Note: I'm really sorry about the cliffhanger… Well, not really sorry… But here is the date proper, at last! In which we learn some more about Mr Gold, and there is fun with desserts. As usual: Thanks to the guest reviewers and please no spoilers in reviews or PM's yet!

Carrot Cake

Chapter Six

It was only when he arrived in the cathedral green that Gold wondered if meeting there hadn't been quite such a good idea. If he was being brutally honest, it was because he was paranoid. Meeting here gave her a chance to back out if she wanted; simply not to turn up if she got cold feet at the last minute. If he'd offered to pick her up, it would have meant she had no escape route, and she'd have had to tell him where she lived before she'd had a real chance to assess whether he was likely to be a potential stalker, psychopath or pervert. Not that Gold really believed that Belle thought him any of those things, but he was still aware that this courtship – as old-fashioned as the word sounded it was the only one he thought appropriate – had to be handled extremely carefully.

On the face of it, it seemed like a reasonable place to meet – a nice, big, open space and the floodlit cathedral looking romantic in the background in the waning evening light. Unfortunately, there were at least four different paths into the green and Gold had no idea from which direction Belle would be coming. He perched on the wall outside the Royal Clarence, hoping he could keep an eye on the majority of the possible entrances from the fairly central position.

Gold almost didn't recognise Belle when he saw her step out of her taxi; he'd only ever seen her wearing her brown uniform, with or without a green fleece jacket over it, and her rich brown curls had always been scraped back in a knot to keep them out of the food. Now they bounced around her face as she saw him and half-walked, half-ran across, smiling shyly.

"Mr Gold, I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

"Not at all, Miss French. Shall we?"

Her eyes flickered across to the hotel.

"We aren't going in there, are we?" she asked nervously.

"I'm afraid not." He nodded towards the little Italian tucked away on one corner, squashed between a jeweller's and the cathedral souvenir shop. "We're going in there."

"Thank God. They use cutlery I've never heard of in that place."

Gold had to laugh.

"I can't say I've ever had the experience."

"Neither have I, but Ruby used to waitress there before Granny started the café. Apparently it took her half an hour to set a table for two and the maitre d' used to come round with a ruler to make sure that all the knives and forks were the correct distance apart."

"Ruby being your slightly mad colleague with the bright red highlights and the habit of hiding behind the cakes?"

"Erm, yes." Belle looked slightly sheepish. "She means well, but…"

"It's all right. I've been dealing in family law long enough to be used to being stared at from behind things. Generally filing cabinets. But I must admit, the culprits are usually seven-year-olds, not twenty-seven."

They were ushered to a cosy table in one corner, under the stairs.

"Have they put us out of the way because they think we'll cause trouble?" Belle whispered.

"Perhaps. Maybe they think we're going to leave without paying so they've put us as far away from the door as possible."

Belle smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes, which were still clouded with nervousness. It was in that moment that Gold made up his mind – if he did nothing else, he would elicit a genuine smile from her, one that lit up her face and made her blue eyes shine. That was the smile that he had seen on that first day, the smile that had kept him looking out for her. He watched Belle reading the menu and the wine list.

"Well, I know what I'd like to eat, but I'm rubbish with wine. I can differentiate between white, red, pink and bubbly but that's about the limit of my knowledge." She passed him the list and Gold scanned down it. "You'll have to pick."

"Well, it depends on what you're eating," he said, "Zinfandel goes well with just about anything, try that."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Are you not partaking?" she asked. Gold shook his head.

"I'm driving," he said by way of explanation.

"Oh. Fair enough." Belle bit her lip. "Sorry, I feel bad now, drinking when you're not. I'll just have orange juice."

"It doesn't matter, honestly." He raised his eyebrows. "Or are you worried you'll get sloshed on one glass and reveal all your deepest, darkest secrets?"

Belle blushed.

"I'll have you know that I can handle my wine very well, thank you. Spirits slightly less so. Oh dear…" She covered her face with her hands. "First date and I'm discussing getting drunk."

