Summary: Belle and Gold are still sitting in Marco's kitchen, and Gold reminds Belle of the day they met.
A/N: Chapter 12 continues directly from Chapter 11. Filling two prompts with this chapter. Yay! RowofStars prompted: Flashback to the first time AOM Gold and Belle met. Did the sparks fly? Was it love or lust at first sight? Did Henry awkwardly ruin the moment? Bookwormchocaholic prompted: I would like to prompt an AOM fic of Belle and Gold's introduction.
It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being. – John Joseph Powell
Marco's Cucina, Present Day
Gold broke the kiss, and Belle's nose grazed his bottom lip as she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. She sighed aloud, her warm breath fanning the side of his neck and he gave an involuntary shiver of happiness.
The clang of pots and pans alerted him that he was kissing his girlfriend in the back corner of a hectic restaurant kitchen, and that Marco and his staff were gawking at them snuggled together in this oversized booth. He didn't care. All that mattered in this moment was Belle.
She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled lazily, and he cupped her cheek with his hand. Her eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide with passion. Her hands were clasped around his neck, the pleasing weight of her soft arms across his shoulders, her breath ragged and sweet against his face.
"Sweetheart, do you remember the day we met?" he asked.
"Nope. Can't think…a little dizzy."
Gold snickered around a surge of masculine pride. What a treasure she was! Had he ever met a woman so guileless? No, the women of his acquaintance through the years had been artificial and interested in him for the publicity they could earn for their business ventures and personal causes. He was full of love, but who beyond his family had ever looked past his small stature, his limp, and his notoriety as a reporter to see his heart? Only Belle. She was as undone by their kisses as he was. Elated as he was to have this effect on the woman he cared for, his heart broke at how grateful she was for the smallest expressions of affection.
Her hazy eyes cleared, sharpening and focusing on him once more, but now sadness was reflected in those sea-blue pools. Sadness caused by nosy townspeople who needed to be tripped by a cane, he thought ruefully. He kept his hand on her face, caressing her jawline with his thumb. He longed to chase those shadows away.
"Seriously," he prompted, eager to distract her from the two days of gossip and insults she'd endured for his sake. "The day we met."
"Seriously?" She chewed her lip. "Yes, I think I remember. It was in the library, right?"
Gold frowned; it stung a bit that she didn't share the same vivid memory of their first meeting. Perhaps those initial moments between them didn't make the same impression on her as they had on him?
Oh well. In for a penny, as it were. "May I tell you how I remember it?"
She tilted her head and smiled. "I would like that very much."
Gold cleared his throat. "Henry had just turned two years old, and Emma suggested I bring him your story time…"
xoxo
Three Years Earlier
After a year of careful avoidance, Gold had a reason to visit the library.
He gave his shoulder length brown hair a self-conscious pat and hoisted Henry higher on his hip as he strode through the library in search of the restroom. Storybrooke Library's weekly story hour for toddlers was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and young Henry needed a quick diaper change before settling in with the other children.
As he reached the back wall of the building, Gold overheard voices. He grit his teeth; Sean Herman, Belle French's fiancé, was in her office and the two were discussing something in hushed, urgent tones. Gold lingered near the door with the ready excuse that he wanted to introduce Belle to Henry, attempting his best expression of nonchalance. Herman leaned in close to kiss Belle's cheek, and he felt a stab of jealousy toward the overgrown toddler who had won the heart of this lovely, vivacious woman. He couldn't place what it was that irked him about Herman. Gold only knew that when her fiancé was present, Belle's smile never quite reached her eyes.
Belle had recently won the position of head librarian, replacing Mrs. Schmidt when she'd retired to care for her grandchildren. He had seen Belle in passing many times—on the street, in the drugstore, at the supermarket—but had never actually spoken to her. It was better this way, he told himself. Belle was engaged to another man and that meant she was off-limits.
The first time he'd seen her had been a year earlier. Belle was squatting on the floor of the library knocking over block towers with a gaggle of children who laughed uproariously at every move she made. On his way to the paper, he walked by the large front window and she looked up as he passed, her countenance sparkling with mirth, reddish brown curls falling in a fiery halo around her flushed face. Their gazes met, and he died and was reborn in her laughing eyes. Good Lord, she was a vision! It was far more than her beauty that captivated him, though. This young woman had a lively spirit and a generous heart—he could tell by the humble ease with which she played with the children. Too stunned to do anything more than hurry by, he raced toward his office, determined to learn her name.
