Seven minutes late and Gold was this close to storming the school, Scowl of Death in place and cane raised to wreak havoc. Lucky for the educators of Storybrooke, just then the side door slammed open and Bae came tumbling out, his backpack hanging from his arm and his left boot only halfway on his foot. Gold melted briefly at the adorable image... until Bae fell, scattering books in all directions.

He bit off a curse, afraid that Bae might hear it, even with the wind picking up from the east. Fantasies of school storming aside, Gold was a disaster when it came to snow and thus Bae had already haphazardly re-packed his bag by the time Gold reached him. His shoes were soaked through, as were the cuffs of his pants, and his cane kept slipping on hidden sheets of ice. All in all, he wasn't in the mood for a beaming six-year-old, ruining his pants in the snow.

"We're late," Gold snapped. His hands were gentle though as he helped haul Bae to his feet. "I told you to leave early today."

"I was going to, Papa. Really." Bae was like a rabbit on the snow, his boots now secure and his backpack bouncing with every hop. He flit from beside his Papa, to in front of him, running back to take his hand... "But we were reading the greatest story ever today!"

"The greatest story ever?" Gold said, more than a little skeptical. He might understand the importance of reading within their age group, but that didn't mean he had to like the content being spoon fed to his kid.

Bae was entirely immune to the sarcasm. "Yeah! Greatest ever."

"I see."

A story of knights and dragons, no doubt. Perhaps rescuing a princess. Or no—wizardry. That had been a big hit with Bae lately. Gold didn't know the details—didn't want them—because all of Mary Margaret's stories were the same: heroes and happy endings. It was hard to enjoy his son's paraphrased re-tellings when their own lives were so far off the mark.

Well, Gold's was at least.

Helping Bae climb into the backseat, watching his youthful exuberance... sunny smile... a round face and mop of black hair that would no doubt grow into something remarkably handsome... Gold couldn't help but hope that those stories could mean something for Bae. His son had the heart of a hero and could certainly go on to lead the life of one. It was just his bad luck that his father was more suited to the role of a monster.

Though wasn't that often the case? A conflict to overcome - a deep, dark family secret?

Gold scowled as he heaved himself into the front.

He particularly didn't need such reminders on a day like this... Gold scowled out at the road now, nearly blinded by the whiteness, only disrupted by harsh swirls of gray, indicators of wind. As if they couldn't hear it clearly, even over the radio. Bae was still chattering on about his day - including dropping not so subtle references to the "great, really great, Papa" story, no doubt hoping that Gold would cave and request a retelling. He was a little too preoccupied fighting his own dragon though.

Milah.

Of course, of course her visiting rights would fall on the largest snow storm Storybrooke had seen in years.

Gold eased off the gas, gritting his teeth as their old tires skid slightly to the left. Milah lived only ten miles outside of Storybrooke, too close for Gold's liking, but it was a testament to her ineptitude as a mother that she never bothered to indulge in those small moments that the distance could grant her: meeting Bae for lunch, joining him in the park, even just taking two seconds out of her day to say hello.

She didn't care, but heaven knew Milah would raise hell if she missed her one weekend a month with Bae, that all important time when she stuck him in front of the TV and fed him PB&Js. She'd cry foul just for the sake of torturing Gold. No doubt Milah would enjoy nothing more than dragging him in front of a court, claiming that his parenting should be brought under scrutiny. What sort of father didn't let a boy spend time with his mother?

Gold wouldn't give her that satisfaction... and he wouldn't deny that for Bae. He loved his mother, despite it all, and perhaps he even enjoyed the television and hastily constructed sandwiches, her familiar presence somewhere nearby. Perhaps Bae needed it.

"Papa? Are we going to be late?"

Gold peered through his rearview mirror to find that Bae had finally settled down, his knees up against his chest, his chin down upon his knees. Bae stared out the window, his forehead slightly furrowed. "Papa?"

Gold followed his son's gaze back out to the road. His meandering thoughts had forced him to slow the car considerably, but it had hardly mattered... the world was pure white now and there was no one else stupid enough to be out in this. Gold hit the break with a frown. It melted into something sadder though, just as soon as he turned towards Bae.

"I'm sorry, son..."

"Of course I tried," Gold hissed. His words were infused with venom, but he made sure to keep them quiet, what with Bae in the next room. "Come now, Milah, did you miss the storm out there? Even you're not that dense."

