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Two years ago, Mr. Gold first stepped into Whisked Away as a customer, not its landlord. One year later, Miss French was in his bed, soft as chiffon cake, planning a much-needed trip abroad while, unbeknownst to them, their child quietly grew inside her.
Today, Mr. Gold counted out the bakery's register as its owner, preparing for Belle's return from maternity leave in the morning. A gentle snow drifted outside the windows framed in white twinkle lights as Kronk wiped the display case beside him, cleaner squeaking on the glass.
"So," Kronk drawled casually, "is Belle coming back with a ring?"
Gold's hand slipped. The roll of pennies burst through the drawer.
Only when people mentioned it did he remember they weren't married.
He'd had a ring since before Gideon was born. They were in love—building a life, not co-parenting. That's why she moved in with him. That's why it felt like they were already married.
There just hadn't been time to make it official.
He hadn't wanted to do it while she was pregnant, lest it send the wrong message. After Gideon arrived, Gold adjusted his grand romantic vision to something more feasible, but even then, timing betrayed him.
One evening, when he'd committed to setting the mood, she'd burst into tears and announced she was "hideous" because she hadn't washed her hair in five days and nursing bras weren't sexy.
Gold picked the pennies from the bill trays with a thin smile.
"Unlikely," he admitted, "but soon."
Belle made his house a home—more yellows, more sweets. Fresh marjoram-sage biscuits and lavender cakes; raspberry almond torte.
Even now, dissociated and depleted from Gideon's wails, she strapped him on and fired up the mixer. It reset them both. Gold was hand-fed a pecan sugar cookie for his troubles, and Belle kissed the crumbs away.
He knew she missed the bakery.
"But is now the best time?" he asked as they sat on the couch. "The holidays have only just begun."
"That's why I need to go back," Belle insisted. "You need me."
Gideon gurgled in her lap. Gold smiled helplessly—at his family, here, content in the glow of the Christmas tree. Pride spilled through his chest, and the weight of a certain question landed hard in his stomach, stirring the butterflies.
This felt good. Not ideal, but good.
He sat taller as Belle lifted Gideon to her shoulder, rubbing his back.
"Belle—"
A wet splurch interrupted him. Belle gasped, grimaced, and groaned at the warmth spreading down her shirt.
"Gideon…"
"Here."
Gold took him, deftly removing the soiled bib. When Belle disappeared to shower, he cast a stern, affectionate glare at his son.
"You're not making this easy on your papa."
He settled deeper into the cushions with Gideon on his chest, cradling and kissing his soft, soft head. Gold's gaze soon drifted to the tree, its sparkle bolstering the wish in his heart.
"I want us to be a family," he said. "Would you like that?"
Gideon spit up again.
Gold sighed, refusing to look at his shirt.
"Your manner of dissent is boorish."
Gideon hiccuped.
Belle returned to her bakery on a cold, sunny morning with a big smile, a little baby, and a lot to do. Orders were piling up, and the Storybrooke Christmas Party was next weekend.
Mr. Gold considered closing the pawn shop to be there, but he knew she would forbid it. She had something to prove to herself with customers already cramming the lobby and a playpen wedged into the office.
"It's quieter at the shop," he offered.
Belle grunted until the pack-n-play snapped into shape.
"But he might need me."
Gold had Gideon by lunchtime. The smoke alarm woke him up.
As the week wore on, Belle wore out. Events, trays, and orders overlapped in her mind. She came in early and went home late. Some nights, she didn't come home at all.
She'd only shut her eyes for a moment.
When Gold roused her from the floor behind the counter, it was 12:15 AM—and she'd somehow used the cake as a pillow.
"You're doing too much."
"I'm doing just fine."
He smirked as he wiped red buttercream out of her ear with a wet paper towel.
The question surged to the tip of his tongue; he loved this sweet, stubborn, mess of a woman.
But he was fairly certain she'd be furious if he proposed while she was blowing frosting out of her nose, so he let the feeling pass and wet another paper towel.
