Jim took a deep, shaky breath as he parked the solar surfer in Belle's driveway. It was 6:30 p.m. on Halloween night, and as the weather predicted, a light flurry of snow was dusting the town like powdered sugar through a sift. As lovely as this was on its own, however, the scene was made even more beautiful beneath a conveniently full moon, which set the cool, white powder ablaze beneath its ethereal light. Jim took this as a sign of the evening's success—because it had to be a sign, right? Of course it was. So, why was he so nervous?

He straightened his tie as he approached the front door, running a hand through his newly trimmed hair—he was still getting used to it. But before he could knock, Maurice came shuffling out into the snow from his shop, making a beeline for Jim. "Jim, m'boy!" he chirped, and he threw an arm around his employee's shoulder.

Jim laughed, returning the gesture with a hesitant pat on the back. "Hello, Maurice."

His employer stepped back. "Well, don't you clean up nicely! You're the spitting image of the old detective himself."

"Good," said Jim, glancing down at his secondhand pinstriped suit self-consciously. "Um, you did drop Belle the hint, right?" He placed the fedora he'd found at Medusa's Pawn Shop onto his head. Luckily, it fit like a glove; it had been her only one.

Maurice beamed. "I certainly did. She ate up the idea like a bowl of ice cream. Jim, this sure is a nice thing you're doing for her. Real thoughtful."

Jim let out a long stream of air. Thank goodness. In lieu of the fact that he'd left halfway through the film last time, he'd watched The Big Sleep earlier that week, hoping to get some inspiration for his costume for the Masquerade Ball. The detective, Philip Marlowe, was an easy enough look to pull off, but he'd needed Maurice help getting Belle to go as Vivian Rutledge, Marlowe's romantic counterpart. Not that it mattered too much if she'd taken the bait; she'd be delighted enough that Jim was dressed as one of her silver-screen heroes. And yet, knowing they'd be a matching set tonight warmed his heart despite the cold.

As if on cue, the front door opened, then, sending light spilling out onto the snow-dusted driveway. Jim's heart skipped several beats. Belle was dressed in a striking, vintage white-and-gold-striped, tea length dress, her hair pinned back in a modern take on a 1940's hairdo. Jim recognized the desired effect instantly; she was mimicking the costume that Vivian wears when she performs as a singer at the casino (sans the glittering half-mask, of course; this was, after all, a Masquerade). The results were stunning.

Ironically, her mouth fell open when she saw him. "You look fantastic"—he could have laughed; he looked fantastic?—"and you cut your hair!"

He shrugged casually. "Yeah, thanks to your dad's Barber-O-Matic. Figured it was time for the pony tail thing to go."

"It looks great," she assured him. Then her brow furrowed. "Your costume. Jim . . . a-are you actually—?"

"That's Philip Marlowe to you, ma'am," the skater said in his best Humphrey-Bogart voice. He removed his hat and gave a small bow. "And I'm at your service, Mrs. Rutledge."

Belle's hands flew over mouth. "Oh my gosh, you did not."

"He did!" Maurice exclaimed. "And now, if you kids don't mind, I'd like a couple of photos. Come on, humor an old fool."

For once, Belle didn't scold her father's antics. Nodding for Jim to join her on the porch, she moved to make room for him, then leaned into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim only hoped the camera's flash white-washed his enflamed cheeks, because he probably looked like a tomato dressed up as the Italian mafia right now.

Fifteen minutes later, when the old man had finally had his fill of photographs, he sent them on their merry way, joking that if Jim didn't have his only daughter home by midnight, he'd eat all of the Chinese takeout he'd just ordered. Jim assured him he had nothing to fear. Meanwhile, he motioned for Belle to take the wheel, so to speak (the solar surfer didn't actually have a wheel). She took his offer, elated. Then, waving goodbye, they soared down the road, Masquerade-bound.

Alright, so maybe Jim didn't hate school dances quite as much as he'd originally assumed. For starters, the school board had gone way out of their way as far as decorations went, transforming the school gym into a 18th century ballroom. Was every school dance this elaborate? Jim wondered, suddenly wishing he'd given them a fairer shot.