He reared back at the shriek, absently rubbing at his ear. "Stop it! You'll scare Bae. Look, even I can't control the weather, dearie. You'll have to wait until it passes to see him. No, I didn't go far, are you mad? Yes, we're home. As if you care. Wouldn't that just be perfect for you? If I got into a convenient little accident..."

Gold didn't let himself think too much about the fact that Milah didn't deny it, moving straight into a rant about how 'Bae better be on my doorstep by 4:00 next week I swear' instead. Gold firmly shut his eyes and attempted to tune her out, choosing the howling wind and the creaking of their house to focus on instead. When he finally opened his eyes again there was a small, pajama-clad boy standing in the doorway to the kitchen - wide eyes and balled up hands.

"I need to go, Milah," Gold said, voice suddenly turning as soft and soothing and kind as he could manage. "Did you want to say goodnight to Bae?"

She'd already hung up though, no doubt just as soon as she heard the words "I need" slipping past his lips.

Gold slowly lowered the phone from the crook of his ear.

"Sorry, Bae," he said softly. "The, ah, connection died..."

Bae's eyes immediately flit to their answering machine, the bright green light making a liar of his father. He didn't call Gold out on it though, just shuffled forward into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes.

He'd been quiet ever since the car and it didn't take a genius to deduce why. Gold may not have been able to stand Milah - how they'd survived two years of marriage he'd never know - but Bae would always need his mother. The lack of a visit had sobered him, in a way Gold rarely saw in his otherwise cheerful son. Bae had remained silent during their puttering drive back, as Gold bundled them into the house, through his homework, early dinner, a bath, and now this, already dressed for bed in dinosaur PJs, despite the fact that on any other Friday Bae would have been clamoring for extra time to stay up.

Gold sighed. It was killer on his leg, but he forced himself to kneel down on the tile floor, opening his arms for Bae to rush into. Damn his own pain, times like this he needed to be on Bae's level, both literally and figuratively, in order to help him the best that he could.

Milah may not be much of a mother, but Gold was determined to be the best parent for Bae. Perhaps not a knight, but at the very least a most devoted monster.

"It's alright," he murmured, threading his fingers into Bae's hair. "You're alright. It'll be better come morning, I promise."

Bae nodded, snuggling further into Gold and clamping on like a vice. He was such an independent tyke that sometimes Gold forgot how young he was, how Bae needed comfort like any child, like any person, really. The difficulty always lay in getting him out of these funks and back to the bouncing boy that Gold knew was waiting patiently. He'd get his turn again. Gold would help with that.

With a grunt he sat back, leaning against the island and taking Bae with him. Gold carefully stretched out his leg while he continued petting Bae's hair.

"How about we do something extra fun tonight, hmm? Just the two of us, that big storm outside... seems like the perfect time for a treat to me."

Gold would freely admit that he felt a pang of relief when Bae nodded. Better that than nothing. He honestly expected Bae to demand that they watch a cartoon film together - complete with hot chocolate - or perhaps spend time playing his games on Gold's laptop. Instead what slipped out was:

"Can I have the story?"

Gold smiled. "The one about turning straw into gold?" A silly little tale, but it was easily Bae's favorite, despite the lack of dragons. He always said that of course you could only create gold with magic. That's why Papa was so great. It was one of the few things that never failed to draw a blush to Gold's cheeks.

Bae shook his head now though, startling him.

"No? Then what-?"

"The other story," he snuffled. "The new one."

The new...? ... of course. The one from today's Story Time. Gold mentally cursed himself for not letting Bae re-tell the tale when he wanted to, when he was excited to. Now it was too little too late.

"I don't know that one, Bae." Gold said weakly. "You could tell it to me though."

Another violent shake of his head. Right. Tonight was a night to be comforted, not comfort in turn. What then?

Gold was about to suggest another option entirely when Bae said, "Can't you just call her?"

Ah.

'Her' being Mary Margaret, Storybrooke's elementary school teacher. She wasn't Gold's favorite person by any stretch of the imagination—too loud and jolly, always spouting wisdom she'd pulled from fairy tales of all things. It was no wonder then that Bae loved her like he did and between school and stories in the library, she'd probably become more of a mother-figure to him than even Milah.