Arriving back at his desk, Gold ruffled through the stacks of press releases and notices from the town's administrative offices, hoping to find anything that mentioned a new hire at the Storybrooke Public Library. Finding nothing, he slumped in his chair, an uncharacteristic feeling of defeat churning in his gut. Think, old man. Gold had little use for his investigative reporting skills now that he was at home in Storybrooke and running the town ledger, but his curious attraction to the woman in the window reignited those embers long since cooled.
Ah! Inspiration struck, and after half an hour of combing through the Town Council minutes which the mayor so diligently provided after each meeting, the passage he had been seeking was there, smudged in black ink:
"The motion passes, Belle French will fill the role of Assistant Library Director effective the first of next month at a salary of {redacted}."
Belle French. Beautiful, smart, sweet Belle.
Gold raked his fingers through his hair nervously, like a child who had learned a secret he couldn't keep. Now what?
After that he looked for her around town, listening for her name to come up in conversation, anxious for another glimpse into those fathomless blue eyes. A week later, he was at Granny's Diner finishing a turkey club sandwich while he worked up the courage to go inside the library to meet her. He tapped his foot impatiently at the cash register. Waiting for waitress Ruby Lucas to stop flirting with town shrink Archie Hopper so he could pay the bill was like waiting for the sky to fall. When he was about to tell Ruby to send the tab to the paper he overheard someone say:
"Wow. Belle French accepted Sean Herman's marriage proposal?"
Gold sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd been punched. Belle was engaged? It figured—the first woman he'd met in twenty-odd years that piqued his interest and she was taken. Then and there he vowed not to visit the library at all for any reason. Why torture himself by skulking around a woman he could never have? He had his pride; he didn't need to borrow a book that badly!
And that's how it came to be that Gold hadn't darkened the door of Storybrooke Community Library since Belle French had come to work there. Now, however, there was young Henry to think of—no child should be deprived of story time at the library. Emma had suggested that library visits with Henry would be good bonding, and Gold agreed. And if he could gawk at Belle French in the process, who was he to argue? He was doing his grandfatherly duty, Gold reasoned, as he tossed the old diaper, washed his and Henry's hands, and exited the bathroom.
They edged by Belle's office door again and he couldn't resist another peek inside. Herman was still there, hands on his designer-denim clad hips, and Belle's cheekbones were bright with color. Gold caught her gaze and held it for a long moment. He didn't know her at all, but those eyes were an open book if you cared to study the language. He read uncertainty there, and fear. He was almost certain Herman was responsible, and Gold's anger swelled like a rising tide in a hurricane.
"Book! Book! Book!" Henry bellowed, jabbing his little fingers at the shelves teeming with colorful children's books.
"Shhh! Henry." Gold held a finger to his lips and scooped up the toddler. Stealth was impossible when Henry was present. "We must be quiet in the library. You'll get Grandpa in trouble if you keep yelling."
The boy grinned broadly, his chubby cheeks rosy with the excitement of a new adventure. "Gampa tubble."
Herman slid through Belle's office door, darting a curious glance at Henry. Like a snake. Gold scowled darkly, white-knuckling the head of his cane. He may be holding a toddler in his arms and have a diaper bag slung over one shoulder and be half in love with an engaged woman he had never spoken to, but he was still a man to be respected and feared. Yes, he would be watching Sean Herman.
"Can I help you?" A soft voice beckoned, calling him away from staring down Herman's retreating back.
He spun around, coming face to face with Belle French. "Ah, yes, um, I am Mr. Gold," he said shakily, feeling his cheeks redden.
She rose from her desk, smoothing her hands over a simple navy sheath dress that accentuated her eyes. They sparkled with curiosity as she moved toward him with an outstretched hand.
"I'm Belle French," she offered. "Welcome to my library." A smile that could eclipse the sun stretched across her perfect face.
Gold stared at her hand as it hung in the air, and he briefly considered whether to drop his cane or his grandson for the chance to feel her skin against his. Belle dropped her hand, apparently realizing the awkwardness of a handshake with a man who most certainly had his full.
"Oh, sorry!" Belle giggled, and Gold almost gasped aloud; a sweeter sound he had never heard. "And who is this?" She reached out and tugged at Henry's tiny sneaker where it dangled around Gold's hip, pulling a chortle from the young boy.
"This is Henry Cassidy, my grandson," he said proudly.
"Lovely to meet you, Henry."
Henry reached into his pocket and offered Belle a handful of shredded pieces of The Storybrooke Mirror. "Money!" He grinned at Belle who beamed right back.
"Thank you very much," she said, accepting the sticky wad of crumpled paper. "What shall we buy?"
