The day continued as it always did, the two Dawson ladies working away on all the dresses that customers had dropped off. Even though Imelda had initially said that she wouldn't take any further orders, there were only ever several exceptions to that rule, including Mrs Harrington, because with a name like that comes a pretty pay cheque.

The women gossiped as if they were sisters, being only fourteen years apart in age, there was no room for the typical mother-daughter relationship. Florence appreciated it, because she never viewed her mother as a figure of authority, but rather someone that she knew she could always rely on.

"I'll toss these scraps out in the caddy," Florence informed her mother, scooping up the discarded shreds of fabric and making her way out to the backyard.

She kicked the back door shut with her foot, stepping down the cobbled steps towards the metal bin that the women used to store scraps of old fabrics. They didn't have much use for them, but they knew that there were people who would, so they would leave the caddy out in the alleyway behind the house in the hopes that those in need could find something of use.

"Miss Dawson," Florence looked over her shoulder to see Tommy leaning against the open back gate, smiling as he watched her work away.

"Don't tell me you're here to have a dress fitted," Florence sighed, glancing up at the back of her house, spotting no sign of her mother.

"Not today," He chuckled, unable to help himself from admiring the girl's natural beauty, "I came for something else."

"And what might that be, Mr Shelby?" Florence replied in jest, leaning against the yard wall.

"I got fed up of waiting till this evening," Tommy replied, slowly moving towards her, his hands tucked away in his coat pockets, "I wanted to see you."

"You did?" Florence whispered, unable to stop herself from smiling at the gentle nature of the interaction.

Without a word, Tommy's hands were on her jaw, his lips colliding with hers as she pulled herself closer to him, her back pressed against the wall. She could remain like that forever if the world let her, but as their breath became tangled and her heartbeat became heavy she pulled back, staring at the ice cold blue eyed man.

"What's wrong?" He muttered, peppering kisses along her jaw.

"Someone might see," She replied, tilting her head to the side as Tommy's mouth continued to make its journey down her neck.

"Let them," Tommy mumbled against her sweet skin.

"You've changed your tune since this morning, Tommy," Florence added, reminded of his reluctance just several hours beforehand.

"We've got nothing to hide," Tommy continued, pulling back to look at her again, "We're just taking this slow."

"When have we ever taken this slowly?" Florence laughed under her breath, "You bedded me a week after our first kiss."

"Well, I can't help but be irresistible, can I?" Tommy smirked at her.

"Very true," Florence smiled.

She watched as Tommy pulled his watch from his pocket, his eyes darting back up to her, "You want to join a Shelby meeting?"

"What?" Florence replied in disbelief, knowing just how sacred those conversations can be, having sat in on many while the men were away at war.

"I want you at the meeting," Tommy continued, running his fingers along her arms, "I've always thought you'd make a good Shelby."

Thoughts of a future with Tommy raced through Florence's mind as she pondered the difference between the man who she woke up next to that morning and the man standing before her.

"Next you'll be telling me you want me as a Peaky Blinder," The girl retorted, unsure of what type of future awaited her, but knowing the security that came with being a Peaky Blinder.

"You've always been one of us," Tommy assured her, letting his fingers slip in between hers, "You're just the better part of us."

"I'm not sure about that, Tommy," Florence sighed in response to the latter half of his statement, "The bastard daughter of a dressmaker who's never even met her father?"

"You're mistaken if you think I've ever stopped to think of that," Tommy replied firmly, knowing better than most that family is not just about blood, "Come with me."

Florence followed Tommy out of her backyard and into the Shelby's, aware that Tommy wasn't going to take no for an answer. If he wanted her at that family meeting, she was to be there, that was the Shelby way.

"Arthur," Tommy said as he entered the meeting room with Florence by his side, "Pull up a chair for Florence."

"Flo, I didn't know you were joining us," Ada smiled, glancing between her brother and the girl.

"Neither did I," Florence smiled awkwardly.

"Tommy, no disrespect to the lady, but what's Floss doing here," John asked as Arthur placed a chair at the table for Florence beside Ada, "She ain't even a Shelby."

"But I think it's about time we bought her into the business, given how much she contributed while we men were away," Tommy remarked calmly, glancing at his brothers, "Wouldn't you agree, Pol?"

"Absolutely," Polly nodded, noticing a spark in her nephew's eyes as he gazed at the Dawson girl, aware that this was about more than just business for the pair, "She's got an intelligent mind, wasted on making dresses."

