Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Belle French was twenty-six years old, and she felt like she had absolutely no prospects. Sure, she was a dedicated worker at her father’s flower shop, a loyal friend to those she cared about, but beyond that, she had nothing. No aspirations, no goals, no driving force—she hadn’t for a long time. She couldn’t quite figure out why, either. There was no single reason, it was just how things had turned out.

She had spent her entire life in Storybrooke, always knowing that she would one day inherit her parents’ shop. However when her mother passed away while Belle was still in high school, she stepped in to take her place without hesitation. Her father was endlessly grateful, often calling her his saving grace.

But Belle didn’t feel like a saving grace. In fact, she felt like she was slowly slipping away from the person she once wanted to be. Ten years had passed, and she was still arranging bouquets, watering flowers, and going through the motions. There was no passion left in it anymore.

“Petal?” Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to him, offering the smile she had perfected over the years.

“Yeah, Dad?” she asked, tilting her head as she watched him fumble for something in his pocket.

“Can you grab us some lunch? I want to go over the orders for the new flowers,” he said with a warm smile.

She nodded, a little too quickly. “Of course, Dad.” Taking the money from his hand, she grabbed her coat and hurried out of the shop, feeling the weight of her unspoken thoughts follow her out the door.

Belle took a deep breath as she made her way down the familiar path to the diner. At the least she was getting to see Ruby. She was her closest friend and well she at least used to understand Belle's feelings of stagnancy. Lately, it felt like her grandmother had started to rely on her more for managing the diner, a role Ruby was growing into, rather than simply being the waitress she had once started as.

The thought was making her queasy so she quickly drifted her focus over Storybrooke, its unchanging streets and buildings. It often felt like the town was frozen in time, like everything was in a constant loop. But it wasn’t the town—it was just her, trapped in the same place, day after day. Her eyes then shifted to the library, and a pang of nostalgia hit her. She remembered when it was open, and her mother would read to her on the carpet in the corner. She recalled how devastated she’d been when Mrs. Kettle passed, and with her, the town’s interest in keeping the library alive. There was no one left who seemed to care about its importance, and it felt like something valuable had been lost.

She hummed softly, lost in thought for a moment, but then she remembered her father was waiting for her to pick up lunch. With a slight shake of her head, she pulled herself away from the library’s familiar sight and quickened her pace toward the diner.

Belle settled onto one of the stools at the counter and quietly waited for Ruby to notice her. Ruby was in the middle of a conversation with her grandmother, so Belle just took in the familiar surroundings, letting her mind wander. It wasn’t long before Granny tapped Ruby on the shoulder and pointed towards Belle, prompting Ruby to glance over. When she saw Belle, her face lit up with a bright smile, and she slid over to the counter with her usual energetic grace.

"Hey, Bluebelle," Ruby greeted, resting her head on her hand and tilting her head slightly to one side. "Here for you and your dad's usual?" she asked sweetly.

Belle gave a small nod, letting out a soft sigh. "Yep." She watched as Ruby quickly jotted down the order and dashed off to the kitchen with practiced efficiency.

It struck Belle how different Ruby was now compared to the twenty-year-old who used to laugh with her about how "annoying" Granny was. Ruby had grown into someone more mature, more settled. She seemed genuinely happy in her role, while Belle... Belle felt like she was stuck in time, frozen in the same place she had always been. The thought made her think of the library again, how it too felt trapped in the past.

Belle hummed lightly to herself, a small chuckle escaping her lips. It was almost ironic, really. When she was younger, she had devoured books. She loved analyzing stories, getting lost in the worlds of characters, finding meaning in their struggles. But after her mother passed, something shifted. She packed away all of her books, shoving them into the closet of her room, and quietly began following her father’s guidance on horticulture. She had traded in stories for stems of roses, but in doing so, it felt like she had buried a part of herself too.

The brown bags of food were placed gently on the counter in front of Belle, and she quickly dropped the money next to them before standing up.
"Are we still on for Saturday?" Ruby asked with a hopeful gleam in her eye.

Belle turned back to her and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” She gave Ruby a small wave before heading for the door, the bags of food in hand.

As she stepped outside, her gaze once again fell on the library, and something stirred inside her. She hadn’t thought about that place in years, but now, the idea of it felt oddly fascinating. She felt an unexpected connection to it, like part of her still lived within those walls, between the shelves of books her mother had once read to her. Maybe, just maybe, one day, someone would open it back up.

Wasn't that a novel thought?

As she continued walking, the thought stayed with her, almost haunting. Opening it up.
The idea grew clearer in her mind, and for the first time in a long time, something flickered inside her. It was a good idea—a great idea—but only if someone would step up.
Why couldn’t it be her?

As Belle’s thoughts swirled around the idea of reopening the library, her gaze was drawn down the street to the bustling figure of Baelfire Gold, rushing into his father’s antiques shop. But instead of focusing on the boy, her eyes drifted upward, lingering on the faded sign of his father’s business.

She’d never had much interaction with Mr. Gold. In fact, most people in Storybrooke tried to keep their distance from him. His reputation was as big as his wealth, and it loomed over the town like a shadow. He practically owned everything in town—real estate, businesses, the works—and his presence seemed to pervade every corner of Storybrooke. As if that wasn't enough, he had his own shop, an antique business that was as mysterious and well-kept as its owner.

Belle couldn’t help but wonder, Could he be the one to back this idea? Her heart raced at the thought. If anyone had the resources—and the influence—to make her library dream a reality, it would be Mr. Gold. But asking for his help... that was another matter entirely. His reputation as a man who didn’t offer favors without expecting something in return made her hesitate.

Still, the idea of bringing the library back to life gnawed at her, and the thought of it being so close—just one conversation away—felt like the universe had thrown her a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, this was the chance she’d been waiting for.

With one last glance at the shop, Belle shook her head. She couldn’t go to him without a plan. Not yet, anyway. She turned away, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest, but the flicker of hope that had ignited in her wouldn’t die. Not this time.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Belle had made up her mind to reopen the library. A week since she had decided that Mr. Gold was her best bet at doing so. It also been a week since she had stood outside his shop, only to turn on her heel and walk away because she didn’t have the right words, the right plan, the right confidence.

Every day, she came close. Every day, she hovered outside his antique shop, steeling herself to step inside, only to retreat back to her father’s flower shop instead. Her safety net in other words.

Now, an hour after finishing the paperwork she had meticulously prepared for Mr. Gold, she forced herself to scan it again, double-checking every detail. The grammar, the punctuation. Making sure everything was as flawless as it could be. More importantly, she had made sure to present herself as an asset, not just someone chasing a whimsical dream. She had researched antiques, restoration techniques, and the inner workings of running a shop like his. Of course, she’d still need hands-on training, but she had no doubt she could learn on the job.

She exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers against her temple.
This was ridiculous. She was acting like a fool. Just because Mr. Gold had the money, the influence, and the power to make this happen didn’t mean he’d be willing to entertain some woman’s idealistic vision of reviving a rundown library. He wasn’t exactly known for his charity.

But what did she have to lose? Her pride? That had been lost to her ages ago. And, in the end, wasn’t it better to take a chance than to give up without even trying?
Belle took a steadying breath before stepping toward her closet, her fingers sifting through the neatly arranged clothes. She needed to look professional or at the least put together. Something that said she was serious. Her hands landed on a fitted vest, a crisp white collared shirt, and black pants. She supposed that would do for the arrangement.

She dressed quickly, smoothing out any wrinkles, before turning to her bed where the neatly stacked papers lay. Grabbing them, she held them close to her chest and hurried out of her room. As she passed through the living room, her father’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Where are you heading out to, Petal?” His brow lifted in curiosity.

