March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 9

I sit behind the counter sketching absent-mindedly on the notepad. It's been two days since I dropped the food off to Polly, and we've had no contact from the Peaky Blinders since. Good. Maybe John's choosing to focus on his children. Maybe he's simply forgotten about the lemon muffins. Maybe he gets his bread at the butcher's now, where he pays a little more for the convenience.

But when the door opens with a tinkle of the bell, I can intrinsically feel who it is even before I glance up.

Apparently, I'm not so lucky as to have John Shelby forget I exist.

"Miss March," he greets me.

The same ritual as every other time. Cap off, greeting, slow stroll past the shelves as he looks at what's on offer.

"Mr Shelby," I respond.

His steps pause, as though he can hear the distance in my voice. "Pol wanted me to come say thank you," he says. "It was very thoughtful, dropping all that food round."

"Don't mention it." I focus my attention back to the notepad. I want to scream at him — shouldn't you be home with your wife? With your kids, rather than here making unnecessary conversation while you buy your bloody bread?

"Your loaves, or your mother's?" He asks, approaching the shelves.

"You're out of luck. Go to the butcher."

He pauses at the counter. I bite my lip, realising I'm bordering on being unkind. And I really don't mean to be.

I glance up at him. His face is unreadable, his eyes slightly narrowed, like he's in deep thought.

"Take one from the shelves on the right," I say softly. "They'll be a bit stale, but still make fine toast. I won't charge you for it."

"Sorry I haven't been in," he says as he selects a loaf. "We had a spot of trouble at the races in the weekend."

"Don't be silly," I say quickly. "You're under no obligation to come here."

He rubs his nose as he stands at the counter. "What did you make today?" He asks, gesturing.

"The sausage rolls," I tell him. "And the Brummie bacon cakes. They're usually sold out by midday."

"I'd best get in now, then."

I package up his food in silence. I have to summon all my self-discipline — he is married. The last thing I need is some Shelby wife coming in here and threatening me for getting too friendly with her husband. It's ironic, really. For all my mother's insistence I needed to be friendly with John to stay on the Peaky Blinders' good side, it seems it might have the opposite effect.

"No drawing today?" John asks, holding up the receipt.

I take it back from him. Along the bottom, I draw a picture of a train.

"For Florence," I tell him.

He glances at me, his face suddenly changing. "You've met Florence?"

"Polly introduced us." I wipe my hands on my skirt. "You have a very beautiful family."

He smiles. "Cheers, March."

Don't do that. I close my eyes as I take a breath. Don't smile at me like that. Think about his kids.

"Take a fairy cake for her," I say. "Take one for the others, too."

He nods, suddenly thoughtful. "Yeah. They'd like those."

"On the house," I say, but as always, he counts his coins, and places them on the counter regardless.

"Tell your mum we loved the scones and cherry pie, yeah?" He says, gathering the food in his arms once more.

"You can tell her yourself," I say, grateful for an excuse to bring a chaperone to the occasion. "Mama?" I call out, loud enough she ought to hear over the kitchen noise.

She emerges in her apron and her face instantly brightens when she sees John. "Good morning," She greets him.

"John was just telling me his family enjoyed the basket of food," I say.

"I hope you didn't go to too much trouble, Mrs March," he says, placing his cap on his head.

"No trouble at all," she beams. "We can always drop off your bread if you are busy. You must all work very hard."

"Ta," he smiles, then turns his attention back to me. "Have a good day, Miss March," he says.

His eyes are gleaming, a perfect shade of blue. He nods his head. I nod mine in return.

"Goodbye, John," I tell him, and an unexplainable sadness reverberates through me as he leaves.