A/N: Goodness me this fic is getting so fun! Not that I worked on it for 3 hours yesterday or anything because that would be insane. So, I hope you all had a crazy Comic Con weekend like me! This chapter was REALLY hard to keep T rated but I think I did it. Hope you all like xoxo loves!
CHAPTER 4
"I hope that you see right through my walls"-Arms, Christina Perri
Belle French wakes up to...silence. This is incredibly surprising because it is New York City and silence doesn't really happen. She sits up on the couch and darts her eyes back and forth suspiciously before throwing her blanket off her and scurrying over to the window only to find that it's snowing like she's never seen. Seriously, everything is completely white. Everything that she can see out the clouded window, anyway. She checks her phone for the time. It's one o' clock already. It must have snowed all morning.
Her phone starts vibrating in her hand, making her jump. She sighs heavily when she sees the number.
"Hey, August," she says, "You still need me to come in tonight?"
"Yeah, I do," he tells her, "I was just calling to remind you, actually. Didn't want you getting any ideas what with this storm."
"Uh huh," Belle says, chewing her lip. She's internally debating about whether this is good or bad. On the one hand, she really wants to see Gold tonight. On the other hand...would he even be there? Belle only lives about a block from the bar, so even if she can't walk, a cab will be cheap. But she has no idea where Gold lives, so the chances of him showing up are anywhere from good to miserable. But she decides it won't hurt to wait up for him either way. So on that thought she sighs into the phone again. "I'm sure Casper will enjoy his drink," she tells August.
He snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure he will."
Belle rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Are you forcing anyone else to work tonight?"
"Nope" he says, popping the P, "Just you, French."
"Awesome." she says with no emotion.
She hears August laughing for only a minute before she snaps her phone shut.
She spends the rest of the day cooking and cleaning in total overdrive. She can't help but fantasize about Gold in the process. About him being there, telling her to stop cleaning, pressing his mouth up against hers and pinning her to the wall. About him ripping her clothes right off and hissing lustful words in her ear. About him capturing her. Possibly tying her up...
She tries to blink away the crazy fantasies, knowing how ridiculous she's being. It'll be a miracle if he even tells her his first name tonight. Or...if he even shows up.
Belle sighs and scrubs the already clean counter-top harder than before. She'll be lucky if she's still sane by eight.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
She had definitely underestimated the snow. She'd left the apartment at 7:30, and it is now 7:45 and she's maybe half of the way there. She thinks about hailing a cab, but decides it's not worth it to overpay someone to drive her half a block. She tries running, but because she's Belle, she gives up on that idea after collapsing in the snow twice.
She finally makes it to Pongo's at 7:56. Her gloves make it nearly impossible to get the key in the door but somehow she manages. She opens the door and sighs and the sight of the deserted room. She tosses her gloves and coat over the bar and stops the snow off her wedge boots a little harder than necessary. It shocks her that yesterday she'd gotten away with wearing sandals and little shorts (even though to be fair she HAD been freezing on the way home), and yet today she was in her thickest coat. That's just New York, she supposes. Everchanging and all that.
She had been more than a little disappointed that Gold hadn't been waiting outside the bar when she'd gotten there, but it had been silly of her to expect anything else. After all, he always gets here at 8:00 sharp. No earlier and no later. She checks her phone for what feels like the billionth time today. 7:58. She walks back behind the bar and grabs her apron, tying it around her low rise jeans tightly. Then she walks over to the glasses she'd wasted last night stacking. Of course, Gold's is at the very top. She picks it up and kisses the rim of it, squeezing her eyes shut, begging the universe to let him show up against all odds.
She sighs and pulls the glass away from her lips. Nothing. No one comes in. Of course no one comes in. It's snowing like a bitch and everyone except her is probably curled up on their couch with a mug of hot cocoa. But she'd let herself believe that something...magic, maybe?...would bring him to her. She places her hands on her hips and looks down, closing her eyes.
And that's when she hears the door open. Her eyes open and her head snaps toward the door.
Her face breaks into a huge smile and the tears she hadn't realized were there melt away. "Mr. Gold," she says, and to her utter embarrassment her voice actually cracks, "You...you came."
He smiles and pulls out his usual barstool. "I had to," he says, his accent thick, "I made you a deal. I'd never break that."
She giggles and bites her lower lip. "So, can I get you the usual? On the house," she assures him.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Oh no, I'm not going to keep stealing your paycheck, Ms. French."
Clear liquid falls from the bottle she'd unscrewed into the glass of ice she'd gathered between sentences. "It's not stealing if I'm giving it to you," she says.
"Well you work much too hard to give your money away." he counters.
Belle rolls her eyes and slides the glass across the bar. But apparently she slides it a bit too far for the distance, probably because she'd been looking at the ceiling and not the counter-top, because the glass falls right off the edge and lands with a thunk on the wood floor.
Gold is about to pick it up for her but she hurries around the bar and kneels down next to the glass. "Really?" she mumbles, picking it up and examining the damage.
"What is it, dearie?" Gold asks.
She shakes her head and sighs. "Nothing it's just it's...it's chipped," she lifts the glass for him to see.
He gives her an odd look. "Well, it's just a cup," he says.
She smiles and exhales. "right," she says, standing up and moving back behind the bar. "uh, do you mind? The cup, I mean?"she asks.
"No, I don't mind."
She nods and starts making his drink again. And as she's doing so, she hears him say, "Alright, Ms. French. You know, we made another deal sometime back."
She looks at him out the corner of her eye. "Oh really? And what was that?"
"We established that you would one day explain to me why you rejected a perfectly acceptable suitor in this very room the day I met you," he says, pointing to the surface of the bar.
Belle blushes and looks away. "Oh yeah. That." she mumbles before placing his glass in front of him and planting her hands on either side of it. "Well...you know that girl he was sitting next to? The tall, skinny, brunette one?"
"Sure," Gold says. He doesn't remember precisely, but he can vaguely recall who the man had been sitting with.
"Well, they come here every day. Him, her, and their three other friends. But the two of them...they have something special. Everyone tells me that they've been coming here for ages and that they've only been friends...but that's what makes it so amazing. I know that they love each other more than they're willing to admit, and that they've always loved each other in one way or another, and that's beautiful to me. Because they weren't trying to fall in love, it just happened that way. That's how love's supposed to be, you know? Love is...love is layered. Love is a...a mystery to be uncovered." She leans on her palms and he just looks up at her, smiling and shaking his head in ...amusement? Amazement? Confusion?
"But, um, yeah, it's silly," Belle says.
He laughs softly. "Belle French, you are many, many things, but silly isn't one of them."
She smiles down at him and starts to lean forward slowly. She feels his breath in her and she exhales softly and closes her eyes. She hears the barstool he'd been sitting in slide out and she feels his mouth crash against hers. She gasps against him and his hand threads into her hair. She wraps her arms around his neck and crawls onto the counter, letting his mouth leave hers for only a second. Moments like these weren't supposed to happen for people like Belle French and Mr. Gold. Moments like these were only supposed to be for good people with good intentions, and yet here they are. She's sitting on the bar and he's standing there kissing her like he's wanted to since he met her. She can barely tell when he climbs on top of her and lays her flat on the surface of the bar, ripping her apron off and moaning against her mouth. She can't believe this is real. She can't believe that she's actually gotten what she wanted.
True love wasn't supposed to happen for girls like Belle French.