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Summary
Excerpts from the lives of one Belle French and a Mr. R. Gold in which they are slowly, inevitably, drawn together.
_________________________________It was in that moment Gold found his voice again, and it came out small, almost reedy from the thickness of emotional congestion.
“I love you too, Bae.”
This earned him a tired, sarcastic scoff and a narrow, sleepy look over the banister.
“Where do you get off on calling me that?” Bael asked, and added, with a playful wag of the finger and a mock Brooklyn accent: “I ain’t a kid anymore.”
Then he slipped away, padding off into the comforting darkness of the house.
And Gold felt a bit better.