Summary: AU. Waitress Belle French gazes out of the window towards the law offices over the way, wondering if their charismatic new arrival, the mysterious Mr Gold, will ever step into the little café where she works… Rumbelle with a side of Red Cricket, and many cameos from other key players.
Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Once Upon A Time. I don't even own any carrot cake.
Note: Blimey, it's a while since I wrote a full-scale AU, and this is my first ever OUAT one. Before we begin, I would like to make it clear that I have set this fic in England. It won't make much difference to the story over all, but since I know the way of life of my home country far more than that of America, I'm a lot more comfortable setting AU's here. I hope everyone enjoys it none the less!
Carrot Cake
Chapter One
"Belle. Belle. Belle!"
"Sorry, what?"
Ruby rolled her eyes and shook a dishcloth in her colleague's face.
"I know you're wrapped up in fantasies of Mr Gold's desk and what the two of you could be doing on it, but we do have a café to clean, you know!"
Feeling her face flush bright red, Belle tore herself away from the bar stool by the window that she had been glued to ever since closing time, waiting to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man from over the way.
"Is it really that obvious?" she asked, taking the dishcloth from Ruby and spraying cleaner on the nearest table, rubbing the wooden top vigorously to try and work up an excuse for the blush rising in her cheeks.
"Yes," said Ruby simply. "You spend every spare moment gazing out of that window, and at the weekends, when his office is closed and you've no chance of seeing him, you're constantly scribbling in that notebook of yours, which you aren't always very quick at snapping shut when Emma and I are in the vicinity." Ruby raised an eyebrow. "For someone so sweet and demure, you can certainly write a filthy story."
"Ruby!" Belle moaned, burying her face in her hands, oblivious to the dishcloth. "That's private!"
"You should write a novel," Ruby continued, turning the chairs upside down onto the tables Belle had just wiped and blithely ignoring her friend's embarrassment. "You could give Fifty Shades a run for its money."
"Ruby!" Belle decided that the best form of defence was to attack like with like. "You can't tell me that you don't have your own little fantasies about Dr Hopper's consulting couch," she said. "Don't think I haven't seen the way you always put extra chocolate on his cappuccino."
"Yes, well…" Ruby faltered. She was a serial dater, proud of never tying herself down to one man, and to be caught going gooey over the timid ginger psychiatrist, a regular customer of theirs, was terribly damaging to her reputation. "At least I don't write them down! I'm amazed you noticed anything, since you're so busy trying to become the next Anaïs Nin." She flicked washing up water at Belle, who held up both hands.
"Oh no. We are not getting into another washing up war. The last time that happened, we were here half the night trying to clean up the mess."
"You're right. It was interesting explaining the swimming carrot cake to Granny the next day though."
Belle rolled her eyes at the memory of Ruby's excuses and the two women continued to put the café to bed. Presently, Ruby looked up at the clock on the wall in the corner and gave a yelp.
"Oh, crumbs," she said, pulling off her apron and unbuttoning her uniform shirt to reveal a rather more dangerously cut top beneath. "I'm late for a very important date with a very important Steve. I can leave you to lock up, can't I?"
"Of course."
Ruby rushed into the back room and emerged a split second later, hopping as she tried to wedge her heels on.
"See you tomorrow!" she called over her shoulder as she skittered out of the café, flat working shoes in one hand and lipstick in the other. Belle shook her head in despair, performing a quick final check of the café before collecting her coat and bag and switching off the lights. She patted the front of the worn canvas satchel that she'd been carting books around in since school, and breathed a sigh of relief on finding her notebook still in its rightful place. Belle frowned, surely what she wrote wasn't too bad… And in hindsight, Ruby's suggestion wasn't quite such a bad idea. From the half-ton of erotica currently flooding the market, it was clear that sex sold.
She'd have to change the names though. And never actually meet her publishers in person in case she had to explain her bright red face to them. On second thoughts, she'd keep her little dreams to herself, and keep a sharper eye on Ruby and Emma's whereabouts in future.
Belle left the café and locked it, looking up at the premises opposite. Separated by two doors and less than twenty feet of covered walkway at the entrance to the shopping precinct, and yet it might as well have been three miles of solid concrete for all the progress she'd made. She crossed over the deserted pedestrian street and ran her fingers over the simple gold plaque set to the side of the door opposite the one she had just locked.
Guildhall Law, read the sign, and underneath, the names of the seven solicitors who worked there. One name shone a little brighter than the rest, a little newer. Mr R Gold.
She traced the lettering with her index finger. Mr Gold had been working out of Guildhall Law for three months, two weeks and a day. She remembered the first time she saw him, standing outside the door with a box of files under one arm, leaning heavily on his cane. She'd been clearing tables by the window and stopped to appraise the new arrival – the office had been expecting a new partner to take the place of old Mr Fothergill (God rest his departed soul, as Granny would say) for weeks, and everyone in the precinct had been looking forward to getting a nosy at the latest addition to their ranks. He'd smiled at her through the glass, she'd smiled back and then ducked under the table on the pretence of a dropped fork to hide her blush. By the time she'd composed herself and peered over the top of the table again, she'd just had time to catch a final fleeting glimpse of his back as Mr Fox, the senior partner, welcomed him into the offices and the receptionist shut the door behind them.
