for Camden's finest," she said sweetly. "How's a girl supposed to keep up with you, Ollie? You vanish for weeks and turn up looking like something off a film reel."

Ollie blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Do I?"."Oh, absolutely," Betsy purred. "Coat all sharp, hair perfectly tousled. You'd cause trouble at any dance hall." Val nearly choked on her tea in the corner.

"I, uh—thanks?" Ollie replied, shifting his weight. "Didn't realise I was auditioning."."Oh you wouldn't have to audition," Betsy said with a wink. "Not with that smile. I bet you've got girls lining up all over Camden."

"Betsy." Florence broke in, trying not to laugh as she handed Ollie his roll. "Leave the poor boy alone."."Oh come on, I'm just being friendly," Betsy said innocently, though her grin was anything but. "Can't blame a girl for noticing."

Ollie took the roll with a grateful nod—though his ears had gone a bit pink. "I might have to start bringing backup next time I stop in." Val, watching from the corner, smirked over her mug. "If you do, make sure they're as fun to watch as this."

Florence shook her head, trying to suppress her grin. "Honestly, Betsy, one of these days he's going to run out of here and never come back." Betsy placed a hand over her heart in mock hurt. "Not before he takes me dancing."

"Speaking of," Val cut in, glancing at Ollie. "We're dragging Florence out for her birthday next Thursday. Music, mayhem, and maybe a gin or two. You in?"

Ollie looked to Florence, who gave him a small, knowing smile. "You're welcome," she said. "If you can handle it." He tilted his head, smiling back. "I'll do my best." And just like that, the laughter settled back into the room—the easy rhythm of teasing, warmth, and something just below the surface. Florence turned back to her dough, her cheeks still flushed with amusement, and maybe something else.