The wine was exceptional. At least she thought it was. Lacey hadn't had a drink in what felt like forever and a few sips of the deep red liquid were enough to set her head swimming. Poppy was asleep, somehow managing to take up most of the couch and Lacey had been relegated to the floor. It wasn't so bad. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so comfortable … so safe.

'Beef or shrimp?'

She looked up to see Gold holding two Cup O' Noodles.

'Shrimp,' she said.

He eased himself down next to her, taking up the wine bottle and refilling her glass. Outside the sky was dark, the short winter day almost at an end. The television played quietly in the background, plasma screen, larger than it had any right to be. A reporter stood in the centre of Times Square, bundled up and doing his best to sound concerned as the snow swirled around. New York was threatening to grind to a standstill but Lacey couldn't bring herself to care. She changed the channel,

'Curious choice,' Gold said as the monochrome image filled the screen.

Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was something else but Lacey found herself settling back next to him, their shoulders touching. It was uncomfortable for a moment but then he relaxed, shifting into an easier position with his thigh resting against hers. She imagined it was to put less pressure on his bad leg. Her attention was drawn back to the screen,

'It's so romantic,' she sighed.

'Really?'

'Don't you see? He loves her. He's willing to sacrifice everything for her happiness.'

'Is that what you want, Miss French? Surely you'd prefer a more traditional romance? A handsome hero sweeping you off your feet?'

Lacey shook her head.

'That's not love.'

It wasn't something she had much experience with. Before Poppy love meant a drink, dinner (if she was lucky) and sex that was faster than it was satisfying … anything to stave off the loneliness for a moment. She'd craved the physical gratification and nothing more.

'And what is love, Miss French?'

'Love is truth, Mr. Gold.'

Her breath caught in her throat as she realised that his lips were terribly close to had been a time when she wouldn't have hesitated, when she would have taken everything she could get. He was rich, lonely … and he really did have the most beautiful eyes. But he didn't kiss her. He turned away.

'Lacey,' he began, 'there's something you need to know…'

But before he could finish his head snapped back. Poppy had reached out, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it hard. Lacey couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face.

'I think she likes you,' she said.

He winced as he tried to untangle himself.

'The feeling is mutual.'

Finally free, Gold gave Poppy a finger to hold. She grasped it tightly, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Seeing their faces side by side, Lacey felt a surge of affection for this man. He returned her daughter's gaze with such tenderness. Poppy gave a little whimper as she tried to shove his finger in her mouth.

'Someone's hungry,' he smiled.

Lacey reached out and snagged the diaper bag, digging deep to find the bottle she'd prepared. She offered it to Gold.

'Do you want to do the honours?'

'I … Yes … Thank you.'

He picked up Poppy, cradling her close. The little girl grumbled at first but soon latched onto the bottle he offered. Gold smiled. A real, honest genuine grin, probably the first she'd ever seen from him. Lacey scooted closer to watch her daughter feed.

'You're a natural,' she said after a while. Poppy had just about emptied the bottle.

'I've had practice.'

Of course, he'd had a son. How could she have forgotten? Gold offered her a brief smile, trying to make out that it didn't matter.

'My first wife wasn't exactly the maternal type,' he went on.

'And your second?'

He glanced down at the ring that adorned his finger.

'Gone,' he said. 'And I don't think she's coming back.'

Setting the bottle down, he lifted Poppy onto his shoulder, gently rubbing her back. Lacey handed him a cloth to protect his shirt, not that he seemed bothered by the idea of baby vomit but the material looked expensive. She'd hate for him to ruin it. Poppy snuggled against him, long eyelashes dusting onto her cheeks as her thumb wandered into her mouth.

'Sleepy baby,' Lacey cooed before yawning herself.

'It seems she's not the only one.'

He didn't seem offended.

'I'll show you the guest room.'

She took Poppy from him, the baby whimpering softly as she was deprived of her warm pillow.

The guest room was bigger than her apartment. Or at least it seemed that way. Like everywhere else in the apartment, the space was dominated by the windows. Here, however, the vast expanse of glass held a set of doors that led out onto a balcony. Lacey set Poppy down in the middle of the king-sized bed, her eyes drawn to the world outside.

'Can I?' she asked.

'Of course.'

Opening the doors a crack, she slipped out into the night. The snow was still falling, swirling around her as she leaned out over the city. Lacey took deep breaths of the cold, clean air. This place would be fabulous in summer. She imagined sitting up here, drinking iced tea whilst the rest of the city baked. A foolish dream, but one she wanted to indulge in. She needed to hold onto this … just for a little while. Tomorrow, when the snow cleared, she'd be dragged back to reality.

'Is everything all right, Miss French?'

Reaching out her hand, she let the snowflakes dust her fingertips.

'Everything's perfect,' she said.

Lacey looked over her shoulder, feeling her cheeks burn with something other than cold. He was standing close … close enough to feel his warmth. She stumbled and his free hand reached for her hip. Lacey leaned into the hesitant touch, letting him breathe in the scent of her. Slowly he closed the distance between them; his lips brushing hers with a tenderness that took her breath away … A caress as brief and delicate as the snowflakes surrounding them.

'Lacey?' he asked.

'Mr. Gold?' she smiled up at him.

He pulled back and the moment of intimacy was lost.

'I'll find you something to sleep in.'

Gold moved away, rubbing his left shoulder again, leaving Lacey wondering what she had done wrong as she followed him back inside.

Poppy seemed to be deeply asleep. Lacey stroked her cheek, reassured by the whisper of breath against her fingers. The baby stirred, suddenly pushing herself up and over onto her stomach. Despite weeks of baby push ups and tummy time, Poppy had never before shown an inclination to go anywhere by herself. Somewhere at the back of her mind Lacey figured that she should have gone front to back first but maybe Mrs. Letterman had been the witness to that minor miracle. Now, at least, Lacey had someone to share the moment with.

'Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold ... Come see what Poppy did!'

Scooping Poppy up in her arms, she rushed down the hallway, hesitating when she came to the door of what she guessed was Gold's bedroom.

She knocked.

'Mr. Gold?'

When he didn't reply, she pushed the door open. The room was dark, smaller than the one he'd given her, decorated in deep red and dark wood. A pair of dark blue silk pyjamas spilled across the floor. It took a moment for her to spot Gold. He was propped up against the bed. Grey and sweating, his hand clamped to his left shoulder. He looked up at her, brown eyes pleading,

Lacey dropped to her knees, setting Poppy down beside him.

'What is it? What's wrong?'

'It's my heart.'

He was gasping for breath. His lips tinged blue.

'Please… phone… my jacket.'

Lacey stumbled to her feet, running through the apartment on legs that no longer seemed able to bear her weight. She found his jacket, almost ripping the fine fabric as she fought to pull it from the chair where it had been slung. Gold's phone skidded across the floor. She grabbed it, fingers fumbling as she dialled 911.