Worse, she was accommodating. Almost to a fault. Just last winter Bae had come down with a sudden, ceaseless fever that had left Gold incapacitated with worry. Bae hadn't needed the hospital - it wasn't quite that bad - but he was just miserable enough to lose his normal maturity... and to send Gold climbing up the walls. It was no secret that he'd do anything for Bae. He'd do anything plus the impossible for a Bae crying out in pain.

Even call up Mary Margret.

A fevered Bae had wanted a story. Not any story, one of her stories, and to Mary Margret's credit she never questioned the request, just grabbed her purse and drove the three blocks to their house, despite the fact that it was nearly ten at night. She's slipped into their home like she belonged there, like it wasn't the domain of one Robert Gold, and had placated Bae with an endless string of tales the whole night through.

She must have known what it cost him to make that call. For him to beg a favor. Mary Margret never mentioned it though and Gold didn't know if he appreciated or despised her silence. Not that it mattered. He owed her - a deal was a deal, even if only one party was in on the transaction.

Now... god. Gold really didn't want to increase that debt.

"Really, Bae?" he sighed, already knowing he was lost. Bae just nodded more forcefully against his neck, tightening his tiny arms further around Gold's waist and squeezing the reluctance out of him. Gold heaved another sigh and gently nudged him off his lap.

"Grab me the phone," he said.

Already an improvement in spirit. Bae hopped to his feet, jumping briefly to snatch the phone from the island before settling back beside Gold. His hair was tousled, his bare heels rolling over the floor. A small smile snuck back onto Bae's face.

"You'll love this story, Papa," he said.

Gold grimaced. "No doubt," and took the phone with the air of a man condemned.

What would he owe Mary Margret after this? Nothing he was willing to pay. Still, that was something for the Gold of tomorrow to worry about. One who wasn't burdened by Milah, snow, and a disappointed son.

Snow... no way could she traverse the three blocks, not in this. Bae would have to settle for a tale over the line, which was admittedly better than inviting that woman back into their home. Gold would happily stay sprawled on the floor the rest of the night, letting the heat clear his head while the cool tile soothed his leg. It seemed it was an odd day all around.

Gold slipped off his shoes and loosened his tie, letting Bae snuggle back against his chest. It was nearly 10:00 now. The library was obviously closed. He dialed Mary Margret's home phone with just the slightest resistance.

"Keep quiet," he admonished and waited for their librarian's chipper voice to pick up.

Except it never came. Gold listened with a frown as the phone continued to ring, finally stopping on an idiotic voicemail from both Nolans. No, he most certainly did not want to leave a message at the sound of their paired, melodious tone (did they sing? Good god). He wanted the woman herself, but apparently no one was home. Which frankly didn't imply anything good given the weather. In all probability Mary Margaret had stopped by a friend's place on her way, got caught up in chit-chat, and ended up stranded as the snow piled up. Same, perhaps, with David.

With Bae staring at him curiously—hopefully—Gold briefly considered calling up those other households. Mary Margaret was likely with her daughter, or perhaps over at that Ruby girl's place… there were so many possibilities and the last thing he wanted was to start calling them indiscriminately. Gold could only imagine the gossip that would stir up: the town pariah, calling them in the middle of the night, demanding that they hand over their precious librarian, during a storm no less. It was something straight out of a nightmare.

"Papa?" Bae nudged and Gold lowered the phone… but then he raised it again. There was onet thing he could try.

There was just a chance that Mary Margaret hadn't made it out of the library at all. As he listened to more ringing, Gold thought that perhaps he didn't need to owe her a new favor. Wouldn't Mary Margaret be just pleased to have someone calling in her time of need, someone to keep her entertained until it was safe to drive out? She might even thank him for requesting a stor—

"Hello?"

Gold's mind screeched to a halt. That voice…

"Hello?"

That wasn't Mary Margaret.

"Hellooo?" it said again. Gold sat up straight.

"Hello?" he parroted. His tone must have cued Bae in that something was amiss because he perked his head, crawling further onto his lap to get closer to the phone.

"Hello," Not-Mary-Margaret said again and then proceeded to laugh at the absurdity of this 'conversation.' Gold bristled, the idea of anyone laughing at him sending a jolt of anger through his chest and up into his throat. He cleared it, using his free hand to do away with his tie entirely.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

That certainly caught Bae's attention. Gold was forced to turn away, lest his newly energized son snatch the phone straight out of his grasp. Bae faded into the background though and Gold's blood positively boiled as this woman scoffed at him.

"Me?" she said. "I'm not the strange man calling here. At night. During a storm." She paused to let that sink in. "Who are you?"

