Camden, 1930

You had a soft spot in your heart for Alfie, that wasn't up for debate, you weren't attracted to the violence or the money, the criminal empire he ran, no. You sought his attention since it felt simply wonderful to be appreciated by him, never a word out of place, never a leering comment intended to belittle you and big himself up, he was always genuine.

He'd never had a thing as young as you be around him so regularly, but with his work involving the Peaky Blinders for some time, it was bound to happen at some point, some spring chicken to befit him as the old rooster.

Alfie had begun to treat you as something of a curio, paying attention to your clothes, knowing you treated your fashion magazines like your Bible.

So far, you'd treated his eyes to a few new ways to wear your hair, a new style of eye makeup, always ahead of the curve when it came to the overall silhouette of your fashion choices, and it kept Alfie on his toes.

~ "My, my treacle, you certainly look all done up and proper don't ya?" Alfie smiled as he saw you first one morning, "you had yer head stuck in them clothing mags eh?" ~

Alfie thought he was on top of your ever-changing style choices until one summer's day, the doors and windows of the distillery flung wide open to try and attempt a breeze to he encouraged through the old stuffy building, too hot for trousers or a long skirt, you'd opted for that new skirt you'd bought at the weekend, plaid and pleated, it was perfect for such a hot day.

Upon entering the distillery, you were prepared to turn heads, used to it by that point, already anticipating the whispers you'd become so acclimatised to, there goes Alfie's pretty young thing, you think they'd fancy me? What in the bloody hell're they wearing now?

But all was silent, Alfie's employees barely noticing your entry, until Alfie, with all the subtlety of a polka dotted elephant, greeted you in his familiar booming voice.

"Well, well! Fresh off the catwalk are we my darlin'? Where's the rest of your skirt?"