"Well, if no one else has an objection to raise," Tommy replied in a stern voice, "Then, Arthur, why don't you enlighten us as to why you've called us all here?"

"Right," Arthur nods, "I've called this family meeting because I've got some very important news, Scudbost and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night," He explains, folding his arms across his chest, "They were buying a stallion to cover their mares, they were in a pub on the Shankhill Road yesterday. and in that pub, there was a copper," Arthur continues, holding onto some paper, "Handing out these."

Ada took the sheet, John snatching it from her hand, "If you're over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham."

"They're recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials," Arthur explained.

"To do what?" Ada asked, while from the expression on Tommy's face, Florence found the answer plain to see.

"To clean up the city, Ada," Tommy answered, "He's a chief inspector, the last four years, he's been cleaning the IRA out of Belfast."

"How do you know so bloody much?" Arthur asked his brother.

"Cause I asked the coppers on our payroll," Tommy answered.

"And why didn't you tell me?" Arthur replied, evidently frustrated.

"I'm telling you," Tommy sighed calmly.

"So why are they sending him to Birmingham?" Polly asked, investigating the recruitment notice.

"Well, there's been all these bloody strikes at the BSA and the Austin works lately, now the papers are talking about sedition, and revolution," Tommy explained, "I reckon it's Communists he's after."

"So this copper's going to leave us alone, right?" Polly asked Tommy.

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him," Tommy told the group, "They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night."

"Yeah, but we ain't IRA, we bloody fought for the king," John added in frustration, "Anyway, we're Peaky Blinders, we're not scared of coppers."

"He's right." Arthur mumbled.

"If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each," John continued, leading Florence to realise how numb she'd become to the ways of the Peaky Blinders.

"So, Arthur is that it?" Tommy asked.

"What do you think, Aunt Pol?" Arthur added.

"This family does everything open," Polly answered, a cigarette perfectly balanced between her fingers, "You've nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?"

"No," Tommy shook his head, glancing briefly at his girl before turning his focus to Polly, "Nothing that's women's business."

"This whole bloody enterprise was women's business while you boys were away at war," Polly retorted firmly, "What's changed?"

"We came back." Tommy answered simply.

"Come on, Flo," Ada sighed in frustration, "Let's go do useful women's business in the kitchen."

Florence followed Ada in standing up from the table, she watched the Shelby girl open the kitchen door, the youngest Shelby, Finn, stumbling right through it.

"Anything interesting to report, Finn?" Florence smiled, glancing at Tommy before closing the door, knowing better than to ask him for the truth in front of the rest of the Shelby clan.

"Nothing, Flo," Finn mumbled, poking a stick into the fire.

"Be a gent, Finn," Florence smiled, crouching beside the boy, "Run and tell my mother that I'm here, she'll be fretting."

"Alright," Finn nodded eagerly, dashing out through the back door, carelessly letting it slam shut.

"So it's not just my older brothers that you've got wrapped around your finger, then?" Ada whispered to Florence with a telling grin.

"What are you talking about?" Florence asked as the two girls sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

"Tommy rarely lets me in on meetings, he rarely lets people outside of the family in on meetings," Ada began to explain her point, knowing Florence well enough to read the expression on her face, "Until you."

"He just said he wants me to be part of the company," Florence replied in an attempt to cover up Tommy's real reason for having her there.

"It's more than that, I can see it in your eyes," Ada told the girl, "And I bet that Aunt Polly saw it too."

Ada and Florence had always been close, only several months apart in age, much like Polly and Imelda. Growing up as girls in Small Heath as neighbours, it was hard for the girls not to bond. When the war broke out and the boys left, they ended up spending even more time together, doing whatever they could to block out the fear and anxiety of what might have been happening in France.

Polly and Imelda did their best to protect the girls, keeping life as normal as possible all while keeping the businesses afloat so that there would at least be something for the boys to return to.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ada," Florence answered with an innocent smile, "My eyes are the same as they always are."

"Shining for Tommy?" Ada teased with a smirk.

"Ada." Florence huffed.

"Florence." She grinned back.

"You know better than to poke the hornets nest with a stick," Florence replied, glancing down at her pale hands.

"But I'm not, I'm asking you if you're in a relationship with my brother," Ada answered, telling Florence that there was no way of covering up what she already knew.

"You know Tommy," Florence whispered softly, not wanting to be heard through the doors, "It's never that simple."

"So you're fucking him?" Ada remarked with a grin.

"Ada, I don't really want to have this conversation." Florence sighed in frustration as the kitchen door opened, Polly appearing as she closed the door behind her, even though from what Florence could hear, the men had left.

