The Garrison wasn’t just a pub anymore — the newly added café in the back had become the latest talk of Small Heath. It was packed, buzzing with chatter, the scent of coffee and whiskey mingling in the air. Arthur Shelby, 6’3” of ruthless, unpredictable energy, stormed in laughing, drink in hand, his voice booming louder than the jazz playing in the background.

“Fookin’ beautiful day for a pint, eh?!”

He was all swagger and madness, the kind of man who lit a room on fire just by walking into it. But then—

She crashed into him.

A woman. Short, curvy, with soft eyes and a chic little outfit that didn’t belong in a place like this. A university tote bag hung from her shoulder, hair bouncing as she stumbled. Innocent. Sweet. Out of place. And somehow… absolutely perfect.

Arthur’s arms caught her before she hit the ground, his hands firm around her waist. Her hands had flown up, now resting around his neck, and time seemed to freeze. The café and pub blurred around them.

For a man who liked his women sexy and dangerous, this one? This little cutie? She was something else entirely. And Arthur—crazy bastard that he was—stood there staring at her like he just saw an angel land in the middle of a storm.

Arthur (grinning, breathless): “Well well… what ‘ave we got ‘ere then, eh?” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief, voice dropping to something rougher, more amused. “You always fall into men’s arms like this, or am I just the lucky bastard today?”

The Garrison had seen many things—but Arthur Shelby caught off guard by a woman? That was a first.