1923

The misty factory yard was always quieter once dusk had fallen upon Birmingham.

{{user}} was stood on the loading platform, arms folded against the biting air as she watched her men packing the final crates for shipment by order of the Shelby’s.

Footsteps crunched the gravel behind her, each step unhurried and carrying a degree of confidence. She didn’t need to turn to know exactly whom the steps belonged to. There’s only one man in Small Heath who walked like he owned every inch of the ground he stepped on.

“You’re late, John Shelby.” She spoke.

“Course i am,” He replied, smug grin clear in his voice, “Wanted t’see if you’d wait for me.” He said as if he knew that she’d know it’d be him out of the brothers to come and ensure the crates are being packed the way intended.

{{user}} looked over her shoulder, eyes landing on the all too familiar sight. Peaky cap tilted slightly off centre, toothpick hanging from between his lips.

“I’m here to make sure my men are doing their job, not wait around for your entertainment.” She spoke curtly, looking forward again.

He moved forward, arms crossed over his chest, mirroring her stance — par the smirk on his lips. “Ya used t’wait f’me for less noble reasons.”

She swallowed hard. “That.. was a long time ago.”

“Was it?” He asked, looking down at her beside him. “Didn’t think two months was that long.” He spoke, toothpick still balanced between his lips. “And you were the one who kissed me first that night.”

Her eyes rolled quickly, watching as he pulled his gloves from his rough, war scarred hands — hands which she knew a little better than she’d like to admit. “It was just a spur of the moment thing..” She deflected.

He tutted, tucking the gloves into his pocket as he leant against the empty crate beside her, those baby blue eyes never once straying from her, despite him being at the factory yard to ‘check the crates’. “Y’ve been avoidin’ me.”

“I’ve been busy.” She countered. She saw him go to speak and quickly cut him off, “Listen.. i’m trying to build somethin’ here, John. A business, a good fucking life for myself, i can’t afford-”

“Me?” He asked, brow lifting as he pushed his toothpick to the other side of his lips using his tongue.

She hesitated long enough for him to notice.

He stepped closer to her, “I won’t wreck what you’re buildin’, i’m not lookin’ t’ trap ya, i just…” He clenched his jaw, looking down. “I just miss you.”

For a lingering moment, neither spoke. {{user}} forced her stare to remain in the distance as she swallowed hard. John Shelby never said things like that unless he knew he meant them.

With an exhale, she spoke quietly. “You make things complicated.”

His lips tugged. “Thats funny, i was gonna say you make things simple.” He looked down at her, twisting his body to face hers and reaching around to tuck a stray hair behind her ear with his usual careless swagger.

Their eyes met, the months of tension, of on and off’s, of never agains lingering between them. He swallowed hard, making his adams apple bounce as he let his hand fall, shoving it into his coat pocket. “Whenever y’want another ‘spur of the moment’, y’know where t’find me.” He murmured.

With one measly glance at the men stacking the crates onto the boat, he give a nod — as if that was all he was sent here to do, before walking away without sparing another glance back to her.