She'd watched out for him ever since, hoping that perhaps, if she was lucky, he'd glance up at the right time and flash her another smile, or at least give some indication of recognition. Sometimes she was lucky, and on those occasions she found herself grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day. For all the smiles passed through the window, however, he had never actually come in, and that was what was bothering her. She felt that until that boundary had been crossed, nothing could come of their almost flirtation.
Belle ran her fingers over his name again. If he wouldn't make the first move, perhaps she would have to. Ruby and Emma and even Astrid had told her to often enough.
"For crying out loud," Ruby had said, exasperated, after catching her staring out of the window yet again. "Just pop over and tell him you need him to sort out your divorce! It's even true!"
It was true, unfortunately. Belle sighed. She'd moved out of the marital home so long ago that she'd almost forgotten that they hadn't done anything about not being legally married any more. Ugh. Why did she have to be reminded of her old life in the middle of imagining herself a new one? She sighed again, and looked at her third finger where the ring used to sit. She and Gary had been childhood sweethearts, and since everyone had expected them to get married, no-one had been surprised when they'd finished school and moved in together. But as time had gone on, so Belle had found herself wanting to move on, to go forward in her life, and Gary seemed to be holding her back; unable to understand why she was no longer content with the life that they had always had.
Belle had been on the verge of breaking it off when she'd discovered she was pregnant, and then everything had changed. Gary's father had insisted that the child was born in wedlock, and the matter had been taken out of Belle's hands entirely. A quick registry office job and a bit of a do at the local pub, and suddenly she was a wife.
She had miscarried two weeks after the wedding. It was an omen, Belle had thought darkly as she lay in her hospital bed, refusing to see anyone, even Gary. It was a sign from her body that she wasn't meant to be with this man. The marriage lasted just under a year before Belle had given up and moved back in with her dad, but she would always maintain that it had been over within four months. The pressure of being bound to each other legally and with no bond of mutual love in the form of a baby caused what had been a slowly fading flame to become a rapidly deteriorating, fractious blaze of arguments and not-quite-make-ups.
After sixth months of miserably failing to start a new relationship in a whirl of harebrained rebound dating that would have put Ruby to shame, she'd moved a hundred miles south and taken a job at Granny's, determining to swear off men for the foreseeable future. One year, two months and eight days later, Mr Gold had appeared and turned this idea on its head.
Maybe the others were right. Maybe she should be bold and make the first move for once. But maybe not today. Today, she'd just go home and curl up with her books, like normal. After all, she told herself, it had gone half-six, and no-one would be in the office…
"Hello. Can I help you?"
Belle looked up, alarmed by the voice from the doorway, and found herself face to face with the object of her thoughts. His expression was one of amusement as she floundered for words.
"I, erm…"
To be honest, it was the accent that had thrown her. All the other solicitors, when they did on occasion deign to come into the café instead of sending the secretaries, had accents that could cut glass, and Gold's thick Glaswegian brogue had startled her. He was obviously proud of his roots, just as she had striven to keep her own Australian twang since leaving the country at the age of seven.
"You're the girl from the café, aren't you?" he said presently, nodding over her head towards the darkened shop. "You dropped a fork the first time I saw you."
"Yes, yes I did." Trust him to remember that part. "You should pop across some time. We make the best carrot cake in the town, according to one of the online city guides. Well, I say 'we', I mean Granny. It's her café after all. But she doesn't do much running around these days, just the baking. And she's not actually my granny, she's Ruby's, and…" She tailed off, acutely embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm gabbling."
He laughed.
"Just a little, Miss…"
"French," Belle supplied quickly. "Belle French."
Well, that was a good start. She'd already had a bout of verbal diarrhoea and now she was lying to him. French was her maiden name, and she wasn't technically a Miss.
"Mr Gold." He let his cane rest in the doorframe and offered his hand. Belle took it, aware that her own hands were cold and clammy from cleaning and his were dry and warm. "So," he continued, "can I be of assistance, Miss French?"
"No, I, erm, I didn't realise anyone was still in," she stammered. Darn it, she'd been caught out. Now he was definitely going to accuse her of being a stalker.
"That's all right. Everyone else has gone home. I just needed to finish some things." Gold gestured to the ceiling with his cane. "I saw you from upstairs."
"Just… being nosy," Belle said. "We like to keep an eye on our neighbours."
"Perhaps I should start keeping a closer eye on mine. Carrot cake, you say?"
"Best in town." She paused awkwardly. "Well, I'd better be off, then. Hopefully we'll see you soon, Mr Gold."
"I'll make sure of it, Miss French."
She turned away and left the precinct, glancing over her shoulder as she stepped out from under the cover. He was still watching her, and smiled before he closed the door.
Belle waited until she'd rounded the corner before letting out an almighty groan. If that was her first move, then she had unmistakeably fluffed it. She wondered what to tell Ruby, or whether she should even mention it to her friend. Hmmm. Best to keep silent, and wait and see what happened. No use in getting her hopes up. But still, he had said he would call in soon. And she could always dream…
To be continued