Belle gazed adoringly between her husband and the refinished cradle. Gaston had scraped off all the old paint, sanded it, and painted the cradle a light, sunny yellow, except for the roses, which he gave green stems and red blossoms. "It's lovely, Gaston. Is it dry now? Can we show Papa?"

"Yes, let's have the old bean over for dinner and show him"

Belle sent Gaston to invite Papa as she prepared the meal. The two men were chuckling as they came into the house.

"I don't know how you managed to keep her alive," Gaston told Papa.

"Honestly, neither do I." Papa grinned.

Belle narrowed her eyes. "What are you two talking about?"

"Your father was just regaling me with stories of your childhood adventures and how often they put you in danger of losing life or limb."

Belle rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. She couldn't deny that her adventurous spirit often landed her in trouble as a child. Stuck up a tree with no way down, for instance, or nearly falling into a well before Papa just managed to catch the hem of her skirt and pull her back. It was no wonder his hair was grey. Belle chewed her lip, any child born to her and Gaston was likely to be twice as bad. She feared she would soon be getting her comeuppance for all the times she'd nearly scared her father to death.

Belle shook away the disquieting thought and smiled. "Gaston, let's show Papa the surprise!"

"Surprise?"

Gaston led Maurice into their bedroom and gestured to the cradle. Papa's hand flew to his mouth and tears formed in his eyes. His throat bobbed before he managed to say, "How?"

Gaston explained how he'd obtained the cradle and refinished it. Papa knelt down and was rubbing his hand along the side with a far away expression. Belle touched his shoulder lightly. "Papa?"

He patted her hand. "I'm fine, my dear. This...this is wonderful." He straightened up and regained his composure. "Let's have dinner. I skipped lunch to work on my own surprise for the baby."

Belle smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Gaston."

"Hmm?"

"Gaston!"

Gaston woke up and turned to his wife in alarm. "What is it? Are you alright? The baby?"

"Yes, everything is fine. It's just…"

Gaston lit a candle. Belle was chewing her bottom lip. Gaston looked her over in the dim light, assuring himself that everything was indeed well. "Just what?"

"I want strawberries," she blurted.

"Strawberries? Belle, it's Winter! No to mention the middle of the night."

"There are still a few jars of preserves left at Papa's."

Gaston scrubbed his face with his hands. "So...you want me to get up and go over to your father's house, wake him up, and ask for a jar of strawberry preserves?"

Belle nodded still chewing her lip. Gaston aimed the candle at the clock on the wall. "It's one o'clock in the morning!"

"Please, Gaston!" She had released her bottom lip which was now sticking out in a most alluring pout.

He stood, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtain. "Belle, it's pouring snow."

Please, Gaston. I need strawberries."

"No, Belle. I'll go over there in the morning."

Tears started to sparkle in her eyes. Gaston sighed and laid back down. Just this once he was determined not to give in. Belle pressed against him and nuzzled his cheek with her nose then kissed him. "Please, Gaston," she wheedled. "What if when I'm craving something it means the baby needs it?"

He huffed. "The baby can wait a few hours."

Belle began to run light fingers over his chest. "Please, Gaston. You'll be the best husband ever."

"And if I don't go?"

She crossed her arms. "You'll be the worst."

He couldn't help but chuckle. He got up and pulled on his shirt, trousers, and boots. Gaston found his jacket then turned back to his wife. "Remember," he wagged his finger at her, "best husband ever."

"Oh, yes, the very best," she readily agreed with a smile that lit up her entire face.

Gaston cursed himself for a fool as he walked through the freezing cold snow in the dark. His good humor was quickly dissipating as he made his was through the frozen streets. "Strawberries in Winter," he grumbled. He stomped up the stairs to his father-in-law's house and knocked. It took several minutes for a very groggy looking Maurice to anwer.

"Gaston, what's wrong? Belle?"

"Your daughter," Gaston growled, "would like a jar of strawberry preserves."

Maurice blinked. "She sent you over here at this hour for strawberry preserves?"

Gaston nodded. "Apparently if I didn't come get them, I would be 'the worst husband ever.'"

Maurice's lips twitched, but he walked over to a cupboard and rummaged through it. "Then, by all means, son, please take a jar."

Gaston nodded his thanks and made his way back home. He cut a few slices of bread and spread liberal amounts of preserves on them, then carried them to his wife on a tray. Belle sat up in bed and munched the treat with considerable enthusiasm.

"Happy?" Gaston grumped.

"Yes, very." Belle set the tray on the floor and snuggled up against him. "Shall I show you just how grateful I am to have the best husband ever?"

Gaston harrumphed, but Belle just huffed a laugh. He couldn't stay mad though, not as Belle used her lips and fingers to show her gratitude. He had to admit that being "the best husband ever" had some pleasurable benefits.

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me and coming back after the unforgivably long wait for the last chapter.