"Oh, Henry, no, son," Gold interrupted with an anxious glance at Belle. "That's newspaper, not money. My apologies, Miss French."
"That's all right. Henry has a wonderful imagination," Belle complimented as Gold set Henry on the floor. Belle squatted down so she was eye-to-eye with his grandson. "Henry, are you ready to listen to Miss Belle read some special books just for you?"
"Book!" Henry shouted again.
xoxo
Still Three Years Earlier
Belle made her way to the corner rocking chair on wooden legs and plopped down heavily, anxious to begin the story hour. She'd barely made it through that encounter without fainting. Mr. Gold? Here at Storybrooke Community Library? And he'd been hovering in her office doorway while she'd been arguing with Sean.
Nerves coiled in her belly like a snake. Mr. Gold didn't think much of her library, for why else would he so studiously avoid it? Didn't everyone like books? Or perhaps this small town library didn't meet his Pulitzer-Prize-winning approval.
Belle sniffed and pressed her lips together. No doubt Gold possessed both the knowledge and the wealth to stock a home library grander than this old place with its leaking walls and meagre collection. However, he had brought his young grandson Henry in, so that was a point in her favor. Most children loved her story hour and their parents always praised her reading. After each story time, Belle would mingle with the moms and dads as they gathered their children and all the stuff children seemed to travel with. She loved these casual exchanges, relishing the opportunity to learn bits and pieces about her patrons; who worked where and who belonged to whom. The library was the only place in the world that she truly felt at home.
But what were her storytelling abilities compared to Mr. Gold's? Mr. Gold, who had earned a reputation as a world-famous reporter. Mr. Gold, who spoke in a beautiful, hypnotic brogue. Perhaps she should invite Mr. Gold to take over and she could head back to her office and crawl under the desk for a marathon powdered doughnut eating session.
To her knowledge, Gold had not come into the library since she'd worked here. Unless he purposely visited on her days off. Of course! How could she forget? She was the reason he never came in.
It was here first week on the job; she was fresh out of college and thrilled to be hired as Mrs. Schmidt's assistant. (So few graduates of Storybrooke College had the opportunity to use their degree locally, and besides, the less time she spent at home with Edith, the less miserable they all were.) She'd been razing block towers with some kids when Mr. Gold—the newspaperman—had strode by in one of his elegant bespoke suits. He glanced through the front window and their eyes had met. Through the glass, his deep caramel gaze scorched her skin, and she'd trembled deliciously under his perusal. But then he had frowned and hurried toward the newspaper. Yes, he'd taken one look at her and beat a quick path to his office door without so much as a backward glance.
Shaking the memory from her mind, Belle straightened her slumped shoulders; her sour disposition was threatening to spoil the day. If she wasn't careful, the children would catch wind of her annoyance and ask questions. Perceptive creatures, toddlers were.
Her hands shook so hard that she dropped one of the books, its title blurring before her eyes. She smoothed her pudgy, damp fingers over her skirt and bent down to pick it up, feeling Mr. Gold's gaze on her the entire time.
Curse him and those beautiful sable eyes. Most of the time she observed him from across the street or peered at him through a crowded restaurant thick with voices, but he was even more attractive up close. A firm mouth, soft brown hair streaked with grey curling over his collar in locks so thick she could lose her fingers in it, an aquiline nose…and those hands. Long, thin fingers that grasped his cane as he walked, that fiddled with Henry's shoelaces as he placed his young grandson in the circle and instructed him to sit down begin the story. "Sit criss-cross applesauce, Henry," she heard him say, his thick brogue melodious even in a whisper. A flush of awareness creeped up Belle's chest.
It crossed her mind to regret her engagement to Sean, then she snorted aloud at her own absurdity. Like Sarah, Abraham's wife in the Bible who was promised a child at one hundred years old, anything between her and Mr. Gold was impossible. As if such a distinguished man would ever look her way with anything more than casual disinterest!
You're lucky to have Sean, Belle, she reminded herself in her sternest Edith-tone, pushing their fight about the bachelor party out of her head. Twenty-three bright little faces stared up at her, the children's little limbs flailing as they squirmed on their carpet squares.
For goodness sake, Belle! Stop moping and read! She launched headlong into the first book, Hooray for Fish, its bold illustrations ideal for holding the attention of little ones. Belle only prayed they would hold hers as well.
"Miss Belle?" It was three-year-old Scarlett Jones, her dark pigtails swinging as she raised her hand.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
She pointed her finger at her tiny chest chest. "You forgot about names."
