"Papa! Papa!" Baelfire Gold banged into the shop, bursting with restless energy. The 7-year-old rushed into the work area with an exuberant grin on his face. Callum paused his work at the spinning wheel and welcomed his son with an answering smile. The best part of his workday was when Bae came charging into the store after school.

Jefferson Millner, Callum's friend and Bae's honorary godfather, generously dropped Bae off at the shop every weekday afternoon when he picked up his daughter, Grace, from school. Not only were Bae and Grace in the same first grade class at Storybrooke Academy, the youngsters were also best friends.

"Hello, Bae," Callum said, kissing the boy on the forehead and ruffling his thick, brown locks. "How was the spelling test?"

"I got everything right," he said proudly. "But Papa, that's not why I'm in such a good mood," he confided. Bae continued in a rush. "Guess what Uncle Jeff and Grace and I saw on the ride here?"

"Well, I can't wait to find out." Callum said expectantly, giving the boy his full attention.

"The bookstore around the corner is finally open! And the window is full of comic books! Avengers comic books! I saw Captain America, Iron Man, the Hulk, Hawkeye, Thor! And Papa, they sell tea. You love tea. You're always saying 'No one in Storybrooke knows how to make it properly.' What does properly mean? Do you think the tea there…"

Gold held up a hand to stop the verbal onslaught and barked an indulgent laugh. "You don't have to convince me to take you to the bookshop, Bae. We'll go look at the comic books this afternoon, just as soon as I finish this order."

"Great!" Hopping up and down, Bae grinned at his father.

"For now, why don't you head over to my desk to start your homework?" Callum suggested, pointing toward his office door. "I'll come and check on you in a few minutes, ok?"

"All right, Papa!" Bae dutifully scooted into the office, backpack slung over his shoulder.

Callum smiled to himself, resuming his work at the spinning wheel. His store, Gold's Weaving and Antiques supplied thread, fabric, and antiquities to the residents of Storybrooke. He shipped product throughout the United States and even internationally. Occasionally he crafted specialty items like curtains or clothing, but he mostly preferred to sell his thread and the cloth he created on his loom to Jefferson.

A fashion designer and the resident tailor, Jefferson owned a clothing boutique down the street. Storybrooke was comprised of small businesses run and owned by the townspeople who called it home. They boasted no big box stores. Some people shopped online, but most chose to support the local shops.

As Gold moved his hands over the smooth wooden curve of the wheel, his thoughts wandered to the town's new bookstore. Who was running the establishment? He couldn't remember anyone local saying they had plans to open such a store. Storybrooke was a small, sleepy little hamlet. Everyone knew the goings on of everyone else's life. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. While grown children occasionally returned to be near their parents after completing their college studies, rarely did anyone new move into town. Sometimes, Callum Gold wondered why he stayed. But then again, why would he go? His life and his store were here. He provided for his boy and they had a good home. Bae was happy and he, well, he was content enough. Everything they needed was right here. Wasn't it?

He shook his head. Now he sounded like Milah. Bae's mother had never been happy here. She'd wanted him to pursue a career as a big-shot litigator in Boston. He had earned his law degree and he enjoyed the fine point of a deal. However, he lacked a killer instinct. Prowling around for weaknesses so he could chew people up and spit them out in court—it just wasn't him. Callum preferred the quiet solitude of craftsmanship. He loved taking rough, shapeless material and turning it into something beautiful and useful.

Milah hadn't appreciated his chosen profession as a spinner. "An ancient, outdated practice," she'd scoffed, and not nearly masculine or prestigious enough for her. He supported his family and they were comfortable, but not wealthy. A coward, she'd called him, when he eschewed the chance to be a big city attorney and opened a shop in Storybrooke. But he wasn't afraid; he was passionate about his craft. Even after all these years her remarks still blistered, searing an imprint on his soul.

Now she was gone and never coming back. A car accident had claimed her life on the very evening she announced her decision to leave her husband and son.

On the evening of Bae's first birthday they had argued while a huge rainstorm swept along the Maine coast. He could still hear the crashes of thunder; nature's answering turmoil to their final fight. Milah confessed that she had never loved him and although she cared for their son, being a mother suffocated her.

Helplessness washing over him, Callum had pleaded with her to stay for Baelfire's sake; at least to wait for morning until the storm had cleared and their tempers had cooled. But her bags were packed and she was adamant. Jefferson took Bae for the night so Callum could accompany Milah to the train station in Portland. Why had he allowed her to drive? With Milah at the wheel, the car hydroplaned in the downpour and skidded into a tree. She died on impact and he shattered his knee. He would walk with a cane for the rest of his life, but Milah would never taste the freedom she'd so desperately craved.

After six years, his neighbors still whispered about the accident, about the widower Callum Gold and poor, young Baelfire who was saddled with a coward for a father. Since that fateful evening, Jefferson had become his one and only friend. Gold wasn't ignorant of the judging stares and wagging tongues; he knew the townspeople blamed him for Milah's death. Often he blamed himself, too. If he'd been firmer and insisted on driving, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Or Milah would have been spared.

But so long as Bae continued to be spared Storybrooke's ridicule, Callum would gladly bear the brunt. Callum played his part as the stray dog beneath their notice. In exchange, the residents were kind to his boy. And that was all he really cared about. Every decision was made with Bae in mind. He couldn't afford to think otherwise. His short, bitter marriage to Milah had brought him a lot of heartache but Callum couldn't bring himself to regret it— he had Bae. The child was his whole world and he thanked God every day for the gift of fatherhood.

Sweeping his musings aside, Callum rose from the wheel, grabbed his cane, and limped to the office to review Bae's math homework. "Excellent work, son," he praised. "What do you say to a visit to the new bookshop for some of those comic books, then dinner at Granny's?

"Can we get hamburgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes?" came the eager reply.

"Is there anything else on the menu?" Gold teased, pressing a rough kiss to the top of Bae's head.

A/N: Please review and let me know your thoughts! Up next: Callum meets the mysterious Belle French.