"Well, I can say with hand on heart that I have no intention of plying you with Jack Daniels," Gold said. "And I'd be joining you in the Zinfandel if I'd had enough foresight not to drive here."

Belle protested when he ordered her a glass but gave in with good grace when the drinks arrived and she toasted her wine against his lime and soda.

"Happy Thursday," she said.

"Most definitely."

Belle sipped her wine and paused.

"Surely one glass wouldn't take you over the limit?"

Gold felt his grip on his tumbler tighten imperceptibly.

"I'd rather not take the risk," he said eventually. "You can guarantee that the day you're not careful is the day something'll happen. My licence has been clean since I got it and that's a track record I'd like to keep." It was at least true, if not the full story.

"You're better than my dad," Belle said with a snort. "He knows several different ways of being just under the limit."

"Well, he's a lucky man," Gold murmured. He could tell her the reason why he never touched alcohol when he was behind the wheel. She would understand, he could tell that. He could see it in her eyes, kind and non-judgmental, unlike Regina who had sneered at his abstinence. But it was not a story for the first date. He steered the conversation onto more neutral ground, asking her how her day had gone, but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering.

Up until ten years ago, Gold had taken much the same view as Belle's father evidently did. The limit was there for a reason and it was to be respected, but as long as that limit wasn't zero, one glass couldn't hurt. Under the limit, but under the influence as well. Until Bae…

Gold had been sober. Who drank at four in the afternoon for Christ's sake? He'd been taking Bae home from football; going over the crest of a hill they'd met a car on the wrong side, overtaking blindly on what was usually a very quiet road. He had slammed the brakes on and the other driver had swerved, clipping the passenger side of Gold's car and sending it spinning out of control across the road and head on into a tree.

Gold's right leg was broken in three places, including his kneecap, and he'd been lame ever since.

His son was killed outright.

The other driver escaped with minor injuries and pleaded guilty to causing death by dangerous driving. He had been just under the limit, and Gold had known, from that day on, that one glass could really, really hurt...

He forced himself away from the dark thoughts and concentrated on Belle, on the way she moved her hands more and more as she got into her subject. It was clear to him that she adored books, reading, libraries, anything to do with the written word.

"My biggest dream is…" She cut off and looked down at her fork. "No, that's silly."

"I'm intrigued now, my dear," he said.

"Ok. But you have to promise not to laugh, because it is silly."

"I promise."

"All right." Belle looked him in the eye. "My biggest dream is to visit Trinity College library in Dublin. I've seen pictures of it and it looks so beautiful. I mean, the central lending library here is perfectly functional, but it's not what you'd call pretty. I think that books deserve better than that. Majestic words need majestic surroundings." She paused as their food arrived and they began to eat in silence. "I told you it was silly."

"I don't think it's silly at all," said Gold.

"Really? Most people just despair of me when I tell them. 'Not more books!' they cry. 'Why not swimming with dolphins or going to Australia?' Well, I'm not all that into dolphins and I've come from Australia, so Trinity College library is good enough for me." She speared a mushroom on her fork and contemplated it before giving him a cheeky little grin. "Enough about me. What's you big aspiration?"

"I… I have no idea." He'd never really thought about it too deeply before. If anyone had ever asked him anything akin in the past before he'd moved here, they'd received a snarled reply along the lines of 'having my son back and walking unaided' for their trouble, but that wasn't an answer that he could give to Belle.

"Come on, there must be something. Places you want to see, mountains you want to climb. Well, probably not the mountains," she amended hastily on seeing his raised eyebrow. Gold smiled; she was relaxing now, far less nervous than when she had stepped out of the cab. He decided that he might as well be honest with her; she'd been honest with him.

"Well, up until now I would probably have said taking you out to dinner. But I've achieved that now, so I'll have to think of something else."

Belle opened her mouth to suggest something, blushed and closed it again, dropping her fork and narrowly avoiding sending mushrooms and parmesan splattering over the tablecloth. Whatever she'd been going to say, it was evidently too audacious to her mind, and she'd decided against it at the last minute. He didn't push the point and they lapsed back into silence.

