Authors Note:

Hey You! Thanks for stopping by! I wrote this story months ago, of course being in part inspired by the popular musical, but also being inspired by the man himself. I have always been interested in wondering what an interracial relationship in this day in age might look like... one free from slavery. Please enjoy and I respond to any reviews or critques you might have! Chapter 2 to be posted soon!

It was 1772, and he had been in America for just over two months. With the help of Hercules Mulligan, with whom he first took up lodging when he first came to the colonies, he was soon to enroll at Elizabethtown Academy in Elizabeth, New Jersey in preparation for a college education. He hoped to study medicine like his cousin who had come to the colonies before him. His slight accent hinted at his West Indian roots, despite his attempts to camouflage it to better assimilate to his new home. He had few friends at the time, but relished in the company of those with whom he lived. The Livingston family introduced him to the glamourous society that he was denied as a bastard orphan, exposing him to the refined world of literature and politics that he soon grew to love. He had quite a way with words and often infatuated those with whom he spent his time.

In the same year, and roughly a month after he arrived in Boston harbor, a newly freed woman found work as a seamstress across town from Elizabethtown Academy. Although she was born into slavery, she had been fortunate enough to be literate from a young age. She spent most of her spare time reading and writing, and kept a journal by her bedside. Overtime, she even became fluent in French. Her bilingualism was an aid to her when she started working for money. She assisted the shop's owner in conducting business with wealthy dignitaries, politicians, and military personnel. She made her bed right above place where she worked, and utilized each part of the shop's attic in a tactful way. Freedom was still very new to her, and somehow she believed that she could never be fully comfortable in it. With her being one of the few free Blacks in town, friendships were kept to a minimal. It was still too dangerous to fully trust anyone.

This was the world in which they lived. Although on opposite ends of town and in very different environments, they came from similar backgrounds and had more in common than most people of different races would ever admit at the time. As such, it would be unlikely that their paths would ever cross; however, the winds must've shifted on this fateful day. He accompanied a classmate to a seamstress shop on the opposite side of town. His friend was expecting important company, and simply could not find an available tailor to fix a few buttons on his best jacket. When they entered the shop just after noon, she was in the back hemming a skirt. After hearing the door close, she quickly headed toward the front. There she saw two young men who looked to be about her age.

"Good afternoon, Sirs," she greeted with a smile. "How may I help you two gentlemen?"

"I need to have this jacket fixed! The buttons have come undone. Do you think you might be able to help?" his friend requested, hastily.

"Of course, Sir. I can have it ready in an hour's time," she replied confidently.

"Very good then," his friend responded, looking at his watch. "I will have Alexander wait here until it is ready." He looked up at his friend who was reaching in his pocket for payment. "Here is all I have for the job," the friend stated, putting his coins on the counter. "I trust this will be enough for what I am asking."

"Yes, Sir," she responded. "I will have your jacket ready in an hour. Thank you, Sir." His friend nodded his head as he turned to face him. He was still standing by his side.

"Alexander, I need to run an errand or two. You'll be able to wait for my jacket, yes?" His friend was cocky in his assumption, but he complied.

"Yes, I can wait. I will make due for an hour," he replied.

"Perfect, I will send my carriage for you at that time." And with that, the young men parted ways.

As he watched as his friend ride off in the same carriage that brought the two of them from the opposite side of town, he sat down and retrieved his journal from the satchel he hid underneath his coat. She gathered her sewing tools, and sat down behind the counter to get started on the jacket. She could hear him quietly talking to himself as he wrote. She knew she should not interrupt him, or even speak to him for that matter. Socializing with customers was frowned upon, at least it was for her. She was the assistant. This was not her business to run. And her only job was to do what was asked of her… nothing more, nothing less. However, there was something about his muttering that caught her attention, and she couldn't help but to say something.

"Excuse me, Sir," she began, standing up to face him. He looked up, a little startled.

"Miss?" he answered. She cleared her throat.

"Are you okay, Sir?" she asked. He chuckled.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry. I wasn't distracting you, was I?" She looked into his deep blue eyes. She had never seen blue eyes quite like his.

"Oh no, Sir! I just wanted to make sure you were alright." She sat back down quickly and continued her work. She kept her head buried at her desk while softly singing a French hymn and did not notice him get up and walk to the counter. He was enchanted by her exquisite features. Her dark, curly hair was kept up neatly in a simple white cap, with two tendrils resting upon her right brow. Her deep set ebony eyes were accented with long lashes. Her golden brown skin glowed in the sun's morning rays. And her full lips gave way to two dimples on either side of her face when she smiled. Her simple, and rather plain looking petticoat with tucked in blouse would seem on anyone else unflattering. However, she wore her clothes in such a way that revealed her slight hourglass figure.