"What do you think, Aunt Polly?" Ada smirked at her aunt as she took a seat between the two girls.

"Ada, please don't," Florence groaned in frustration.

"I reckon that our Flo has a fancy man," Ada teased, glancing at the girl, "What do you reckon the boys would make of that?"

"I don't think it's the boys' business, Ada," Polly answered firmly, "She's a grown woman."

Polly knew. Everything that she saw told her everything that she needed to know. The way that the light faded from Tommy's eyes when Florence left the room, she knew. She could tell that Tommy wanted to reach out to the girl, but that he was too restricted by the emotional shackles he had forced on himself after the war.

"What about you, Ada?" Florence smirked, turning the tables, "Any men we need to warn about the Shelby boys?"

"No one worth writing home about," Ada answered concisely, but in the same way Ada had seen through Florence's lies, she saw right through Ada's.

"But there is someone, isn't there?" Florence continued to pry.

"Well where's the fun without a little mystery, Flo?" Ada replied, standing up from her seat and waltzing out of the kitchen.

"You're just like your mother was when we were younger," Polly remarked, smiling softly at the Dawson girl.

"How'd you mean?" Florence answered.

"You know that your mother doesn't like to talk about your father," Polly proceeded, Florence listening intently as her father was a rare topic of conversation, "She was absolutely besotted with him, but she wouldn't dare give me any details about the man, right up until he went bad."

"She doesn't tell me anything about him," Florence sighed, "Just that he took advantage of her."

"He did," Polly nodded hesitantly, remembering how uneasy the relationship had made her, all she knew of him was his name, which Imelda had made Polly promise not to tell Florence, "She was only fourteen when you were born, that's no age to bring a baby into the world."

"But she did." Florence whispered.

"You have always been your mother's greatest achievement, no actions of a man were going to take that from her," Polly told the girl firmly, squeezing her hand.

"Was there ever anyone else?" Florence asked.

"No one who made her eyes light up the way that he did," Polly sighed, "Which saddens me, that woman has so much love to give, and not one man deserving of her heart."
☆ ☆ ☆
"I'm not sure that I'm deserving of having such a fine lady on my arm," Tommy remarked as he and Florence approached the restaurant where he had booked them both a table. It was on the nicer side of the city, enough to show Florence that Tommy cared about making her happy.

"You scrub up well, Mr Shelby," Florence smiled, gently squeezing his arm as the two of them reached the door to the restaurant.

Tommy held the door open for his lady, letting her step inside as he followed close behind, admiring the way that her plum purple dress fitted her body. The perks of being the daughter of a dressmaker, clothes made to fit your body perfectly.

"Madam, Sir, how can we help you today?" The Maître d approached the pair as Tommy removed his cap, a staple in any outfit of his, that he would never leave at home, regardless of the occasion.

"We have a table under the name of Shelby," Tommy told the man.

"Very good," He nodded, "Right this way."

The restaurant was busy enough that the pair could blend in without risk of being recognised. Fortunately Tommy had found somewhere a reasonable enough distance from Small Heath that the two could spend time together in peace.

"You undersold this place, Tommy," Florence whispered as they followed the man through the restaurant towards their table, "This feels like too much."

"Not for you," Tommy assured her, placing his hand on her hip and squeezing her gently, "No expense spared."

"Here we are," The Maître d smiles, pulling out a chair for Florence as Tommy took the seat opposite her, "Your menus are just on the table, I'll have a waiter attend your table shortly."

"So, what do your family think that you're doing tonight?" Florence asked as she began to scan the menu.

"I didn't tell them anything, didn't need to," Tommy answered, "But Aunt Polly had that look in her eye."

"What look?" Florence replied, looking up at him.

"That look that tells you that she's three steps ahead of you," Tommy sighed, "And what about your mother?"

"She thinks that the Harringtons have invited me for dinner," Florence told him, "Which, as long as Margaret Harrington runs the manor, will never happen."

"You don't get on with Mrs Harrington?" Tommy remarked, intrigued by the distaste at the mention of the woman's name.

"George and Eli are as normal as you can be growing up on an estate like there's, and Mr Harrington is tolerable," Florence explained, "But Mrs Harrington, well I just get under her skin, because I threaten her."

"How so?" Tommy smirked, watching the devilish way fire lit behind his girl's eyes.

"Because she thinks I'll corrupt the minds of those sons of hers," Florence grinned, "She would lose her mind if I wound up at that lovely house of hers."

