It was a week after Belle's dramatic outburst at Mr. Gold (which meant two and half weeks of independence) and she hadn't seen even a passing glance of him since that Sunday evening in his shop. She hoped he wasn't secretly plotting revenge to destroy her. So far she hadn't seen any signs of it. She was able to get a job at the stables in the animal shelter and had gotten a generous bit of money from her father as a sort of apology present. She heard whispers of what Mr. Gold had done to him after missing a loan payment (and stealing from him, but people neglected to mention that part for her sake) and was reluctant to accept the money lest it happen again. Her father awkwardly assured her not to worry and to use the money for whatever she saw fit.
So Belle decided she had over stayed her welcome at Granny's and was going to find a place of her own.
"No dear I insist. Don't spend all that money on a down payment for an apartment, stay here a while longer. I insist." Granny pleaded with her.
"I'm sorry but I need to show people, and myself, that I'm capable of this. And besides, that's a good room you could use for someone else; someone else who will pay."
Granny laughed, "No one ever comes to town, and if they did they wouldn't stay the night. There's not anything here to stay for."
"Still," Belle persisted, "Let me do this for me."
"All right," Granny surrendered, "I know a place that's not only nice but it's cheap, too. You should be able to afford a monthly rent as well as extra for utilities, groceries, and some extra on top of that. But if you ever need a place to stay, you come see me. I'm more than happy to help you out."
"Thank you so much," Belle smiled at her, "you've been much to kind."
Belle went outside and took the mile long walk to the seaside, choosing a bench and pulling out her new cell phone (the cheapest one available but good enough for who it's for) and dialed the number on the napkin.
It only rang once before it was answered, "Mr. Gold speaking."
It took her off guard, to hear his voice on the other end, and also to realize she had missed it. She shook herself out of it, "Yes, Hi. Mr. Gold. It's Isabelle French, I'm the one who…" she trailed off, unsure of how to word it.
"Ah yes, I remember you," he answered casually, but inside his chest his heart was going out of control. He had literally gone out of his way to avoid her for a week, causing his bad leg three times as much pain, and now here she was, talking to him on the phone. He supposed it was better than seeing her face to face; the nights immediately following that Sunday were horrible. Nightmares and fantasies combined plagued him every time he closed his eyes, not to mention the memories during the conscious moments of the day. He didn't need that again, not after just getting her out of his head. "What can I help you with Miss French?"
"I'd like to rent an apartment," She informed him. Of course she wanted to rent an apartment, a process which required a tour, a transaction arrangement, and collection of funds after that. All of which was done in person.
"I'm sure we can make that a plausible achievement. Did you have one in mind?"
"Actually, yes. I was told the 'Tower' apartments were nice."
"Of course," he whispered. He was being torn apart by the irony, completely unnoticed by her. "It's required of me to give you a tour before you sign a rental agreement. When would you like to get that over with?"
"Wow," it was her turn to whisper, "Not very subtle about your feelings, are you?"
"You have no idea," he smiled to himself.
"Well, how about we get it over with today then. Perhaps I can even move in this evening."
"Yes," He agreed, his stomach sinking at the thought of another four or five nights of torture, "Let's." It would be worth it.
"That's essentially all there is. It's a simple apartment, really," He finished up the three room tour, having successfully made no eye contact the entire time, but unsuccessfully avoiding looking at her all together. He would pay later, but again, it was worth it.
"Where do I sign?" Belle beamed, ecstatic at the thought of being on her own and taking care of herself.
"Well," Mr. Gold settled into a chair, placing a black folder on top of the small dining table in front of him, "I'm asking for an initial down payment of six month's rent, and since it is pre-furnished I will need a larger safety deposit, which brings your total to two thousand dollars." He folded his hands atop the folder and looked at her, making eye contact for the first time all day.
"What?" Belle looked at him like he had just told her Regina was a fairy princess.
He smiled his usual half smile, "Is something wrong with that price?"