"I feel like I've been doing all the talking," Belle said suddenly. "I've practically given you my life story and I know nothing about yours."

"Well, my life story's considerably longer than yours, I should imagine," Gold said. "We might be here a while."

Belle rolled her eyes.

"You can't be that old," she said. "How old are you, anyway? Forty-five?"

"You're very kind, Belle, but aiming a bit too low." They might as well get it out in the open now instead of skirting around the issue. The age difference was an elephant in the room that Gold hadn't wanted to think about, but it was a fairly fundamental issue.

"Forty-six? Seven? Eight?"

Gold nodded slightly.

"I was only three years out!" Belle exclaimed."Hmm. How strange. There's the same difference between you and me as there was between my parents."

And it was clear that this didn't faze her in the slightest. Gold let out the breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding.

"May I ask the age gap?"

"That's a nicely subtle way of asking a lady her age without asking." Belle smiled. "Twenty years. I'm twenty-eight in January." She shrugged. "If Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas can still be going strong with twenty-five years between them I don't see why there should be any stigma attached to a smaller gap. Well." Belle speared another mushroom happily. "Now that that's cleared up, you still haven't told me anything about you. What do you do when you're not suing people?"

"Believe it or not, I do actually try to avoid suing people. It saves an awful lot of time and money when things don't go to court." Gold paused. "To answer your question properly, I collect things. Things that other people probably think are junk, but I disagree."

"Like chipped tea-cups."

"Hmm. I like to think of that as a souvenir. Coming to think of it, most of what I own is some sort of souvenir. It's more interesting than keeping a diary; I don't have the patience or inclination for that, but it's nice to look at something and know the story behind it."

"Hmm…" Belle was studying him carefully as he spoke. "So what's the story behind your cufflinks? I've been thinking about them for a while now."

Gold furrowed his brow.

"Why?" He risked a glance down at his wrists. They were an old pair, almost as old as Belle herself, but they were good to fall back on in times of uncertainty.

"Because they don't match," Belle said. "Normally I wouldn't think anything of it but you don't seem like the sort of man who'd be scatterbrained enough to mismatch cufflinks by accident."

"They're not the same, but they are a pair." Gold pushed his jacket sleeves up a little so that she could see the links more clearly. "It's the sword and scales of Lady Justice. Lawyers' symbols, basically."

"Oh yes, the woman on top of the Old Bailey. Sorry, couldn't put two and two together there."

"It's all right. As for their story, it's quite simple. They were a present from my supervisor when I qualified."

"I see." Belle toyed with her fork although there was nothing left on her plate to pick up. "How long does it take?"

"What, to qualify?"

"Yes." Her smile was self-deprecating. "I've been working opposite solicitors for over a year and I know nothing about them other than their coffee preferences. Or tea, in your case. Earl Grey, no milk or sugar. I remember these things."

Gold laughed.

"Generally six years. Three-year degree, one-year training course, two years training on the job. Thinking of a career change?"

"Not really. I'm just intrigued. That's what comes of too many books. Makes you nosy."

"Makes you inquisitive," Gold corrected. "Not nosy."

The waiter came to take their plates and bring dessert menus.

"Oh crumbs," Belle murmured, her eyes widening. "This is always the hardest part."

"Do you like tiramisu?" Gold asked. She looked at him, the corner of her mouth twitching up in the promise of a smile.

"Do you?"

"Not particularly, no, but if you like tiramisu then I'd recommend it."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Do you come here a lot?"

"No," Gold admitted, "I've been here once. But I'm still recommending the tiramisu."

"How do you know I'll like it?" Belle teased.

"I don't. But I know you'll be impressed by it."

"That sounds rather ominous."

Ominous or not, she ordered it anyway. They'd lapsed into silence again, Belle worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The unease had returned to her manner, and Gold was unsure of the reason for her insecurity.

"So… How did you find out about this place?" she asked lightly. "I keep forgetting it exists."