And as if sophisticated décor wasn't enough, the costumes Jim was seeing were out of this world. Aladdin was decked out as a blue-skinned, gold-cuffed genie, and Jasmine, his lovely date, was dressed to the nines in a gown of gold and glitter—a lamp, Jim realized with an appreciative chuckle. On the other side of the room, Mr. Hook, one of several assigned chaperones, was in full pirate-captain garb, and beside him, manning the refreshment table, were the Radcliffes, who'd gone for full-body Dalmatian suits. As it turned out, Jim went to school with some pretty creative people.

But as wonderfully as the evening was panning out, the two introverts soon realized that they needed a break from the noise and the crowd, and they escaped through the back door, taking refuge on a snow-covered bench. Jim dusted it off, laying his coat out so Bell could have a dry seat. Then they removed their masks, enjoying a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Hey, Jim?" Belle asked, finally.

"Hmm?"

She hesitated before asking, "Are you doing alright?"

His brow folded. "Um, yeah. Of course. Why?"

"I mean with Naveen and Eric and Ariel being gone. How are you holding up?"

"Oh." Jim thought for a moment. "I mean, yeah, it sucks that they left. I guess I'm trying not to think about it too much."

Belle nodded slowly. "Understandable." But it was obvious that something else was troubling her.

"What is it?"

She took a deep breath. "I know you really liked Ariel, and I imagine it's hard for you now that she's gone. I just want to say I'm really, really sorry."

Jim blinked. Is that really what she thought? I mean, sure, he'd miss Ariel as much as the others, maybe a little more, but his feelings were so different now. Had she really not picked up on that at all? "You know," he started, but a wad of fear the size of Atlantis had formed in his throat. He swallowed it down with an audible gulp. "You know," he began again, "she asked me to go with them."

Belle started. "She did?"

"Yeah," he went on. "They stopped by my house on their way out, offered to take me with them."

His friend's eyes went as wide as the full moon above them. "And, what did you say?" she asked quietly.

"I told them 'no thanks.' It wasn't a hard choice. I mean, I couldn't leave my best friend behind, now could I?" He met her gaze as he said this, hoping she'd sense the deep caring behind his words. But Belle only looked out at the snow, a dark shadow suddenly passing over her.

"Hey, what is it?" he said quickly. Had he said something wrong?

She sighed, brushing the gathering snowflakes off of her dress. "They're not the only ones leaving town," she said sadly.

The blood drained from Jim's face. "What?"

"It's my mom"—she broke off, shaking her head.

Jim immediately understood. "You got another call," he said. It wasn't a question, and Belle confirmed his comment with a nod. "Where?"

"Vermont. We'll only be gone for the weekend, but . . ." She turned to him, her shoulders giving way to a weight she'd been hiding until now. Jim could have kicked himself. How had he not noticed it there before? "I'm scared," she said finally. "After the last call, I'm just not sure I can take much more of this. I know Papa can't."

However Belle may have felt about him, Jim couldn't stop himself. He took her hands in his, stroking her fingers with the edge of his thumb. They were so, so cold. "I could come," he offered steadily. "Really. If you need me to, I could. I'll pack a bag tonight. Just say the word."

At first, Belle just gazed down at their hands, watching wearily as Jim's fingers gently warmed hers. He wondered for a moment if he shouldn't pull them away. Then, in a smooth, simple gesture, she brought his hand up to her face, and planted a kiss on his frozen fingers.

Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the fact that he'd never actually been kissed before, but any feeling Jim had had in his whole body was suddenly gone. Had that actually just happened? he wondered, his head spinning with a newfound hope. Had Belle really just . . . kissed him? Seizing what few wits he still possessed, he placed a hand on her flushed cheek, gently tilting her head up (she'd been staring fixedly into her lap). When their eyes met, when she finally returned his smile with one of her own, he began to lean forward, slowly, carefully, giving her plenty of time to pull away. Meanwhile, his heart drummed in his ears with a deafening force.

But she didn't pull away, and soon they were so close Jim could count the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes. She smiled, closed her eyes. So did he. Their lips met, and all the while the snow continued to fall.