She froze for half a second. She hadn’t told him anything about her plan. Why would she? The chances of this working were slim at best, and if she failed, she’d rather do it quietly.

But she wasn’t about to invite his worry. Instead, she turned to him with a practiced smile. “Oh, I’m just going out with the girls for the day.”

Her father smiled back, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Alright, Petal, just stay safe.”

Belle nodded before quickly stepping out the door, letting out a quiet sigh as she shut it behind her. Then, without giving herself a moment to hesitate, she started walking as fast as she could. The sooner she got to Mr. Gold’s shop, the less time she’d have to talk herself out of it.

Belle stood frozen at the door of the antique shop, her fingers tightening around the papers in her hands. Through the window, she saw no indication that Mr. Gold was inside. Maybe that was a sign. Maybe she should just turn around, go home, and forget she ever thought she could pull this off.

This was ridiculous.
Who was she in the grand scheme of things? A florist’s daughter with a half-baked dream. Mr. Gold had no reason to entertain her proposal, and she had a handful of good reasons to walk away.
Just as she was about to do exactly that, a small voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Are you here to see my papa?”

Belle flinched slightly, turning to see Baelfire Gold gazing up at her with curious eyes.

She licked her lips, glancing at the door again. For a brief moment, the thought of making an excuse crossed her mind. But she had come this far, hadn't she? Exhaling, she forced herself to nod. “Yes, actually.”

Baelfire hummed in understanding before pushing the door open. “Well, come on. He’s probably in the back fixing his silly things.” He giggled, then looked up at her expectantly.

Belle hesitated for only a moment longer before stepping forward, past the threshold. The bell above the door jingled, the scent of aged wood and polished brass filling her senses.
No turning back now.

“Bae, son, is that you?” A voice called from the back, softer than the cold, sharp tone Belle had always imagined from the rumors.

“Yeah, Papa. And a customer,” Baelfire replied before pausing and humming thoughtfully. “I think.”

There was a brief silence before the voice returned, this time with a sharper edge. “Give me just a moment.”

Belle straightened slightly, instinctively smoothing her vest as she heard the distinct tapping of a cane against the wooden floor. A moment later, the curtain separating the front of the shop from the back swayed as Mr. Gold stepped through. His sharp gaze swept the room before landing on her.

“Ah. Miss French, am I correct?” He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, his expression unreadable.

Belle nodded and stepped forward, moving around the counter to stand in front of him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of dealing with one of my better tenant’s daughter?” he asked smoothly, resting a single hand on the counter and tapping his fingers in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

Belle inhaled deeply, steadying herself, before placing the neatly stacked papers near his fingertips. His brow lifted as he glanced from her to the documents in front of him.

“You see, Mr. Gold, I understand that someone of your means must have people coming to you with all sorts of propositions,” she began carefully. “But I genuinely believe I have a good one that may catch your attention.”

He let out a short, noncommittal hum, signaling her to continue.

“As you know, the library has been closed for nearly two decades.”

Mr. Gold gave a slight nod, his lips pressing together.

“Well,” she pushed forward, “I was hoping you might assist me in renovating it. Not for nothing, of course—I would work off the investment by working for you.”

“Woah, you’re going to open up the library?” Baelfire’s voice cut through the silence, his excitement palpable. Mr. Gold’s attention snapped to his son, his expression darkening.
“Bae, I never agreed to that,” he murmured before turning back to Belle. His sharp gaze studied her. “And it’s obvious that would be the only way you’d be able to start this little endeavor, am I correct? I know for a fact that your father’s shop doesn’t bring in nearly enough for a—” he paused, chuckling dryly, “pet project.”
Belle’s jaw tightened. She shook her head, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

“This isn’t just a pet project. It’s something that could benefit the entire community. You just need to allow yourself to see it.”
He scoffed, unimpressed.
“Miss French, it’s endearing, truly, that you walked into my shop with such conviction. But I see no—”

A sharp tug at his coat interrupted him. He glanced down to find Baelfire staring up at him, eyes wide with quiet determination. Belle raised a brow, curious.
“Papa, I think you should do it,” the boy said, his whisper somehow carrying the weight of a command.
Mr. Gold’s gaze flicked back to Belle, suspicion narrowing his eyes, as if she had orchestrated this betrayal.

“Bae, son—” he began, but the boy simply lifted a hand, cutting him off.

“It’d be nice to have somewhere to go and read,” Baelfire said earnestly. “Maybe we could go together in the afternoons, for fun. And you could store all those old books you say no one here wants to buy.”

Belle watched as Mr. Gold exhaled sharply, his fingers pressing against his temple.
“Bae, I can’t just waste money on some woman’s random project.”

Well, that didn’t sting at all. Belle narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But she said she’d help around the shop,” Baelfire pressed. “Doesn’t that even it out?”
Silence settled between them. Mr. Gold’s fingers drummed against the counter, his expression unreadable. Belle held her breath, waiting.

"Bae, can you go to the back, please?" Mr. Gold's voice was stern, and Belle watched the boy’s face crumple. His shoulders slumped, and with a quiet sigh, he turned and walked past the curtain, disappearing from view. The moment he left, Mr. Gold's eyes locked onto Belle, darkened with barely contained fury.

“Listen, Miss French,” he began, his voice low and sharp, “it just doesn’t seem like I stand to gain anything from this little endeavor of yours.”

Before he could continue, Belle pushed the papers forward, sliding them closer towards him, cutting him off.
“If you’d read what I wrote, you’d see that not only would I work for you, but you’d own the library as well,” she said, her voice firm. “I only want to restore it and work there. That's it.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he reluctantly picked up the papers. With a deliberate motion, he licked his finger and began flipping through the pages.

He paused at one of the lines, glancing up at her. “You’re willing to give me two thousand dollars for this project?”

Belle nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yes. I’ve saved a bit, mostly for a rainy day, but I suppose a sunny day would also be a good use for it,” she said with a light chuckle, trying to ease the tension.
He rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Then, with a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated.

“Miss French,” he began, his voice colder now, more calculated, “I’ll be frank with you. I’m willing to go through with this, but it’s not because I think it’s a good one.”

Belle blinked, the surprise clear on her face. “Then why?”
Mr. Gold’s gaze deepened, a shadow passing over his features. “You have something I want, Miss French. Well, to be more precise, you don’t have it yet, but in time, you will.”

Her pulse quickened, a mix of curiosity and apprehension flooding her. She leaned forward, unable to keep her eyes off him. “What’s that?”

He lowered the papers, his eyes locking onto hers with a chilling intensity. “If this endeavor fails, I want to own your father’s shop.” Her breath caught in her chest, her heart thudding painfully in her ears.

“Not immediately, of course,” he added, his voice taking on a darker edge. “But eventually, your father will pass, and the shop will fall to you. You see, I may own the land where you and your father stay, but I don’t own that little plot where the shop sits. That was before my time. Do you understand?”

Belle’s heart pounded in her ears as she tried to steady her breath, the weight of his words sinking in. Belle licked her lips lightly, her thoughts racing as she held his gaze. "If everything goes to plan, and the library sees enough use, then I don't have to give up the shop?" Her voice was quieter now, edged with a quiet desperation.

Mr. Gold nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "I doubt it'll do well, of course, but if it does, and you manage it well, then yes, you can keep your little 'plant palace.' But if not..." He let the sentence hang in the air like a looming threat. "It’s mine."

Her mind wandered for a moment, carried away by memories of her mother chasing her around the shop, her laughter filling the corners of the dusty old walls. Her mother, painting murals with bright colors and joy, her father gently putting flowers in her hair as they worked side by side. The shop was more than just a place—it was a part of her heart, a living piece of her past.