"So I did," Belle conceded with a nervous laugh. Usually she began story hour with a name game to relax the kids and prepare their minds. She glanced up at Mr. Gold, who leaned against the wall near the beanbag chairs. To her surprise, he gave her a smile and a nod of encouragement. Grateful tears sprang to her eyes and she took a deep breath and started again.
The rest of the hour progressed without incident, and after rounding out story hour with Breathe, Belle led the kids in some deep breathing exercises of their own, calming her own battered nerves.
Soon the children scattered to look for books and play with toys. As Belle checked out books and chatted with parents, she watched Gold and Henry out of the corner of her eye. Despite his reputation as a ruthless reporter, she marveled that anyone could find Gold severe or frightening in the slightest. He was sitting on the floor in his striped socks racing cars, making delightfully realistic "zoom zoom" noises. Henry's dark eyes were bright with merriment as he watched his grandpa at play.
When the last of the parents and children left, Belle began to clean up. Squatting to gather the toys and crayons from the floor, she was startled when Mr. Gold bent down to hand her the plastic crayon box. Leaving Henry to smash a handful of toy cars together, he began to follow her around, picking up stray books off reading tables and handing them to her.
"You're making my job easy today," she said, glancing toward the book carts that were stationed around the library.
"I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've ever been accused of that, Miss French," he said dryly.
Belle's fingers shook as he handed her a book. Stop it, Belle, you're a librarian. People hand you books every day. But none of them were the handsome, enigmatic Mr. Gold. Their fingers brushed and the contact seared her flesh, sending a current of electricity up her arm.
She returned to the circulation desk, her palms sweaty from the prolonged exposure to Mr. Gold. Now she understood, she could commiserate with the townspeople who feared him – minutes in his presence had left Belle trembling like a leaf in an autumn windstorm. But it was not fear, not even trepidation, that made her nerves twitch and her insides melt like butter. No, it was something altogether glorious—if not impossible and incomprehensible.
No one had ever made her feel this way, not even her own fiancé. She was confused yet grounded, and more alive than she had ever been in her whole life.
Work. Work would settle her anxieties. Belle moved behind the circulation counter to inventory returns, but when she looked up, Mr. Gold and Henry were approaching again. With a sheepish smile, Gold plopped a stack of books on the counter—as though he had stumbled upon some lost secret place that gave out books for free.
"Oh, this is a really good one!" Belle exclaimed as she scanned the barcodes into the computer. "It's actually much better than his first book, although that's the one that earns all the fanfare." She smiled at Gold as she stamped the due date into the back of How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie.
"You know, they credit Carnegie with starting the entire self-help genre," Belle rattled on, impervious to the serene, smiling stare on the face of her newest patron. Catching his eye, she grew quiet as she realized she was opining on his reading choices, a sworn sin of a good librarian. "You know, you can tell a lot about a person by the books they read," she continued, unable to hide her enthusiasm for the written word.
"Is that so?" Gold asked quietly, as though the conversation was of great importance and not the result of her blathering. "I'd love to know what you think of me, then," he challenged, his amber eyes glinting.
Belle's mouth went dry; Was Mr. Gold flirting with her? "You are interested in improving your daily life in small ways," she countered, "and you have a penchant for rotting meat." She grinned as she scanned Green Eggs and Ham.
"Touché, Miss French." A smirk played at the corner of his mouth.
"Please call me Belle," she heard herself say.
"Belle," he repeated in a husky voice that sent a shiver up her spine. "One last wandering book I found near the self-help section." He tossed a thin volume on the circulation desk.
She eyed the title in horror: Farewell to Flab. He of all people didn't need a diet book, and Belle would know. She had spent the last two hours ogling his trim physique. Belle yanked her cardigan more snugly around her middle. Had he spotted her secret stash of powdered doughnut holes and decided to send her a roundabout weight loss message?
Gold hiked an eyebrow and glared at the book. "Why would you carry this drivel in such a fine establishment of higher learning?" And with that he smiled, hefted Henry on his hip and kissed his nose, and bid her a wonderful day.
Belle stared after Gold in wonder as he strolled out of the library with a remarkable grace for a man carrying a toddler, a diaper bag, and a cane. Henry hollered goodbye over his shoulder and Belle smiled and waved at the adorable little boy with his grandpa's eyes.
Once they were out of sight, she flopped down in her chair and sighed. He liked her library. Maybe he even liked her. Mr. Gold wasn't who she thought he was at all, and she was glad.
xoxo
Marco's Cucina, Present Day
"Thank you for telling me all that." She beamed at him, then her smile faltered. "It's a wonderful memory, but is there a point to all this?"