Having Belle and Kronk man their table again at the Storybrooke Christmas Party felt like old times. They were somehow the oasis from and the epicenter of the chaos with their sprinkles, smiles, and good cheer.
Belle handed out cake pops, festive in her blinking Christmas-light necklace and green cabled sweater. Beside her, Kronk plated parmesan quiche bites with one hand and held Gideon with the other, his "little dude" fascinated by the jingle bells on Kronk's reindeer antlers.
Across the room, at the bar, Gold did a double take when Jefferson appeared beside him. He put his trombone up on the bar, plucked a piece of tinsel off his hat, and toasted Gold with his own scotch.
"Ask her."
"Here?" Gold huffed. "No."
He'd prefer not to have Leroy dressed as Santa lurking in the background of any blurry cell phone photos inevitably shared online.
He glared at Jefferson as he threw back his scotch, set down the glass, and smacked his lips. They both looked up as shrill cheers erupted at Whisked Away's table; one of the kids had chosen the "green velvet cupcake" from the tiered display and won a door prize.
"What are you waiting for?" Jefferson asked. "She's crazy about you. People already think you're married."
"It's not the right time."
Jefferson groaned. This man was impossible.
"If you don't do it soon, I will start hitting on her."
Gold's eyes flashed. He turned to Jefferson fully, voice dark.
"If you hit on her,"—he held up his cane—"I'm going to hit on you."
Jefferson tried not to laugh. He really did.
"That did not come out the way you thought it did—OW!"
The days blurred together in a disorienting whirlwind of sugar, snow, and sleepless nights. Her bones ached for a hot bath. Her neck burned. She'd been craving a pork chop for days.
Maybe he was right, Belle thought as she climbed the porch stairs that night. Maybe jumping back in during the holidays hadn't been the best idea.
This was hard.
All of it, together, was hard.
Belle scraped the slush from her shoes and went inside. Her brow furrowed at the faint scent of buttery steaks luring her toward the kitchen.
"Robert?"
But it was all dim, all cold.
As his cane came down the hall, she glimpsed the roses and china on the dining table. The blackened wicks of the tapers. Wax cooled, but still soft to the touch.
She blinked, throat tight, when he pressed a kiss to her temple.
"You made dinner," she said. "A nice dinner. For us. Didn't you?"
"You didn't know," he said gently. "Ariel offered to take Gideon tonight, so…"
A bitter sigh rushed out of her. "And then Kronk went home sick."
She dropped her face into her hands.
"We're doing this all out of order."
They hadn't spent much meaningful time together. Not really. They dated all of two weeks before she traveled, and when she got back, everything had been about the baby.
Gold stepped closer.
"So long as we're doing it."
Belle lifted her head with a sniff—and froze.
A brilliant solitaire diamond winked at her in the low light. Her breath caught in wonder and thrill, and Gold's smugness softened when she looked at him.
"I wasn't prepared for you, Miss French," he said. "Or our son. Or this life—wiping frosting out of your ears—"
She laughed, beaming through quiet, tearful giggles.
"But I am prepared," he continued, "to name you Mrs. Gold."
He swallowed once, hard, voice suddenly cut to a whisper.
"I am…so ready for that."
Belle held up her hand.
"Me, too."
Gold's heart swelled.
With a breathless grin, he slid the ring onto her finger—and visibly sagged in relief before Belle kissed him.
People came in just to see the ring.
Someone had done the impossible, after all, and won old Mr. Gold's heart.
He smiled from the corner table of the bustling lobby. Ruby, Ariel, and Riley crowded the counter for a better look. David shook his hand. Kronk took bets on wedding dates.
Jefferson flopped down next to him and tore the corner off his croissant.
"I can't believe she's promised to feed you cookies and put up with you for the rest of your lives."
"Neither can I, honestly."
"Good thing she did," Jefferson said, lacing and cracking his fingers. "I was gearing up to make a move."
Gold leveled his brow, tightening his grip on the handle of his cane.
"Don't make me threaten you with a good time again, Jefferson."
Jefferson snorted, stood, and clapped him on the shoulder, firm and sincere.
"Save it for the honeymoon, handsome. You're gonna need it."