The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 44 ~

Small Heath, Birmingham, 1924.

Florence woke up the next morning in the quiet, dimly lit room that had become her sanctuary within Alfie's house. The faint sound of the city waking up outside trickled through the window, and the crisp morning air carried the smell of fresh coffee from downstairs. She sat up slowly, stretching her arms above her head before swinging her legs off the side of the bed.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, noting the time. She hadn't slept soundly, but at least she had slept. The weight from last night still lingered, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Today was another day, and she would go through it like she always did—just keep moving.

After getting dressed and brushing through her hair, she left her room and padded down the narrow hallway, her footsteps quiet on the old wooden floors. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could hear Alfie's voice from the kitchen, low and familiar.

When she turned the corner into the kitchen, she found him sitting at the table, his back to her, a piece of bread between his fingers. He didn't seem to notice her at first, lost in thought, or maybe just the habit of being alone in his own mind. The air smelled of coffee and something burning—a scent that only Alfie's chaotic kitchen could produce.

Florence lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him, unsure of how to break the silence. She didn't feel like addressing last night, and he didn't seem interested in discussing it either. In fact, the way he was holding himself suggested that whatever had happened between them had already been quietly brushed aside.

"Morning," she finally said, her voice quieter than usual, but still steady. Alfie turned his head slightly, enough to catch her eye. He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his gaze. "You're up early," he remarked, his voice raspy from sleep. He didn't offer much more than that, but there was no need. He knew how to leave things unsaid just as well as she did.

Florence moved to the counter, pouring herself a cup of tea without asking. She could feel Alfie's eyes on her, but he didn't push the issue. It was odd, how comfortable they had become with each other without the need for constant conversation. There was something unspoken between them now, something that didn't need to be voiced something that had never been voiced.

The kitchen was quiet for a few moments as she sipped her tea, the warmth grounding her as the rest of the house still seemed to be waking up. Alfie remained where he was, leaning back in his chair, staring into space as if his mind was a million miles away. Florence let the silence stretch between them, grateful for the reprieve from conversation. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk—it was that she wasn't ready for whatever might come out. The dreams, the feelings that she still couldn't shake—they were too much to unravel, even in the safety of Alfie's strange, half-lived-in home.

Finally, Alfie broke the silence, his voice low but steady. "You're alright, yeah?" He wasn't asking about last night, and Florence was grateful for that. He was just checking in, in his own way. She nodded, looking down into her cup. "Yeah. Just... tired." Alfie didn't press her any further. "I get it," he said quietly. "Tired's the story of my fucking life." Florence smiled faintly at his dry response but didn't comment. The words didn't need to be said aloud. She had learned that much in the time they'd spent together. They both carried their own burdens—unseen, unspoken—and sometimes, all that was needed was the quiet understanding between them.

She set her cup down and moved toward the door. "I'm going for a walk with the dogs," she said, her tone light but purposeful. "I'll be back in a bit." Alfie gave a small grunt of acknowledgment, the slightest shift in his posture indicating he was listening. "I'll come with you, don't want you walking around this fucking shit hole alone." Florence just smiled and nodded, grabbing her jacket from the hook by the door. "Okay."