“Well?” Mr. Gold’s voice broke through the haze of her memories, dragging her back to the present. She straightened up, her resolve firming. However this was her chance at a future and she couldn't just give up now.

She exhaled slowly. “You’ll draw up the contract, and we’ll get started on renovations, and I’ll work under you?”
A toothy grin spread across his face, and for the first time, something almost resembling satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “It’s a deal, Miss French.”

He extended his hand toward her, and for a moment, she hesitated, staring at it, the weight of the agreement settling in her chest. With a deep breath, she reached forward and shook it. As their hands clasped, she couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, she had just made a deal with the devil.

Chapter Text

Roman Gold sat in his home office, massaging his temples as the pounding in his head threatened to drive him to an early night. He tossed back a few aspirin, swallowing them dry, and let his head fall back against the chair with a weary sigh.

Baelfire was still ignoring him—a silent, pointed protest against what the boy had deemed his father’s “bad behavior” toward the “nice lady” with a foolish little dream. Roman scoffed at the thought, but even he had to admit the cold shoulder was starting to wear on him.

He had even resorted to making Baelfire’s favorite meal, hoping to coax him into conversation. But it seemed that not even dinosaur-shaped battered chicken would break down his son’s resolve tonight. Which in it of itself was something he could take pride in if it wasn't being directed towards him.

That damned woman had come in and caused such a stir in his life and she was bound to do more because he'd been foolish enough to agree to her inane idea. He sighed and slipped his hand away from his head and landed on the contract he was working on specifically for her.

He’d asked Moe French nearly two years ago if he was willing to sell that flower shop. The old man had been stubborn, insistent that it remain in the family—his so-called "legacy." Roman had scoffed at the notion then, and now he outright laughed. Because here was Moe’s own daughter, ready to gamble it all away for the sake of a fantasy.
How utterly comical.

Still, he supposed when she inevitably failed, he might allow her to rent the shop back as a show of goodwill. Not that he was particularly inclined to be generous, but even he could recognize when someone had some level of competence. Her original proposal, for all its naivety, had been well thought out. She wasn’t a complete idiot, he supposed.

Just idealistic. However idealists had a way of being crushed by reality.
He, of all people, knew that all too well.

Roman’s gaze flickered downward, settling on the ankle hidden beneath his pant leg. Twisted, mangled—a permanent reminder of just how unforgiving the world could be. He exhaled sharply, the weight of old memories pressing against his ribs.

Reckless dreams had a price. Miss French was about to learn just how steep that price could be. He would not be going easy on her once she started coming in to help facilitate her debt. Perhaps he'd even be more headstrong while she was there. That would really show her who she was deciding to toe the line with.

A knock at the door pulled Roman from his thoughts. He turned, gripping his cane, just in time to see Baelfire push it open. The boy stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a glare set firmly on his face.

Roman sighed, bracing himself. “Something on your mind, son?”

Baelfire let out a slow breath, his lips pressing together before he finally spoke. “Do you have to be so mean all the time?”

The question landed heavier than it should have. Roman’s fingers tightened around the handle of his cane as he studied his son’s expectant face. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, he exhaled, running a hand down his face.

“Bae,” he said, his voice softer than before, “I’m not being mean. I’m being practical. One day, you’ll understand that.”

Baelfire frowned but didn’t interrupt.

“I know you want this library to succeed,” Roman continued, his tone measured. “And that’s admirable. Truly. But wanting something doesn’t always mean it can happen. The world doesn’t work on wishes.”

Baelfire’s expression didn’t change, but the light in his eyes dimmed just a little. He nodded, barely, and stepped back. “Alright, Papa.” His voice was quiet, resigned.
Then, without another word, he turned and shut the door behind him.

Roman sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Slowly, he pressed his fingers against the wood, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
His son was too young, too naïve to understand.
In this world, you either let yourself sink or you clawed your way to the surface.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

The days in Storybrooke had a tendency to blur together, each one feeling much like the last. So when Roman found himself straying from his usual routine, walking toward Mr. French’s shop, it felt almost refreshing. Especially because of the reason he was headed there. He had assumed Miss French would be there. What else did she have to do with her time, if not this place?

As he approached, he saw her through the window, her eyes widening when she spotted him. Perhaps she was surprised he had completed the contract so quickly. He was about to step inside when, without warning, the door flew open nearly grazing him. Miss French’s hand shot out, seizing his tie with an alarming amount of force, and yanked him away from the entrance.

"Miss French, what on earth are you doing?" Roman hissed, caught off guard as she practically dragged him into the alley.

He jerked back, disoriented, and straightened his tie and shirt, his fingers moving quickly to smooth out the wrinkles. His eyes narrowed as he shot a scowl in her direction. "What, pray tell, was the meaning of that?" he snapped, irritation coating his words.

To his surprise, she didn’t flinch. Instead, her gaze flicked upwards, her eyes rolling dramatically, as if he were the one acting absurd. That only served to deepen his frustration.
"Why on earth would you come to my father's shop?" she hissed in a mock whisper, her eyes flashing with annoyance. Roman raised an eyebrow. Was she serious?

He scoffed, thrusting the contract in front of her face and shaking it slightly. "To give you the papers to sign, obviously, Miss French," he snapped back, a sharp edge to his voice.

She rubbed her temples, sighing heavily, her frustration clear. And then, as if a realization hit him, Roman's tone shifted to one of disbelief, a slight chuckle escaping his lips.

"Miss French," he began, amusement creeping into his voice. "Have you not told your father about the deal?" Her eyes widened, the fury in them igniting like fire.
“Oh goodness me, you have not,” he scoffed, his laughter bubbling up as he covered his mouth slightly to suppress it. The amusement in his eyes was evident, but it only seemed to fuel her irritation.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. “It’s,” she paused, shaking her head, clearly frustrated. “It’s none of your business whether I’ve told my father. Besides, the terms of the deal were specific—if things don’t turn out right, the shop goes to you after he passes.” She stepped closer, her presence suddenly more commanding. With a swift motion, she snatched the contract from his hand, her fingers brushing against his.

"Which they will," she added, her voice unwavering, a quiet confidence underlying her words.

Roman’s smirk faltered for just a moment. He studied her, a mixture of respect and something else flickering in his gaze. “We’ll see about that,” he said softly, his tone no longer mocking but instead tinged with something more serious.

She clutched the contract to her chest, exhaling softly before murmuring, “Please, don’t come here to my father’s for our business. That’s my only request.” Roman raised an eyebrow, taken aback for a moment. Then, he closed his eyes, exhaling a resigned sigh.

“As you wish,” he replied, his voice softening, but the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes.

Just as he turned to leave, he noticed her hand extended towards him, her phone open in her palm. He raised an eyebrow, confused for a moment.

She sighed with impatience, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. “Put your number in my phone so we can contact each other about this more discreetly.”

Roman smirked inwardly, impressed by her practicality. It was actually a smart move on her part. He took the phone from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers once more. He punched in his digits, glancing up to meet her gaze as he handed it back to her.

“I’ll get these signed to you after four. At your shop?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

He nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Make sure you do,” he murmured. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and leaned heavily on his cane, trying with all his might to put distance between the two of them.

Chapter Text

The pungent scent of varnish filled the air as Roman methodically applied the substance to the surface of the jewelry box. It was a small piece, nothing spectacular on its own, but with his touch, it would gleam as if it had a history worth something. Jefferson had brought it back for him during one of his many excursions. They had a kind of unspoken partnership. One that worked out well for both of them.