"It's so low," She was still stunned, "If that cost is six month's rent and a security deposit…Why is it so low?"
"Oh I don't know," He gestured with one hand in the air, "I've had a change of heart. I can raise it if you would like."
"No, you don't have to go and do that for my sake. I'm just wondering, what's the catch?" She eyed him suspiciously.
An idea began to construct itself in his mind. At first he pushed it away, but then… being a coward is what made this awful mess in the first place. "Just one small price to pay," he swallowed. It's now or never. She bit her lip nervously, and he wanted so badly to stop her in the act, to sweep her away and tell her 'Don't worry about the apartment, come and stay with me. Just like old times.' He desperately wanted to fall to his knees in front of her, begging for her to forgive him for being so damned cowardly and foolish.
But as much as she was still his Belle, she didn't know it. He would look like a fool and would ruin any chance he had at getting her back. He had to do this the proper way, "My small price is dinner. With me. I'll pay."
She looked at him apprehensively for a moment, and he was so worried he had blown it. But then nodded. Slowly the smile returned, "Where do I sign?"
It had been thirty years since either person had fussed over their appearance. But on this Wednesday evening there was a perfectly legitimate reason. As Mr. Gold debated colors of ties and pocket squares, Belle fussed with her hair and the neckline of her new dress, purchased just for this occasion. It was a simple piece really, a straight, form fitting, soft golden dress with a scooping neckline. She settled with pulling her hair back and tying it away from her neck and shoulders. After putting on red lipstick and giving herself one final glance (and confidence booster) in the mirror, Belle locked up her apartment and headed to Mr. Gold's restaurant choice: Le Chateau Noir.
She stumbled a few times on her way to the eatery, a combination of getting used to her strappy three inch black heels (or rather getting the heel stuck in the sidewalk crack) and being deep in thought. She was relieved beyond words she didn't run into anyone she knew well on the way, and then having to explain where she was going for what and with whom.
She approached the tall black restaurant at almost the same time as her inviter and quickened her pace as he slowed his, both meeting in front of a bench next to the small stairs leading up to the door. He smiled, again only that half smile, and offered her his left arm, "You look stunning, Ms. French," He told her softly with that captivating accent of his. Luckily he had seen her coming down the sidewalk and had time to compose himself before she reached him, or he would still have been speechless and, very possibly, called the whole thing off. But he could not afford to be a coward. Not this time.
"Thank you for the compliment, you look nice as well," she blushed, noticing that the color of his tie, which stood out against black dress shirt, black vest, black suit jacket, (didn't this man own any color?) was a dead match to the color of her dress. She would have to ask him about that later. Now they were entering the restaurant, and receiving looks ranging from astonishment to distaste. What had the beast done to ensnare such a beauty?
Mr. Gold hadn't said a word to the hostess, who sat them at a small table for two in a softly lit corner. Ever the gentleman, Gold pulled out the chair for Belle, giving her another half-smile, and then settled into his own across from her. A waiter brought two waters and filled their wine glasses with a dark red wine, and left before any thanks could be offered.
"Why does no one ask any questions? What if I didn't want wine?" Belle inquired of Mr. Gold.
He leaned back in his chair, surveying her, not helping the small not half-smile that crossed his lips, "Would you like something different? And if you would prefer something other than pasta primavera speak now so I can let the kitchen know," his smile turned into the usual as he spoke.
Belle sighed, "You pre-planned the entire evening, didn't you?" She couldn't help but smile. This was the man whom the town feared, who had gone out of his way to set up every detail from drinks to desserts on his dinner arrangement with her. But the more she became aware of the situation and the surroundings; she began to wonder if it was more than just an arrangement, but not quite so much a date. "I'm sure your choice of entrée will be excellent,"
They slowly meandered through the town square park, past the duck pond, past the fountain, under the rising moon and the setting sun which painted marvelous colors across the sky, "Pity the coastline faces east," Mr. Gold said looking up at the pink clouds, his expression unreadable, "It would have been nice to see the sunset."