"Spoken like a true Peaky Blinder," Tommy smiled, paying no attention to his menu.

"And what would you have me do?" Florence whispered, letting her foot run up the side of Tommy's calf, "Cut her a smile?"

"Never," Tommy shook his head, "I'd never have you do such a thing."

"Not ladylike enough?" Florence replied, folding her arms across her chest as her foot continued wandering up and down his calf, "Or do you doubt whether I'd be up to the task?"

"I don't doubt you," Tommy sighed.

"Good," Florence smiled, "Because if you want me to be part of your firm, you'll have to teach me more than just how to run the books."

"What do you mean by that?" Tommy asked, puzzled by the woman's words.

"I can hardly be a Peaky Blinder without the ability to protect myself, can I?" She sighed, hoping that the words might be enough for him to fill in the blanks.

"Are you both ready to order?" An unknowing waiter appeared beside the couple's table.

"Yes, I'll just have the rump steak rare, please," Florence smiled at the man.

"I'll have the same, and a bottle of champagne for the table," Tommy added as the waiter offered them both a simple nod before retreating to the kitchen.

"How do you suppose you'll protect yourself?" Tommy returned to the topic of conversation.

"I think I'd be just fine if you taught me how to shoot," Florence answered

"You would be content carrying a gun, would you?" Tommy asked, intrigued by Florence's willingness when he'd never seen the woman so much as touch a gun.

"For protection," Florence nodded, "Besides, who'd suspect me? No one suspects the woman."

Florence watched the smirk on Tommy's face drop as he glanced over her shoulder, the look telling her that she shouldn't turn to look, "What's wrong?"

"Talk of the devil and she shall appear," Tommy muttered as the waiter approached the table with a bottle of champagne, pouring it into the couple's respective glasses, placing the bottle on the table before disappearing into the kitchen again, "Half of Harrington's mob are here."

"Eli and George?" Florence whispered anxiously, knowing that she hadn't told the boys about her relationship with Tommy.

"George, with his parents and a girl I've never seen before," Tommy told her as he watched the three Harringtons and their guests take their seats.

"That'll be Margaret's pet project," Florence muttered, glancing over her shoulder to see a young blonde woman sitting beside George, every inch Margaret's vision of the ideal daughter in law, "She wants to marry George off so that'll he stop playing away."

"And what about Elijah?" Tommy asked, taking a sip of his champagne, "He's the older one, why isn't she marrying him off?"

"Because he doesn't threaten the family's image," Florence explained based on the assumptions she had made, "Eli does exactly what he's told, and he's on his way to becoming managing director as soon as Richard decides to retire, so they aren't as worried about him."

"And if George sees us?" Tommy asked, watching his girl take a large gulp of champagne.

"He'll stay quiet," Florence assured him with a smile.

"How can you be so sure?" Tommy stared at her in admiration.

"Because I know him," She smirked in a way that toyed with Tommy's mind, "And he knows what you'd do if he started running his mouth."

"I'm sure he does," Tommy nodded, glancing past Florence as he observed the Harringtons' table, noticing that George was nowhere to be seen.

"Tommy Shelby," George appeared beside the table, startling the couple, "And my dear friend, Florence, what brings you two here?"

"We're just out for a casual meal," Florence answered, aware of how far from casual the situation was.

"Who's the young lady that your mother hasn't stopped doting on?" Tommy asked, glancing at the blonde girl in deep conversation with Margaret.

"That's Diana," George replied, "And if my mother has it her way, we'll be engaged by the end of the month."

"Really trying to clean up your bad boy act then?" Florence remarked, taken aback by the speed at which Margaret Harrington worked to protect her family's reputation.

"Something like that," George nodded, "It's just a shame that she's got the personality of a brick wall, making her my mother's perfect candidate."

"She can't be that bad," Florence sighed.

"Trust me, she is," George replied, glancing back at his table to see his mother sending daggers, "I won't disrupt your casual dinner any further, enjoy your evening."

"Goodbye, George," Tommy nodded.

"Oh," George stopped beside Florence, crouching to whisper in her ear, "Your secret's safe with me."

Florence kept her eyes on Tommy as George strolled back to his table, a pit of anxiety looming in her stomach knowing that George knew exactly what the nature of her dinner with Tommy was. She didn't see it as a threat to what they had, George was the last person in a position to be spilling such secrets. From what Florence could assume, it would be likely that George would end up with a handful of mistresses keeping his bed warm in time.

author's note: hope you enjoyed the double update! I love writing the parts of the chapters that aren't scenes in the show <3

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