Roman funded Jefferson’s travels, covering all the expenses in exchange for one thing: antiques. The more obscure, the better. Roman didn’t care much for the rarities or high-priced collectibles that the collectors clamored for. He preferred the ones people dismissed as worthless, the forgotten items, because they held potential. He’d take them, restore them, and then triple their appraised value. Then Jefferson would sell them around the states, reaping a small percentage of the sale. It was a deal that kept them both in business.

For Jefferson, it was a dream come true. A life spent traveling, exploring, and making a living off the road. For Roman, it was more of a hobby, a means to pass the time. He wasn’t exactly struggling for money. No, his wealth came from land, from rental properties, from investments that didn’t require him to hustle for every penny. Nothing like the life he used to live.

As he worked, he couldn’t help but think how easy it had been to get people to overlook the value of things. He was good at seeing potential in the forgotten. People would throw something away, and he’d scoop it up, polish it until it shone, and suddenly it was worth far more than it had ever been. There was a strange satisfaction in it, and in a way, it reflected his view of the world.

People saw what was in front of them, but he saw the future, the hidden worth, the overlooked value.

Roman pursed his lips thoughtfully as he set the jewelry box down on the workbench. Perhaps that was what Miss French believed she was doing with that rundown library. Resurrecting it, bringing it back to life like one of the antiques he restored. But there was a significant difference between her dream and his work. Roman knew a lost cause when he saw one, and she seemed not to, because that library screamed of it. On the surface, it seemed quaint, even nostalgic. But he knew better. He could see the faint water damage on the exterior, and that was just the beginning. If the outside looked that worn, he could only imagine the rot inside.

He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair as his gaze drifted towards the ceiling. He’d need to make a call to Mayor Mills soon. The library property belonged to the city, but Roman knew it would likely come at a bargain, especially considering the condition it was in. A deal could be made, and he could probably have it for a fraction of its worth on paper.

What he’d do with it afterward, though, was the real question. Roman wasn’t one to buy something unless he had a clear vision for it, and the library’s location could be prime real estate for something far more profitable than a fading, outdated building filled with musty books. Perhaps he’d tear it down, start fresh, and create something that would actually bring in profit, something with substance and a future.

Roman must have missed the bell ringing because the soft flutter of his curtain caught his attention. Miss French had entered the back, her presence almost intrusive as she stepped into his space.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Gold,” she greeted, her voice steady.
Roman rose from his chair, grabbing his cane from the side of the table as he made his way toward her. His gaze stayed on her, assessing the change in her demeanor.

“So, you've looked over the agreement, I assume?” he asked, his brow raised in inquiry. She gave a slight nod, and he pressed further. “Does that mean you’re still willing to go through with it?”

She huffed exasperated before slapping the papers onto his chest with a soft thud. “I signed them, didn’t I?” Her voice was sharp, confident. Quite the shift from their first encounter. Without another word, he ripped the papers from her grasp, his eyes quickly scanning her signatures.

“Everything in order?” she asked, then paused, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward, “Roman?”

The air between them stilled for a moment. His eyes met hers, and for a split second, he hesitated before responding.
“I read your signature, of course. Doesn’t it make sense to know my employer's name?” She said with such a sweetness that it almost felt like a challenge.

He exhaled a sharp breath. “I prefer Mr. Gold, Miss French,” he hissed, his patience thinning.

“But of course,” she murmured, pausing just long enough to let the words linger before offering a smile, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. “Mr. Gold.”

She leaned against his restoration table, careful not to disturb any of the trinkets and antiques strewn across its surface. Her fingers barely grazed the edge of the wood as she tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“When exactly did you want me to start? I understand that most nights I'll be here to assist with inventory and other such frivolities, but you never specified a start date.”

Roman hummed, tapping his fingers idly against his cane. Ideally, he’d rather have the library fully in his possession before she began working under him. A minor delay, considering how much sway he held in Storybrooke.

“You’ll start Monday night,” he decided, his lips curving into a smirk. “By then, the library will be under my name.”

Belle exhaled sharply, a mix of amusement and skepticism flickering across her face. “So sure of yourself,” she murmured, eyes glinting.

He arched his brow. “Well, Miss French, if I weren’t, I doubt I’d be the one you had to turn to for this little endeavor of yours.”
Her expression tightened for a fraction of a second before she let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking her head as if he were the most insufferable man she’d ever met. And perhaps, to her, he was.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

He listened to the ringing on the other end, tapping his fingers impatiently against his desk. How long did it take for Regina Mills to answer a damn phone?

Finally, a sharp voice cut through the line. “Mr. Gold?”

A slow grin tugged at his lips. “Ah, Mayor Mills. Perfect.”

She scoffed, and he could hear the faint rustling of papers before she responded. “What do you want, Gold?”

Straight to the point, as always. He leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment before delivering his request.
“The library. The one this city refuses to do anything with, how much would it take to get that burden off your hands?” he asked smoothly, his tone edged with calculated disinterest.

On the other end, there was a pause. He could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, the way her rustling movements stopped cold. She scoffed, then let out a sharp laugh. “Excuse me?”

Ah, there it was, her trademark indignation. Roman rolled his eyes, letting out a breath like he was already bored of the conversation. “It’s not doing the city any good, is it? I’d be doing you a favor. One less crumbling wreck on your problem list, one more checkmark in your ‘urban improvement’ portfolio.”

“You’re actually serious about this?” she snapped, more baffled than hostile.

He inhaled slowly, his tone laced with condescension. “Yes, Miss Mills. I’m sorry if it astounds you that, unlike you, I see potential in what others dismiss as decrepit eyesores.”

She gave a low chuckle, cutting like glass. “Well, you would know—being one yourself.”

Roman clicked his tongue and let out a dry scoff. “Charming, as always.”

“I do try,” she purred back, her tone dripping with sarcasm, before a sigh escaped her lips. “Though you are right, it is an eyesore and a slight on my town.” Roman could almost picture her sucking in a deep breath as she considered his proposal. Then, with a slow hum, she added, “We shall go over the paperwork tomorrow, Gold. But if I find out you have some ulterior motive... I’ll castrate you.”

Roman’s smirk deepened. “Miss Mills, quit being such a tease,” he snarked, a playful edge to his voice.

He heard her laugh, short and annoyed, before the sharp click of the phone disconnecting the call reached his ears. Well, that was the easy part. Now came the fun—if he could even call it that. He couldn't help but grin. This was going to be an interesting time for him.

Chapter Text

Belle pushed open the shop door, the faint chime of the bell marking her arrival. Roman, she still wasn’t used to thinking of him with a first name, looked up from behind the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, carefully polishing a small, ornate jewelry box.
He glanced at her with a hum, dropping the price tag onto the wood as he began tugging his sleeves down.

“Ah, Miss French. Right on time,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She stepped up to the counter, resting her arms on it casually. “I like to show I’m committed,” she replied, matching his smirk.
He let out a quiet chuckle, then handed her the rag he’d been using. Her brow arched.

“I was doing a bit of polishing,” he paused for a moment. “However, it seems like a task I can delegate to you while I focus on more… important matters. I trust that’s not too complex for you?”

Her eyes narrowed, mouth parting in mock offense. “I can polish just fine, thank you very much.” He merely let out a soft chuckle before nodding.

“I suppose while you work, I’ll go over what I expect from you this afternoon,” he said smoothly.

She gave a short nod, eyes drifting across the shop until they landed on a neglected, dusty tea set. It looked like it had been untouched for months. Picking up one of the delicate cups, she began carefully polishing it as she glanced back at him—only to find him already watching her. He didn’t look away. Instead, a smirk curled at his lips.