"What's so grand about a sunset?" Belle questioned, "It may be beautiful yes but it's the end. A reminder of all the things that went unfinished, and all the moments that ended. At the end of a day you only have memories and regret. But a sunrise? A sunrise is a new beginning, a new day to make more memories and to avoid the regret. A fresh start," As she spoke she day dreamed, fiddling with the clasp on her small black purse. Mr. Gold had stuffed his free hand in the pocket of his jacket so keep from grabbing at hers. The other was (here's a thought he never thought he'd have) blessedly occupied by his cane.
"Is that what we need?" he asked roughly, "A fresh start?" She thought he was referring to her outburst, but in reality he was talking about so much more.
"Our…" she trailed off, uncertain of how to word it, "confrontation," it would have to do, "was regrettable, yes. But I wouldn't say I wish it had never happened. That past is what influences us how to act around each other. It's what gives us the type of relationship we have," He had stopped walking sometime back. She turned around to face him, seeing once again brokenness and despair, but something different this time. This time there was a spark of hope, and a hint of joy.
"We have a…" he stuttered over the words in shock, "a relationship?" he swallowed.
"Oh! Not like that, silly," she flushed, going back to his side and looping her right arm around his left, but then pulled away, realizing what that might be implying, regardless of what she had said. Actions speak louder than words, after all. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was giving that impression," Belle frowned.
There she went, apologizing to him again, "Don't be sorry," he told her, "I'm much more at fault than you are." And there flashed the half-smile.
"I think you're lonely," For the second time that night he stopped at her words, and for the billionth time in the last two weeks he wondered just how much she knew, "I think any man would be." He put all of his being into keeping himself standing in that spot, five feet away from her. He couldn't run over to her and take her face in his hands, kissing away every bad memory, every mistake, every moment spent apart. He couldn't beg her to come home with him, to spend every moment together from now on, both waking and sleeping. No, he had to do this slowly, and with much bravery. Not only for propriety's sake, but he decided he wanted her to remember what he did, how he treated her, before she made any decisions about loving him again. But how in the hell was he supposed to go about doing that?
"You know," he decided to say it jokingly, just to measure her reaction, "it might not be so bad."
He had caught up to her place on the path, "What would?"
"A relationship with me." Now it was her turn to stop walking, and he did as well after a few more steps.
"What kind of relationship? Because even hating someone is a relationship," She knew what kind he was trying to get at, but wasn't aware that he was joking. She didn't consider such matters a joke. She was approaching the age of thirty, and a romantic relationship was very much an option for her, even desirable, but with Mr. Gold?
"Oh I don't know," he had a response picked out, but was it too harsh? Would it only push her away? Or would it make it clear that this conversation was a joke? "The kind of relationship women always dream about. I'm imposing, I'm rich, and," he pursed his lips, working up the nerve to say it, "I may be a tad bit rusty, but nothing a little use won't fix," He braced himself for a slap, a shout, her to just up and leave, but none of that happened.
Belle's eyes widened at what he was implying, almost proposing, could happen. And then she realized his intentions.
"That one was a quip," he whispered solemnly, "Not serious,"
She laughed her relief, "Of course." But now the thought was in her head, and it wasn't unpleasant. While they had conversed the sky had gotten dark and stars twinkled overhead, above wisps of cloud lit up by the moon. It was unseasonably warm for a night in March, but Belle still felt chills. "It's getting late," she whispered, "I have work in the morning. I should head home." She wrapped her arms around herself and walked past him to head home.
"Wait." He caught her shoulder as she went by, stopping her, their bodies making a T-shape, "Let me walk you," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
She smiled, "That would be nice, thank you," but shook his hand off, "But I need time alone to think." And she hurried away into the night, leaving him with brokenness on his face, and only brokenness.