That was it, her tell. Gold was no cardsharp but he'd bet his last she was thinking of the previous occasion he'd visited the restaurant and who he'd brought. Time to set her mind at rest.

"At the end of my first week at Guildhall, Fox and my other colleagues decided it would be a good idea to have a bit of a 'getting to know everyone' session in different surroundings to the office. We came here. The evening was probably not the success that Mr Fox had hoped, since I managed to get into the first of many arguments with Ms Mills, and Mr Fox himself got so plastered that Kathryn had to come and take him home. But I did discover the tiramisu."

Belle laughed, and at last, it seemed that her final inhibitions had been lowered. For the first time that evening, her smile lit up her eyes, and for a few moments afterwards, she would break off into spasmodic giggles at the thought of the upstanding and respectable Mr Fox absolutely legless. Gold didn't mind, he'd achieved what he'd set out to do and been graced with Belle's beautiful, genuine smile. He smiled himself at the memory. Fox had been distinctly sheepish the following Monday morning, no doubt having come to the hungover realisation that three members of their party of six had been stone cold sober all evening and could recall the events an awful lot more clearly than he could.

Dessert arrived, and Belle spent a full two minutes staring at her tiramisu with nothing short of stupefied amazement. Gold was on the verge of giving up being a gentleman and waiting for her to start before picking up his own spoon when she spoke.

"Ok, consider me duly impressed. Good lord, is that chocolate bubble wrap?"

Gold peered at the chunks of white chocolate sticking out of the top of the tiramisu, the dessert itself being presented inside a chocolate shell very much akin to a rosebud. It did indeed look as if it had been formed by pouring molten chocolate over bubble wrap.

"I think it might be."

"Oh no, it looks too pretty to eat!" She paused. "Will you think me really, really weird if I take a picture of my pudding?" A sly little grin crept over her mouth. "It would be a souvenir."

Gold spread his hands.

"Be my guest, if it means you'll eat it afterwards."

Belle fished out her phone and took a picture of the tiramisu before picking up her spoon and attacking it happily. The quiet that followed was not uncomfortable, and as soon as the plates were cleared, Belle began to speak again, a little more animated now. She asked him how he and Sidney were getting on with the temp who'd replaced Ashley – abysmally, he admitted, they needed their trusted secretary back as soon as possible. He asked her about the latest mishaps from the café. It was a shame that they'd only got into this easy conversation at the end of the meal, but Gold hoped that there would be plenty more opportunities in the future. Coffee drunk, there really was no way of prolonging the evening, and he settled up. It was probably better this way, they could quit whilst they were ahead and not risk overdoing it.

It was a clear night, and a cool wind had started up. Belle shivered when they stepped into the street, despite coat and cardigan. She was halfway through dialling for a taxi when Gold realised what she was doing.

"It's not the best of nights to wait for a cab," he said. "I'd be happy to give you a lift home if you'd like."

Belle nodded.

"That would be very kind of you, thank you."

"My pleasure."

The drive to her house was criminally short. As he switched the engine off, Gold felt Belle's cold fingers enclose around his on the gear stick. He looked round at her, making out her smile in the streetlight.

"Thank you, Mr Gold," she said softly. "I had a lovely evening. The tiramisu was wonderful, and the company was perfect."

"Thank you, Miss French. I am in complete agreement."

"Despite the fact you didn't taste the tiramisu."

"The company more than made up for it."

"We should definitely do this again." Belle's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Next Thursday?"

Gold's heart leapt to his mouth.

"Where did you have in mind?" he asked. Belle merely smiled.

"I think it's my turn to surprise you," she said. "But keep your lunch hour free."

She said nothing more, instead leaning in and kissing his cheek, rendering him momentarily mute.

"Thank you," he managed eventually, horribly aware of how completely idiotic he sounded. "May I return the favour?"

"By all means."

He pressed his lips to her cheek, breathing in her scent as he did. She smelled of rose and raspberry and Zinfandel; beautiful, in short.

"Good night, Belle," he said.

"Good night, Gold."

He watched her safely through her front door before driving away. It was a very good night indeed.

To be continued