“Well, eventually I’d like you doing light appraisal work,” he began, voice lazy but sharp. “But for now, cleaning up and handling any customers while I’m in the back should be enough.”

She nodded, still focusing on the grime along the rim of the porcelain.
“Then,” he continued, “once you’ve proven you can be useful, I might let you assist with restorations. Only minor inconsequential items, of course.”

She rolled her eyes and set the cleaned cup down before picking up another.
He chuckled, low and amused. “Who knows, maybe one day I’ll let you come with me when I evict tenants who forgot to pay rent. You might enjoy watching someone else lose their home—since it’s likely to happen to you soon enough.”
The words hit like a slap. Her fingers froze. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and burning. Her hand trembled.
The cup slipped.

She reached to catch it—but she wasn't fast enough.
The cup hit the wooden floor with a sharp clack, but surprisingly, it didn’t shatter. At least, not entirely. Belle blinked, heart still racing, and crouched to retrieve it. It wasn’t until her fingers brushed the porcelain that she noticed the clean chip along the rim.

“That one was just a joke, Miss French,” Roman’s voice came from above, laced with that usual smugness. He leaned slightly over the counter to peer down at her. “Perhaps you should work on your sense of humor.”

She licked her lips and let out a dry scoff, fingers wrapping around both the cup and the chipped piece. “It chipped,” she muttered, rising to her feet and holding it out for him to see.

He glanced at it, completely unbothered. “Well, it’s just a cup. That set’s been collecting dust for years. No one’s wanted it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “If it means something to you, feel free to keep the scrap as a memento of your first day.”
She looked at the cup, then quietly slid the chipped piece into her pocket and set the cup back on the table.

“Well,” he continued, turning toward the curtain that separated the front from the back room, “unless you plan on breaking more of my wares, I’ll be working in the back. Call if you need me.”

He paused at the edge, looking over his shoulder.
“And Miss French?” His tone was almost mocking. “Please… don’t need me.”
With that, he disappeared behind the curtain.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

She wiped her brow lightly as she picked up another vase, carefully scrubbing away the dust. Her movements were rhythmic, almost meditative, until she felt the weight of a gaze on her. Roman’s low hum reached her ears, and she turned to find him stepping through the curtain. For a moment, she wondered just how long he’d been standing there.

“It seems you’ve done a decent job over the past hour and a half,” he said, glancing at the counter, where the chipped cup rested. “Well, halfway decent.”

She gently set the vase down and placed a hand on her hip, a small frown tugging at her lips. “The only reason I dropped it was because you angered me,” she huffed, eyes narrowing slightly.

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Miss French, you need thicker skin.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off before she could get a word out.

“Besides the point,” he continued, “I just received a call about that decaying library you care so much about.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she took a step toward him, excitement filling her chest.
His eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback. “Well, what did they say?” she asked, raising a brow.

“My associate didn't say much on the condition but said we could check it out. And I don’t know about you, but I’d like to see what you’ll be working with.”

Without thinking, she instinctively reached out and grabbed his hand, her excitement overwhelming her. “Of course I do!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright.

Roman flinched, pulling his hand a top of the one that was gripping his cane. She quickly withdrew her own hands, placing them behind her back, trying to hide the awkwardness that had settled between them.

“Can we go now?” she asked, hoping to redirect her attention to the task at hand and ignore the strange tension that hung in the air.

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head slightly. “Yes,” he muttered, taking in a breath. “Yes, of course we can.”
She smiled, turning on her heel to follow him as he made his way to the door. He quickly shifted the sign to "Closed" and held the door open for her.

She raised a brow, a playful glint in her eyes. “Wow, Mr. Gold, are you actually decent?” she asked as she passed him, a teasing note in her voice.

He let out a breath, rolling his eyes. “Get moving, Miss French,” he sighed, locking the door behind them as he stepped out into the evening air.

She chuckled, her smile widening. “I suppose I jumped to conclusions,” she said, glancing up at him. He eyed her but said nothing as he pushed his keys into his pocket, his attention now turning toward the library.

“You should get thicker skin” she licked her lip lightly “Mr Gold” and gently nudged his arm with her shoulder.
His eyes snapped to her shoulder, then narrowed as they met her gaze. “That was my line,” he said with a raised brow.
She smiled mischievously, stepping in perfect time with him, her head tilting slightly. “Well, it was funnier when I used it.”
He scowled, an amused glint in his eyes despite himself, before turning his attention back to the path ahead. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the tension between them oddly light, despite the previous banter.
Luckily, the walk wasn’t long, and they arrived at the library in no time. Belle gasped slightly as she took in the sight. The boards were gone, and the windows were now clearly visible, offering a glimpse of what lay beyond. She stepped forward, peering through one of the panes.
The sound of jangling keys pulled her attention back to Roman, who was now unlocking the door.

“What?” he asked, catching her gaze with a smirk. “Oh, Miss French, did you not think I’d already have the keys?”
He dangled them in front of her face after removing them from the keyhole.

“Just open the door already, would you?” she huffed, leaning back from the window and crossing her arms.
Roman chuckled softly, then turned the knob with a quiet click.

The musty air hit her first, and she instinctively brought her hand to her face to shield from the scent of mildew and old paper. Roman, seemingly unfazed, stepped inside without hesitation, his eyes scanning the space with measured detachment.

She followed close behind, her gaze immediately drawn to the rows of bookshelves lining the room. Some were intact, almost pristine despite the neglect, while others, particularly one in the far corner, were warped and darkened by water damage. Still, as her eyes roamed the space, she could see the potential. With enough effort and care, she could breathe life back into this place.

“Well,” Roman said, his voice laced with amusement, “is it everything you hoped for, Miss French?”

She turned to him with a smile, the kind that dared him to doubt her. “Yes, actually.”

He pursed his lips but said nothing as she turned away, stepping toward one of the sturdier shelves. She ran her fingers across a row of books, only to pull her hand back and glance at the thick layer of dust coating her skin.
She heard the soft tap of his cane settle just behind her and glanced over her shoulder to find Roman eyeing the shelf in front of her. He smirked when their eyes met.

“Still believe in the lost cause?”

She turned fully to face him, catching how he instinctively took a small step back. “Of course I do. Just because it needs a little care doesn’t make it a lost cause.”

He hummed thoughtfully and offered a shrug. “Well, give it your all, Miss French.”

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a key from the ring and held it out to her. She hesitated just for a moment before reaching out and taking it from his hand.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He dipped his head with mock grace. “Merely giving you a fair chance to clean up during your free time. Though I still think it’ll all be for nothing.”

With that, he turned on his heel and started for the door. “If you'd like to go over the damages and figure out how you'll fix them on your own, be my guest. I’ll be back at my shop.”
She watched him disappear through the doorway, the soft thud of the door echoing in the quiet space. As soon as he was gone, she spun on her heel and made a beeline for the most damaged section of the library. Her fingers trailed along the crumbling wood, eyes scanning every detail.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to tear it down today, especially not if she pushed herself.
A small grin curled at her lips as the idea settled firmly in her mind. All she needed were a few supplies. With a newfound sense of purpose, she turned and headed toward the exit, already mentally assembling a to-do list. This place was going to shine again.

Chapter Text

He gripped the phone tightly, knuckles white as he growled through clenched teeth, “I thought you said I’d be happy with the state of that damned library.”

Jefferson’s careless chuckle rang out on the other end, infuriatingly relaxed. “Well, I thought you would be,” he replied, tone far too light for Roman’s liking.
Roman snorted in frustration. “It’s not as bad as one would think,” Jefferson added, “Honestly, it’s perfect for renovations.”