He chuckled. "Well, I'm not sure. I was going for distraction."
"I'm sorry," she said on a sigh. "About the talk around town. Why would they need to talk about us anyway?"
Gold was puzzled. Belle seemed to believe it was somehow her fault that people were gossiping about them. He shrugged inwardly; rumors never troubled him. Speculation was a natural human consequence of not having enough facts to go on.
Belle didn't see it that way, though. The gossip caused her pain, and whatever hurt her, hurt him.
Neal's advice from the fishing expedition several weeks earlier returned like a boomerang, and for the first time, it occurred to Gold that Belle's modesty perhaps wasn't a quality to be prized. After years of traveling among egocentric people and being burned by Milah, who cared only about appearances, he'd become jaded and suspicious. For all these years, he had admired Belle from afar for being so much more than a beauty, so much more than a prize to be won. Now it dawned on him that what he perceived as modesty was a severe lack of confidence. His wonderful Belle saw herself as no one of importance, and the realization devastated him. She needed to know how deeply he cherished her, how she'd changed his life. Made him feel like a person of value in ways that all his awards, accomplishments, and accolades never could.
He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each one. "That's what I love about you, Belle. You don't pretend to be someone you aren't."
She knitted her eyebrows together, waiting. A tangible energy crackled between them.
"Yes, I suppose there is a point to my story. The point is that I've been waiting for this—for us—ever since that day in the library. Since even before that day. It's a dream I never thought would come true, sweetheart. Belle, you have to know...I'm falling for you."
"Wh-what?" Her voice shook and the hope that leapt into her eyes gave him courage to continue. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I'm in love with you. Totally, irrevocably in love. I don't care what people say, I don't care what they think." He grasped her hands to quell the shaking in his own. "All I care about is you."
She said nothing and he forced himself to swallow, a wave of fear crashing through him even as his hands tightened around hers. Maybe she didn't feel the same. Maybe he was rushing her. God above, she could destroy him with a word! He closed his eyes, tamping down on his fear. No, I love her. If she doesn't feel the same way yet, so be it.
Belle swallowed hard, her tiny voice trembling in cadence with her lower lip. "You…you love me? Me? But…"
Gold raised a finger to her rosebud mouth, tender and swollen from his kiss.
"Shhh. You make me happy," he repeated. "Forget the rest of the town. Let them talk, let them look."
"It's not so easy for me to let them look," she admitted, wiping a tear that leaked from the corner of her eye.
"Would it help if I threatened to beat people with my cane?"
She huffed a watery laugh. "Maybe a little."
She moistened her dry lips with her tongue, the fleshy tip of it sweeping over her full, lower lip. Yes, they had been doing entirely too much talking, he thought, leaning forward as his lips sought hers. Pressing against her, he opened his mouth, taking her upper lip between his, suckling slightly, eliciting a small whimper from the back of Belle's throat. He dipped down, lavishing the same treatment on her lower lip. Blood pounded in his ears and he felt as though he would explode; the hand that had been resting on her knee inched higher, his fingers squeezing into the soft flesh of her upper thigh. She was so soft, and warm, and her lips intoxicatingly sweet…
"Ok, piccioncini." They pulled apart and looked at Marco. "I no like to interrupt your wooing, but dinner time is coming, va bene?" The chef waved his hand around the bustling kitchen. "You're distracting my staff. You like a table?"
"Is that like, leave or get a room?" Belle snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. Gold bit back a laugh. He loved how confident she was among the few people she trusted.
"Use your imagination, Bella," Marco replied, his eyes twinkling. He walked quickly back to the ovens and flung open the door to remove an enormous, covered baking pan.
"A man on a mission," Gold observed with an apologetic smile. "I have to go anyway, sweetheart. It's family game night. Henry's choice, which means endless rounds of Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders."
Belle laughed. "That sounds…spirited."
"Why don't you come with me? I could use a partner. I'm fine when we play Scrabble but I'm absolute bollocks at Charades. Neal and Emma will be there, of course, and they always welcome a chance to spend time with you."
A soft pink rose on Belle's cheeks. He smiled again, trying to encourage her. Belle still didn't believe that people wanted to spend time with her, that she was worth the effort, but she would. Given enough time and love and care, she would.
"Between you as a writer and me as a librarian, we'd make a fantastic team," she agreed, squeezing his forearm lightly. "Yes. Let's go."
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Piccioncini = lovebirds
va bene? = Is it ok?