… Damn if she didn't have a point. Gold may have been the terror of their little town, but he'd never set out to deliberately scare a stranger—not unless he was laying out a future foundation, of course. And that was the kicker, wasn't it? Gold didn't know this woman. He didn't recognize her voice and she clearly didn't recognize his. She wasn't a citizen whose life Gold had been mapping out for years now. She wasn't one of them.

Could a visitor really have gotten stuck here? Exploring their frankly boring town, only to become trapped in their library, the one agricultural landscape that was suitably ancient and creepy? No. That was far too much like a story to be true. That read like fiction.

More than that though, the woman was calm. Surprisingly so. She wasn't blubbering to him about her predicament, or the snow, or how worried her poor family must be. She waited with a comfort that challenged her strangeness and the whole contradiction set Gold's teeth on edge.

Waiting… with a jolt Gold realized she was waiting, Bae's eyes and her vocal presence weighing on him as he sat there like an dolt.

"Psss." Bae tugged insistently at his sleeve. "Papa, that's Belle!"

Bae had climbed up near his shoulders now and he wasn't exactly quiet, so Gold shouldn't have been surprised when the woman heard him and promptly let out a gasp.

"Is that Bae?" she cried.

"Who's Belle?" he hissed.

"I am." Her voice—Belle's?—changed then, moving from surprised and vaguely suspicious to downright warm. Her tone was quickly infused with happiness, even familiarity, and all of it poured directly into Gold, leaving him to actually reel for a moment, forced to lean his head against the island for support.

"Oh, no wonder you've been confused," she said, positively gushed. "You must have been expecting Mary Margaret, right? She didn't come in today. Won't be coming in on Fridays anymore, period. I'm Belle by the way… and I already said that, didn't I? Bell French. Storybrooke's new assistant librarian—nice to meet you!"

Gold was more than a little overwhelmed by all that, to say nothing of Belle's claim that it was nice to meet him. No one enjoyed meeting him, particularly when it meant that they'd remain knowing one another for any extended period of time. Didn't she know who he was? She must have some kind of inkling. This Belle seemed to know Bae at least, yet she continued to be warm, inviting… Gold was so wrapped up in the sound of her that he nearly missed that more pertinent information.

Assistant librarian?

He shushed Bae and tried desperately to catch up on the story she'd launched into. Belle, it seemed, had moved here just the day before and had immediately taken up the position that, Gold was furious to realize, he hadn't even known was on the table. Apparently reconnecting with her estranged daughter, expecting another baby soon, and keeping up with Storybrooke's combined Elementary School/Library duties was proving to be too much, even for the energized Mary Margaret. She'd interviewed and hired young Belle—Master's in literature, grossly overqualified, but looking for a low-key job after the death of her father—to take over most of the library duties. Belle had thus jumped happily into Friday's Story Time. She wanted to get to know the kids after all! And wasn't it so lucky that she had? Mary Margaret had graciously offered her that apartment over the library and it needed work, certainly, but it was way better than going out in this weather! She was so relieved that all the kids got home safe and Mary Margaret didn't have to come out and you didn't really think she'd still be here this time of night, did you? Was there some sort of emergency? Her number was scrawled on the fridge and Belle was more than happy to go grab it.

Gold gapped into the phone.

That explanation had come in such a convoluted rush that it left him reeling. Yet also rather… exhilarated? There was something about Belle's voice that revitalized him, coaxing Gold to sit up straighter, drawn in by this tale of death, betrayal ("Father gambled away pretty much everything before the stroke hit. Probably couldn't afford anything but Storybrooke anyway," she announced cheerfully), opportunity, and moving here from Australia, of all places. Gold felt like he had whiplash not only from the amount of information, but the intimacy of it as well. It was like Belle was inviting him into some fast-paced world that only she had access too… good god, no wonder she'd ensnared Bae so easily.

Even now he nodded along, eyes alight at the voice emanating from the phone. It struck Gold that Bae looked happy again, all thoughts of Milah forgotten.

"—627-89—" Belle was saying, jarring him. Gold coughed.

"I have her number," he interrupted. "I… there appears to have been a mistake."

"Oh?" she said, even as Bae shook his head forcefully. Gold wavered.