“That’s exactly what I didn’t want,” Roman hissed, the silence that followed only furthering his irritation. Leave it to a madman like Jefferson to completely miss the point.

“Y’know, Romeo,” Jefferson began, and Roman could practically hear the grin in his voice, “most people would be thrilled with this kind of opportunity.”

“I’m not most people,” Roman snapped before hanging up and slamming the phone on the table. He released a sharp breath and threw his head back in exasperation, the weight of annoyance settling deep in his chest.

The image of Miss French lighting up at the sight of that cursed, half-rotted building lingered in his mind. It irritated him more than he cared to admit, mainly because it meant she wasn't discouraged by the daunting task ahead. Worse still, there was a real possibility she could actually pull it off. He sat upright, resting his chin on his clasped hands.
There had to be a way to keep her from completing that library project. If she failed, he could finally lay claim to that pathetic shop of her father's. At this point, it was a matter of pride more than anything else, and he did not care to deny it.

He bit his lip and inhaled deeply. Perhaps if he overworked her at his shop, she would be too exhausted to invest time in the restoration. Maybe she would crumble under the pressure, admit defeat, and apologize for wasting his time. The thought of her bowing her head in shame made him hum in satisfaction, but oddly, it did not sit quite right. Guilt pricked at him, sudden and sharp, though he pushed it away before it could settle.

The bell above the door rang, cutting through his thoughts, and a familiar voice called from the front.
“Papa?”
The sound swept away every lingering thought of Miss French as he stepped quickly through the curtain. His smile returned when he saw Balefire grinning up at him, excitement shining in his eyes.
“I got a hundred on my reading test,” the boy announced proudly, holding up a paper for him to see.
Roman smiled, his plans forgotten in their entirety as he ruffled his son's brown hair.

“Well, if I recall correctly, that means we're going out for pie tonight,” he said, resting his hand on Bae’s cheek and giving it a gentle pat before pulling back and steadying himself with his cane.
Bae’s face lit up as he wrapped his arms around him in a quick hug. Roman tightened his grip on the cane for balance and placed a steady hand on his son’s back in return.

“Can we go now?” Bae asked immediately, pulling away and bouncing up onto his tiptoes, eyes shining with hope. It was hard to say no to that face.
Roman let out a quiet sigh and glanced around the empty shop.

“Well, I suppose it has been a slow day,” he muttered. After a brief pause, he inhaled and nodded. “Yes, alright. We can go now. But just to pick it up. We're not eating at…” he trailed off, then hissed out “that diner.”

Bae only rolled his eyes and chuckled, “But Granny makes good food, maybe we could have dinner there instead.” Roman's mouth thinned, and he shook his head on instinct.

“Don't call Ms Lucas that, it's...” he paused, then shook his head. “Bae, I've had a long day, and I'd rather just get your pie and make dinner at home.” Baes's nose crinkled slightly, but he nodded nonetheless.

Bae nodded, “Alright, papa. Maybe another day.” he smiled, though Roman could see how his smile didn't reach his eyes.

“Let's go get that pie,” he smiled in return, grabbed his boy's hand gently, and began to walk out of the shop.

He clicked the key in the lock and flipped the sign. He watched through the corner of his eye as his son looked around the town. He'd begun leading them down to that insufferable diner. In truth, he himself would have made a far better-tasting creation, but his son deserved a treat. Even if that pie was less about it being a dessert and more that he would be out with other people, it filled his soul with guilt that he couldn't provide some sense of normalcy for his boy. However, he offered so much more, and didn't that make up for it?
He could feel his hand tangled in his own. He remembered how tiny they were once. At one point in their life, they could only hold onto his finger, yet here he was at ten years old and taking his hand in his own.
Suddenly, that tiny hand was pulled away from his own, and he halted and turned to see how Baelfire was standing still on the sidewalk, staring at…
He narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of Miss French slowly pulling out one of the bookshelves, which, from what he could see, was one of the ones with the most water damage. She finally pushed against the outside wall, then allowed herself a breath. She wiped her brow with her arm, pivoted, and her eyes locked on his own.

“You helped her.” Roman could finally avert his gaze and snapped his head to turn to Bae, whose mouth was widened slightly. He saw as Bae waved his hand, and though he couldn't see exactly who he was waving to, he didn't need to. He licked his lips slowly before turning back towards the direction of the diner.

“I suppose,” he sighed before shaking his head. “Now, Baelfire, weren't we headed towards the diner for your treat?” The words fell from his mouth to obviously deaf ears because he was interrupted in an instant.

“Do you think we could go help her papa?” Bae asked, and he allowed himself to release a sigh. He tilted his head at his boy, and despite himself, his eyes looked toward the library, and he saw her brown hair tied in a ponytail swaying slightly as she reentered the library.

“I thought you wanted to get pie,” he whispered hesitantly, and he saw the ruffle of his brown hair shake. He turned to his son, who turned in tow to face him.

His lower lip wobbled, and his gaze flickered away from his own to that accursed building where she was. “Well, I do, but…” he paused and looked at him. “But she's doing all that by herself,” he whispered.
Curse those hazel eyes that bore into his soul. He could only waver so much as he looked down at his boy.

“Well” he sucked in a breath and tried his best not to grit his teeth “I suppose we can stop for a few moments to see if she needs assistance.” He felt a hint of resentment towards the warmth that spread in his chest as Baelfire smiled in excitement. He felt as his hand wrapped around his wrist and he was quickly pulled across the street towards that damn library and the damn woman he couldn't escape.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

His shoulder was already aching exceedingly after being forced into this hard labor. He heaved as best as he could as he tightened his grip on his cane while pushing all the weight on his stable leg. The blasted shelf had nothing in it, yet it still seemed to cause his muscles to burn.

“You could just ask for help,” The words interrupted his pushing of the wretched shelf, and he allowed his hand to fall from the side of the shelf and turned to the far too cheerful Miss French.

“Well, Miss French,” he licked his lip, then wiped his brow with his free hand. “I'm here offering you help, so don't get this twisted.” He leaned closer and gritted his teeth, “I do not require any help…Especially from you”

She raised a brow, and a smile spread on her face, and then shook her head before moving past him and placing her hands onto the shelf's side. “It will go a lot easier with help,” he rolled his eyes and hissed slightly before pushing his own palm against the shelf.

“She's right, Papa.” The joyous tone in his voice made the pain in his veins falter, albeit only for a moment, before he shook his head. “When you do teamwork, it makes jobs easier.”

“Wise beyond his years,” Belle grunted as they began the final push on the shelf outside the library. It slid against the ground, and Belle gave it a final push against the outer wall. He released his hand and pressed it on his cane along with his other hand, and watched as she wiped her palms. Then she turned to him with a smile stuck on her face. Such a strange woman. One moment, she seemed ready to stand toe to toe against him, and at other times, she was just like the rest of these people.
Fake and plastic.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and he blinked slightly as he realized how close she had gotten, how long he had stood frozen. She cocked her head again and the insufferable smile of hers was finally off her face.

He waved his hand in front of her face in response and then shook his head. “I'm fine,” he snapped, then turnt on his heel only to see Bae looking up at him with a raised brow. He inhaled a breath and tried to force a smile as he looked down at his boy.

“We can go get the pie now if you're not feeling well,” he said with a concerned look in his gaze before he could retort and repeat that he was quite fine.

“That was the last shelf I needed out, and I'm also planning on taking a break, so there's no sense in you overexerting yourself on my account, Mr Gold.” The hair on his neck stood as he heard her speak beside him. His damned eyes snapped to her out of instinct and saw the smile that had returned plastered on her face.

