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“That’s a nice hat,” Crowley remarks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing it before. Where’d you get it?”
“Hat?” Glancing up from reading and marking his place in The Bromeliad with a finger, Aziraphale follows the yellow-eyed gaze to the wide-brimmed fedora perched on his hat rack. “Oh, I see. That hat.” He shakes his head. “It isn’t mine.”
Crowley lifts an eyebrow. “Whose is it, then?”
“It belongs to a… well, a customer, I suppose. He used to come through here often.” The angel’s expression is a bit softer than it usually is when talking about a member of the customer class of personages. “He left it behind in the shop a little while back.”
“Huh. Pity to forget such a nice hat.”
“Yes,” Aziraphale agrees. “So I’m just holding onto it for now. Keeping it safe until he comes back to get it.”
“Makes sense. Hat like that, I’m sure he’ll be back for it.”
The angel nods. “To tell the truth, though, I do quite like having it here in the meantime.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well…” Aziraphale pauses, and though there’s a mistiness around the corners of his eyes, he's smiling too. “The hat feels… loved.”