"Yes, you see my son Bae—yes, yes the one with the dragon t-shirt—he's had… a rather trying night. I had called hoping that Mary Margaret might be willing to re-tell him the story from this afternoon—"

"No, that was me," Belle chirped and Gold ground his teeth at being interrupted, despite the fact that he'd done the same just moments before.

"Yes," he snapped. "I'm aware. Hence the mistake."

Yet Belle surprised him by laughing, registering no insult at his tone. "Mistake?" she said. "No, just an unexpected outcome. Put Bae on. I'll happily read to him."

"You—?" Gold shook his head. "It's nearly 10:30."

"And? What else am I going to do?"

"Sleep?"

"After an afternoon of kids and three coffees? No way."

Gold smiled, entirely involuntarily, because he too had sacrificed more than one restful night due to Bae's antics. He quickly wiped that smile away though.

"This is hardly within your job description," he pointed out.

"I don't mind."

"You don't even know us."

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Gold could nearly hear Belle's grin across the line.

"I know Bae likes stories and dragons and won't eat the raisins we had for snack today," she said. "I know he was late leaving because he was introducing himself—little gentleman!—and telling me about his fantastic Papa who runs the antique shop that I, and I quote, should 'totally buy decorating stuff' from."

Gold spluttered.

"I know you're indeed a fantastic dad if you're calling around for a story this time of night and I can make a real educated guess that Bae is about to jump out of his seat, so why don't you just put him on already?"

Right on all accounts. Bae was literally bouncing up and down, laughing at his Papa's expression. Gold handed over the phone, but not before he had the foresight to put Belle on speaker.

"Hi, Belle!" Bae cried, voice echoing across the kitchen. Gold had the startling, terrifying thought that these two hyper people were made for each other.

"Hello again, Bae," Belle said, equally pleased. "Your Papa says you're not having a good night?"

"Sorta. We couldn't get out to see Mama."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Did Gold detect interest in her voice? No. That was beyond absurd. "Are you enjoying the snow anyway? All snug in bed?"

"We're on the floor!" Bae laughed.

"The floor? One of you isn't hurt, are you?"

Actual concern? No, also ridiculous…

"Nah. Papa is just being silly."

"Well, I can approve of that at least…"

And on it went, Bae telling Belle all about dinner and his bath and how he was working on a popsicle stick frame that he'd totally give to her when he was done because she was cool. While they spoke rapid-fire Gold was left to sit there like a nincompoop, wincing slightly whenever Bae dished out another intimate detail about their lives. Perhaps that was why she'd been so forthcoming in turn—evening out the damage of one Robert Gold having a blabbermouth for a son. A part of Gold wondered just what sort of favor he'd owe this mystery woman by the time they were through. The rest of him simply marveled at how friendly she was.

Gold came back to himself when Belle mentioned a story.

"How about a revision?" she was saying and Gold jumped slightly as Bae re-situated himself on his lap, setting the phone on the floor where they could both hear it. He lightly pounded Gold's legs in excitement. Revision?

"Yeah!" Bae answered for them both and settled back. Before Gold knew it, it was, apparently, story time.

"Right then," Belle said. They heard her take a sip of something thick and presumably hot. "Once upon a time, there was—"

"No, you gotta say, the title!" Bae interrupted.

"Ooooh. Of course. This is Beauty and the Beast, uh, Revised Edition."

Beauty and the Beast? Gold didn't know the tale, but already he didn't like it. That was a dichotomy he preferred not to think on. But Bae…

Gold leaned and found that Bae's eyes were alight in anticipation, a beauty all his own, just barely waiting patiently. Gently, Gold lay a hand on his curls.

"Ready," he murmured.

"Wonderful," and Belle's tone changed once once. "Once upon a time there was a Beast, though not the kind we've grown used to from fairy tales. No, this Beast had silk suits instead of fur, a smirk instead of teeth, and words rather than claws. This made for a far scarier beast because he was the kind we see everyday."

Bae nodded along, entranced. Gold's mouth had gone completely dry.

"This Beast lived in a house like us, he had a job like us… but in truth, he was nothing like us because he lacked love in his life. Love, which is the most crucial emotion of all. How did he get this way? Who knows. Perhaps it was a curse. More likely the world had simply worn him down. All we can say for sure is that no one is born a Beast and sometimes, if the people of his town looked real closely, they could catch tiny flickers of sadness in his eyes."

Bae gave a sympathetic gasp.