“I did not do this for you anyway, Miss French,” he hissed with as much venom as he could, but she only chuckled lightly in response. “But yes, Bae, we shall be going. Now,” he snapped, and Baes' eyes widened slightly as he blinked at him, yet he nodded nonetheless. He grabbed his sleeves down roughly, grabbed Baes' hand as gently as possible, and dragged him towards the diner.

“Bye, boys, thanks for the help,” he heard her warm voice call out, and his skin prickled slightly at being called boy. It was perhaps more so for Baes' account, he was the boy who wanted to help that blasted woman. He had not it was his son's gleaming smile and sparkling eyes that forced him into this.

“Thanks for helping her.” The soft words broke him from his thoughts, and his gaze was cast downward to the boy smiling warmly.

He clicked his tongue, looked away from him, and shook his head. “That was because you asked me to Bae,” he murmured, “I'd rather not help that woman, I wish you understood that,” he grunted, however, Bae seemed to find that amusing as he merely laughed in response and shook his head. Roman raised a brow but stayed silent instead and continued to walk.

Roman held the door open for Bae, observing as the boy entered with a cheerful laugh. "Hello, Granny! Hello, Ruby!" he called out as he stepped inside, while Roman made an effort to suppress an eye roll. He followed behind and let the door slam behind him, which earned him a glare from Ms Lucas, but she could shove it back down her throat for all he cared.

Bae settled himself onto one of the damned stools and began to kick his feet freely as he looked up toward Miss Lucas. She smiled down at him, “Now, Bae, what brings you in here?” he beamed, then looked toward him, and Roman sighed gently before standing behind him, then pressing his palm on his shoulder.

“My son has earned himself one of these establishments,” he waved his hand slightly, “well, deserts, I suppose that's what it can be best called.” She narrowed her eyes at him slightly before smiling and tilting her head with a feigned chuckle.

“I'll go get one from the back.” She looked back down at Bae and smiled, then turned on her heel and huffed into the kitchen, probably to get the pie he called about early this morning. He knew his boy would ace the test, and even if he hadn't, he would have needed a nice pick-me-up, and what did that better if not for a nice slice of cherry pie.

“Are you sure you aren't too tired to cook dinner?” he asked with a rather cheery disposition as he looked upward at him. He raised a brow, but before he could speak, the door to the diner opened and interrupted him, and he rolled his eyes slightly at the interruption. It was even more of an annoyance when he saw the way Baes eyes snapped to whatever townie entered this damned joint.

“Hi Granny,” he heard the warm voice. He immediately recognized the familiar presence that had just walked into the diner. He couldn't help but wish for just a moment of peace without the constant interruption of that woman.

“Having your usual, dear?” Ms Lucas asked in return instead of a greeting, and Roman kept himself from looking toward her. He wasn't that weak-willed that he could not control his own body.

"Certainly, Granny. I'll take my usual spot," Miss French responded, her footsteps echoing softly as she moved past him. Roman felt a fleeting touch against his back, likely unintentional, yet it stirred a mix of feelings within him. Which then made him pause.

“Papa?” Baes's question was the perfect excuse to ignore that flutter in his chest as he snapped his gaze back to him.

"I..." he started, then caught a glimpse of Miss French out of the corner of his eye. She was holding a book, and he wondered briefly if she had pulled it from that crumbling relic of a library. He shook the thought away with a quiet sigh. "I suppose I'm more tired than I realized," he murmured before turning his attention back to Bae with a small smile. "Alright then. I suppose we can stay and eat here for dinner." Baes' eyes widened alongside his smile, and Roman did his best to solely focus on the warmth that his son caused in his chest and not the thumping of his heart that was caused by her.

Chapter Text

She supposed Mr Gold wasn't all that bad. Well, not entirely, or at the very least, he wasn't an utter monster of a person as the rumors suggested. No she could definitely confirm he was no monstrous creature he was just a, well to be blunt, Mr Gold was an ass. He was also very egotistical and very self-reliant, which usually wasn't a bad trait. However, on him, well, it made him shut down anyone who tried to even lift a finger to try and understand him. Not that she wanted to understand him, he was far too cynical and cruel, besides, she had a library to fix, she couldn't fixate on him as well. He, however, made it quite difficult not to allow at least her thoughts to linger on him, especially since he helped her last week.

There was no need at all, and well, seeing as he isn't exactly an able-bodied man, she didn't want to put him in that position. Not that he didn't help, he was rather useful. He got rid of some of the more ruined books and even helped her remove the final shelf. She just didn't fully understand why. He looked utterly miserable doing it, yet he still did it. He shoved his sleeves up, pushed his hair back, and helped her. Yet now here he was making her go over the inventory for the fifth time in a row this afternoon. Everything about him seemed to contradict itself, and yet it didn't. He was cruel but helpful, yet he remained callous when actively assisting.

“Miss French,” he snapped, and her eyes looked toward him, standing against the counter, staring at her with a look she couldn't quite place. “What on earth are you doing?”

She blinked for a second, then turned to face him. “Well, seeing as you have asked me to go over the inventory yet again, Mr Gold, that's what I'm doing.” he narrowed his eyes. 

“Well, Miss French, if you did it right the first time, we wouldn't have this problem.” He tilted his head before she could retort that she did it correctly each time. “No, I meant, why are you staring out into nothing?” 

She huffed for a second then shut the inventory book and turned to him “If you think this mindless busy work is going to make me second guess myself you are severely incorrect Mr Gold” he sucked in a breath and tilted his head backwards.

“Miss French, I merely asked why you were staring into space like a fool. There's no need to spout these accusations at me.” Every fiber of her being wanted to slap this man's face and clear that condescending smirk he had on it. Instead, she smiled.

“Well, Mr Gold, it's only your own fault if we're to be honest with one another,” he raised a brow at her. “I mean, how am I supposed to be stimulated in these conditions with the same task?” he scoffed, then shrugged.

“Fine, Miss French, if you want to be cheeky about it, then sweep up.” She looked around at the relatively clean shop and was about to ask what he wanted cleaned when he suddenly shoved a porcelain vase off the counter. The vase shattered against the floor, and the shards traveled throughout the front of the shop. 

She flinched backwards and gasped. She looked at the floor and shut her mouth, then opened it once more, the words bubbling in her chest to scream or berate him, but they never escaped. 

“Well, I do hope this gives you the stimulation you so desperately need,” he purred, and she snapped her head to face him, but he was already turning on his heel. 

“Well,” she stammers, then hisses before he passes through the curtain, “It's better than your pathetic excuse of busywork.” She quickly took hold of the broom, stomped towards where the porcelain fragments were, and began sweeping.

✩──────────✩─────────✩

He polished the silver mirror as delicately as he could. Of course, Jefferson got him a rather beautiful mirror, but it was so utterly filthy that he now had a whole restoration project on his hands. Who was he the damn fool in the front of his shop sweeping up a cheap vase because she thought she could open up a library? He scoffed and then shook his head. She got under his skin far too easily, but he would not let her distract him. He held out the mirror and gave a thoughtful hum. Even if it was a bother, he still rather enjoyed the process it was something that distracted his restless mind.

A collection of shards hit the waste basket beside him, and he jumped up and wobbled slightly before struggling for his cane and gripping it tightly. He raised his head, his jaw clenched as he saw Miss French drop the dust pan on top of his clean restoration towels. She then quirked her head and smiled as sweetly as she does when talking to Mrs Lucas.

“I picked it all up, Mr Gold, just as you requested of me.” 

He snarled purely on instinct, but a part of him wanted her to flinch and stood up to face her, and instead of recoiling, the blasted woman only kept that bloody smile plastered on her face.

