Continued appreciation to all readers who are faithfully following this story! Your comments keep me motivated!
They had fallen into a pleasant, easy routine in the two weeks since Belle had joined the Gold household.
Despite Callum's protests that she was their guest, Belle insisted on contributing. "I'm earning my keep," she joked.
Often, she assisted Callum in his shop with cleaning, bookkeeping, and merchandising—Belle had a real knack for showing the store's treasures, bolts of fabric, and gleaming spools of thread off to their greatest advantage. She adored keeping him company throughout the day and he glowed with pride in her presence.
Belle had also assumed the household responsibilities of cleaning, laundry, shopping, and meal preparations.
After years of living on what she called her "regimented ballet dancer's diet," Belle had a fairly limited number of dishes in her repertoire. However, she did make heavenly fettucine alfredo and a perfectly grilled chicken Caesar salad. Between those two meals and hamburgers at Granny's, nobody went hungry.
That evening as they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Belle told Callum about her latest visit to the pile of rubble formerly known as Miss Belle's Leaves. Little evidence of what had caused the blaze could be recovered, but there was one interesting discovery.
"My toxicology report came back today. There were drugs in my system the evening of the fire," she explained. "I remember my tea tasting funny and I thought it was a bad batch of leaves. Then Bae had to wake me up when he arrived and he said he'd been shaking me for a while."
"You don't think the fire was an accident," Callum concluded, hearing her unspoken fears.
"No," she agreed softly, "I don't."
"Hey, Belle, look at these cool explosive discs that the Black Widow's using," Bae interrupted excitedly, pointing at an action sequence in his comic. "They look just like the ones you pulled out of that secret drawer in your office!"
"What drawer is that?" Callum asked, mildly curious.
"Bae, honey, I think you might have hit your head a little harder than we thought," Belle inserted smoothly. "You're imagining things."
"But I didn't hit my head." Bae squinted at Belle, confused.
Thankfully Callum saved Belle from anymore awkward explanations. "Time for bed, my boy. That school bus comes bright and early. Kiss Belle goodnight."
"Papa," Bae worried as he trudged up the stairs, "I know what I saw."
"Don't worry about it, son," Callum pressed. "I'll take care of this, ok?" He wondered what Belle was hiding.
Returning to the den, he opened his mouth to ask Belle more about the strange weapons Bae was prattling about. But she sidled into his arms, carded her hands through his hair, and kissed him soundly.
Tomorrow, he thought, losing himself in her touch. I'll ask her tomorrow.
xoxoxoxo
Early the next morning, Belle was already in the kitchen when Callum limped tiredly to the coffeemaker, leaning on his cane more heavily than usual.
Surrounded by recipe books, magazines, and typing furiously on her iPad, she looked up at him with a strained smile.
"I missed you," he told her, nuzzling the top of her curly head. "How long have you been awake?" He had reached for her during the night, waking to find her side of the bed cold and vacant. By unspoken agreement, Belle had continued to share his bed since being released from the hospital into his care.
Though they had no reason to be ashamed—they'd done no more than share a pillow and some kisses—they were careful to keep the sleeping arrangements a secret from Bae. Callum didn't want to lift his hopes unless Belle was going to become a permanent fixture in their lives. Considering the bumpy road they'd been on so far, he tried hard to live in the moment and not think too far into the future.
"I couldn't sleep," she sighed, appreciating the warm weight of his hands on her body.
"You're worried about the fire and what caused it, aren't you?"
"What…or who," she frowned.
Waving his hand at her stacks of books and magazines he asked, "Is this research?"
"Of a sort," she grinned, momentarily forgetting her troubles. "I'm planning Thanksgiving dinner. It's next week, you know." She gestured at the plump, golden brown turkey gracing the cover of a copy of Food & Wine.
"Belle." His voice was firm. "You don't work for me. You're not some indentured servant. I don't want you feeling obligated to cook and clean for us. This home is yours, for as long as you want it."
"Part of sharing a home is sharing responsibilities," her lower lip trembled. "And I'm not doing this out of obligation or servitude. I want to. It's been so long since I shared Thanksgiving with anyone. To be here with you and Baelfire, well, it's more than I ever dreamed. May we invite Jefferson and Grace?"
His eyes softened and he nodded, noticing her prized teacup sitting on the table amongst the piles of books and periodicals; it was a watchful talisman standing sentinel over its mistress.
In her animated appeal, she bumped a book with her elbow and the cup clattered to the tile floor.
"Oh no!" she cried, bending to retrieve it. "It—it's chipped. How clumsy of me! Cal, I'm so sorry!"
"It's just a cup," he consoled her, wiping the tears that sprang to the corners of her eyes with tender fingers. "Besides, it's my fault. I didn't mean to upset you, sweetheart."
"It's not just a cup," she denied. "It's our cup. The only one left."
"We can fix it, Belle," Callum promised. "A little glue and it will be like new."
"Can we?" she echoed, sadly. "I'm not sure it's that simple."
Up Next: Gold runs into Belle at Bae's school and offers her an ultimatum.