He had been in contact with people of color before while growing up on the island of Nevis. His mother had a handful of slaves, most of whom were loaned out to help with the expenses that accompanied single parenthood and with a shop that struggled to make significant profits. His first and closest childhood friend was among those owned by Mrs. Hamilton and as such, he had always viewed Blacks the same as himself. His childhood experiences helped shape his anti-slavery philosophy.

"Parles Français?" he inquired, impressed.

"Oui, Monsieur, je le sais," she responded with conviction.

"Je parle aussi couramment," he said with a smile. She smiled at his words as she reached for more thread.

"Je vois, Monsieur" she replied. He nodded his head and smiled.

"And you are a free woman?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," she confirmed.

"As it should be," he declared. His statement caused her to stop in her tracks.

"What did he mean by that statement?" she thought. "Could he truly be for the abolishment of slavery?" He continued to look around the shop.

"You know," he continued, "I've always been curious as to how that works." Despite her head being down, she could feel his smile upon her cheeks.

"May I ask to what you are referring, Sir?" she asked.

"Sewing… It's truly remarkable the way a piece of seemingly dull fabric can suddenly become something one can wear." To be honest, he knew how sewing worked, especially since he spent much of his adolescence working as a trading clerk. He simply looked for a way in which he might best engage her in conversation. "And it's Alexander…Alexander Hamilton," he expressed. He cleared his throat. "May I ask what your name is, Miss?" She raised her eyebrows at him. Never had a customer asked what her name was, probably because most people who entered the shop believed she was a slave. And the names of slaves were of no importance to most of those whom the shop serviced.

"Hannah," she answered him, softly. "My name is Hannah Cole."

"Miss Cole," he repeated. "You do have a lovely voice."

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton," she said, as she finished sewing the final button on the jacket before hanging it on the rack beside the table. He looked at his pocket watch in amazement.

"That did not take you very long at all, Miss Cole," he said.

She shook her head.

"No, it did not. Those jobs do not tend to take very long. I just like to give the customer more time than needed, just in case the job is actually a little more complicated than it appears at first." He walked around the counter and checked out some of the dresses that were on the wooden forms.

"It appears that you specialize in ladies' attire."

"I specialize in whatever is asked of me, Mr. Hamilton." He smirked at her remark and walked closer to her.

"So I see." His smile was bewitching; he spoke with a charisma unlike she had ever heard before. "And you made all these dresses yourself?" he asked, running his hand along an extraordinary formal gown.

"I made most of them, yes," she clarified, watching him draw closer to her. She examined him closely. He had medium-length wavy auburn-red hair of which most was pulled back in a ponytail, with a strand or two tucked behind his ears. His peachy skin appeared to have seen a fair amount of time outside in a warmer sun than what pierced New Jersey's skies. He had lightly faded freckles sprinkled about his angular face and maintained a smaller frame for a young man his age, only standing about five feet, seven inches. It was a welcomed difference for her, however, as she was only about five feet, three inches tall. She also noticed a gentle accent that accompanied his words.

"Excuse me if this is forward, but may I ask where you are from?" she asked, grabbing another garment that she'd been sewing in her free time.

"It seems as though I have given myself away," he stated, seemingly anxious by her question. She smiled. His accent was very pleasing to her ear.

"To the contrary," she said. "Although I do notice a slightly different pattern in how you speak, you seem to be very comfortable talking to a Negro, as if you truly believe that we are equal. It… it is just very different." He looked at her with his azure eyes and folded his hands upon the counter.

"But we are the same, Miss Cole… you and me… except for the fact that you are a woman and I am a man. There is no other difference that is of importance to me." She nodded. "But if you must know," he continued, "I am of foreign birth…from the Caribbean to be exact."

"I see." She walked over to him and held out her hand. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Hamilton."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mademoiselle Cole," he responded as he brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her pecan skin.

"And if it consoles you to know," she continued, "your voice is quite lovely as well. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. It makes you unique."

"Thank you," he said. They shared a smile, and it was that moment when his friend rushed through the door, breaking their entrancement.

"Hello," the friend hastily said. "I trust that my jacket is complete." She nodded her head as she turned away from him and walked over to grab the jacket. She handed it to the friend.

"Yes, Sir," she responded, trying to avoid the piercing blue eyes that had made her heart skip a beat moments before.

"Very good," the friend stated plainly, taking the garment from her hands. "Thank you."

"Your very welcome, Sir," she said, nodding her head respectfully. The friend turned to leave and he followed behind. He looked at her one last time, waving his hand to say goodbye. She waved her hand in reply and smiled slightly at him. There was a connection, almost instantaneous, that happened in that shop that day; one which they would find hard to ignore. But she was afraid that she would never see, or hear, from him again.