“Are you inane?!” he hissed, and she only chuckled in response.

He ignored the burning his chest as her laughter echoed in his ear, dismissing it as annoyance. Or rather hatred, that's a better word. 

“Well, Mr Gold, I had to get rid of it, didn't I?” 

He stepped closer to her, hoping she'd finally shy away, retreat, and apologize just like any woman in her right mind would. She, however, did not seem to be a woman in her right mind because that infernal woman stepped towards him. It took all his control not to step back. 

“Miss French, if you do not learn your place-,” the words stopped in his throat as he heard the shop bell jingle. Seemingly, her gaze broke off his as she turned her head towards the curtain. 

“Papa? Miss Belle?” Baes' voice called out, and in an instant, he stepped away from her annoying presence towards the front of the shop. 

“Oh, Bae, I didn't realize the time,” he murmured, quickly glancing at the clock. Had he really spent that long on the mirror? 

“Yep,” Bae beamed, then turned his head slightly, and Roman didn't need to look in that direction to know who had just come out of the back office. “Oh, were you two talking about something? Did I interrupt?”

“No you interrupted nothing Miss French was just being” he sucked in a breath and smiled trying settle the anger in his chest “Miss French just needed help realizing her obligations” he heard a soft scoff from behind. Bae raised a brow, looked at her, then back at him. Before Baelfire could ask any more questions, an idea bubbled, and he turned to Miss French, spinning on his cane. “Speaking of obligation, Miss French,” her eyes snapped to him. “Would you go and get me and Baes' order from that insufferable diner?” For a moment, he expects her to snap some pathetic thing about not being his servant, but then she looks to Bae and merely sighs.

“Of course,” she smiles. “Mr Gold,” his smirk twisted into a frown. Was she really not willing to put up a fight with his son around? Though he knew it was for the best, he still had expected more, especially from the woman who threw porcelain chunks into his waste basket. 

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Belle clutched the wad of cash he'd given her and stormed down the pavement towards Grannys. Forget him being just an ass Mr Gold was cruel and unrefined and he most certanily did not deseevre to have a place in her thoughts. She dug her nails into her palms as she bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming angrily. She winced and released the brim of her mouth as she tasted the hint of iron. Her shoulders slumped, and she reached for the door to the diner. As she looked in, it was rather busy, the seats were full, and some people were already in line. She frowned, then leaned on the counter, waiting for the people ahead of her to place whatever order they had.

After what felt like an eternity, she got up to the register and saw Ruby, who looked relatively calm despite all the commotion. Ruby's eyes landed on her, and she smiled brightly at her as if this whole lunch rush was nothing. “Here for your usual Bluebell?” she asked, and even though desperately Belle wanted her warm cup of tea, she shook her head.

“No, actually, I'm picking up an order for Mr Gold.” The moment his name slipped from her mouth, Ruby's back straightened, her smile twitched, and her lips were pursed. 

“You're kidding?” she asked, more than said, and Belle just shrugged in response before leaning against the table. 

“Truly wish I were Ruby.” 

Ruby opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, then looked around the diner and grimaced. “Give me a sec,” she muttered reluctantly, then walked to the kitchen. Belle hummed as she waited and wondered what Ruby had intended to say before deciding not to. Ruby returned surprisingly fast and handed the brown bag and drink holder with only two cups. In hindsight, she should have figured he wouldn't have ordered her anything.

“Thanks,” she grumbled, then handed the cash he’d basically slammed into her palm and turned on her heel. He didn't need the change anyway.

“Belle!” Ruby called out before she could leave the diner, and she turned to see her with a frown as her eyes wandered all over Belle's features. “Call me after my shift,” she finally said, and Belle nodded with a smile. Well at least she had a few hours to come up with an excuse on why she was suddenly Mr Golds damned errand girl. 

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Bae frowned as he looked at Miss Belle, who was dusting the counter, and then turned to his father, who was cutting pieces of his burger and using his fork to eat them. Bae looked down at his burger that he couldn't seem to bring himself to enjoy, and then turned back to Miss Belle. “Papa,” he whispered, and his father turned to him with a raised brow as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Is something the matter, Bae? You haven't even taken a bite of the overpriced burger, and you love those.” Bae frowned, then looked at Miss Belle, trying to get his father to understand. Clearly, he didn't as his father furrowed his brow and looked back at the burger. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“The burger is fine, Papa, but why didn't Miss French get anything to eat?” his father leaned back, and Bae watched as his father tried to hide the way he glanced back at Miss Belle, who was walking to the back, probably to dust something there. Then he shrugged and waved his hand as if it were unimportant. “Bae I only ordered for us seeing the fact Miss French can damn well get her own food” Bae crossed his arms at that and narrowed his eyes. 

“That's not very nice,” his papa rolled his eyes, stabbing a piece of his burger and firmly placing it in his mouth, solidifying that he was done with this conversation. Bae then slipped off the chair, grabbed his untouched burger, and walked away from his father. He didn't look back, not even when his father coughed and patted at his chest. He slipped past the curtain and saw Belle humming to herself as she dusted the desk, then she turned to him and smiled. 

“Well, hello, Baelfire.” Then she looked towards the curtain, “Where's your father?” he shrugged it off and sat at his papa's desk.

“He's out there eating his burger,” he shook his head, trying to change the topic. “Are you hungry, Miss Belle?” she smiled at him and chuckled.

“Ah, no, I'm not.” he narrowed his eyes, then watched as she was about to turn and continue to clean. 

“Do you want some of my burger?” Her eyes snapped towards him and then to the burger lying flat on the desk. He watched as her hand waivered on the feather duster, and she bit her lip. Then he heard a low grumble erupt from her stomach, and he giggled, watching as she seemed to flush pink.

She then walked over to him. “Are you sure that would be alright?” she asked, and he beamed up at her, grabbed the burger, and carefully split it down the middle.
She smiled and tilted her head as he handed the other half of the burger towards her, and she gently took it from his hands. “Thank you, Baelfire.” he watched as she took a rather large bite of the burger and hummed in delight. She then raised a brow as she continued to chew and looked down at the burger. “Are there extra pickles in this?” 

He nodded his head, “Yep! My papa and I love pickles in our burgers.”Then he paused, “Oh, I'm sorry, I should have warned you.” She only shook her head and smiled as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No, it's perfect, I just hadn't expected it is all” she said. He smiled and lifted his own piece of the burger to his mouth. However, before taking a bite, he heard a low grumble from the curtain and turned his head to see his father glowering at Miss Belle. 

“Stealing food from a ten-year-old now, Miss French?” She frowned and seemed to almost step towards him. However, Bae wouldn't let his papa be upset at Miss Belle when it was his fault she took it in the first place. He swiftly stood up, and both adults turned their attention towards him instead of one another.

“I gave it to her papa!” he exclaimed, watching as his father's frustration turned into confusion. His brow rose, and his lips pursed. “I gave her my burger, she didn't steal it from me, I promise.” his father only huffed in response, and Bae watched as he gripped his hand onto the top of his cane. His father's eyes were again on Miss Belle and narrowed.

“Well,” he pauses, looks back at Bae, and frowns. “Well, Miss French, if you are in need of a meal break, who am I to stop you?” he then spun on his heel and Bae watched as he walked back to the front of the shop. His eyes landed on Miss Belle, glaring at the curtains and biting her lip. After a few seconds, she released her lower lip and turned to him with a smile.

“Well, guess we'll be eating together then,” she said sweetly, leaning against the desk.

He returned her smile and nodded, and then took a bite into his burger however, as he ate, it didn't distract him from the fact that Miss Belle was still glaring at the spot where his papa once stood.