"The townspeople learned to avoid the Beast's house, his route, the very grass he stepped on. The Beast told himself that he didn't care… though beasts are often no more able to lie to themselves than we are. He cared deeply in fact. So much so that it pained him, this existence—a life that was only existence. All seemed lost for our poor Beast.

"But then, one day a new woman moved into town, one who didn't know that she was supposed to fear the Beast."

"Beauty," Bae said, his voice gone drowsy.

"Yes, Bae, very good, though she wasn't beautiful in the way you might expect. She was rather plain all things considered, even ugly when it came to selfishness and fear. But she did have one astounding ability, beautiful even: she could quickly and easily make friends.

"You know the catalyst then, don't you, Bae? Tales are told in three. Beauty looked three times for a job in her new home. First she went to the baker, looking to help them make bread, but the labor was too skilled for her hands and Beauty left in frustration. Next she went to the courier and asked to deliver her neighbors' goods, but it proved too easy and the work did not engage her mind. That then wouldn't do either. Finally, though her new friends cried out in horror, Beauty approached the Beast's shop and asked to learn the art of a deal. This work proved to be just right."

Bae was listing now, his mouth yawning against Gold's suit. "And then they became best friends forever?"

"Eventually. The shop flourished under Beauty's care, both in the cleaning she gave it and the amount she sold. Her powers of friendship allowed Beauty to engage with shoppers, figuring out exactly what they desired and how she could obtain it for them. Their business was impressive, despite the fact that everyone still feared the Beast and what he was capable of.

"They grew rich together and Beast began to bestow that wealth upon Beauty, buying her gold gowns that were too fine for her features, jewelry that dulled against her skin. He thought she made those trinkets stunning. Beauty cared little for such extravagance, but she recognized that the beast hadn't given anyone a gift in some time—perhaps never.

"It was a step and over time they took more steps together, small though they would seem to others: sharing meals, downtime, ice cream in the summer, coffee in the winter. In time, the town was shocked to see that the Beast could loosen his tie and undo his cuffs. His words turned caring and his smirk… his smirk turned into a smile."

Belle's voice had grown softer with every passing sentence, lulling Bae into an easy sleep, his weight settling against Gold's chest. Gold too felt strangely lethargic, perfectly willing to spend the rest of the night on his kitchen floor, this voice filling his ears. Belle continued to speak overly slowly, drawing out her tale, turning something that should have greatly angered him into… gold.

"They realized that the Beast had really been a man all along," she whispered, "and he and Beauty lived out their days in companionship—happy for ever after."

"I'm not paying you to play in it," Gold growled, jabbing his cane Leroy's way.

Really, the man wasn't doing a terrible job of clearing his sidewalk, but Gold had a reputation to maintain and a disturbingly odd night to shake from his thoughts.

Bae had been out like a light after Belle finished her story and between his leg and otherwise heavy limbs, he'd been quite unwilling to move straight away. So he hadn't, instead speaking with Belle, in the sort of hushed whispers only appropriate for those moments long past midnight. The only problem was, he couldn't recall what exactly they'd talked about.

Gold had vague memories of sitting curled there for a time, speaking easily and what felt like endlessly, at least for him. He remembered speaking of innocent things—the snow, Bae, perhaps even her story—but there might have been more, and in the light of day that realization sent a shiver down Gold's spine.

He huddled in his coat. A cold day. A day of an aching leg, incompetent snow removal, dealing with Milah (she'd no doubt call again to harass him), entertaining Bae, and dealing with the knowledge that he now owed a woman he'd yet to even meet, one who apparently enjoyed twisting his life into some ridiculous fairy tale.

… It hardly mattered that she was right. About the smirk and the suits and his lack of companionship. That wasn't the point. She was just a bodiless voice that belonged to a strange, snowy night. She—

"Hello there!"

Gold startled, badly enough that he nearly slipped on his walkway—flailing, just enough to catch Leroy's eye—and normally that would have enraged him, except that he recognized that voice.

A woman stood across the street, dressed in leggings, skirt, pink Uggs, woven sweater. So layered and colorful that she stood out starkly against the white world. Chestnut curls (she wasn't plain) and a greeting for Leroy (she wasn't selfish). She crossed to him and Gold knew, like he could read his own tale, that he'd invite her in for coffee.

Wasn't that how it went? Coffee in winter?

She extended a gloved hand (he took it) and she smiled with chapped lips (he smiled back. Smiled).

"I'm Belle," she said, bright and warm.

Hello, Beauty.