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Belle French was pushing her sixth moving box - packed, like the five before it, with more optimism than good sense - along the hallway and towards her new apartment when a man’s head poked out of the doorway opposite her own.
He looked a little cross with his lips pursed and a disapproving set to his eyebrows, but his expression cleared up as he took in what she had to admit must be a pretty pathetic sight: her face was flushed from her efforts, her hair a messy bun that was starting to fall out, and her clothes were frumpy at best. She was hunched over the box she’d been pushing and trying very hard not to feel embarrassed that this was the first impression she was making on her new neighbor.
...A neighbor who happened to be making an excellent first impression. She Belle couldn’t see much of him, but she liked everything she could see. His hair was dark grey streaked with white and framed a face that looked - now that he wasn’t glaring in her general direction - both welcoming and vulnerable, the sort of face she would like to make light up with a smile.
“You look like you could use a hand,” he said, and she was surprised to hear a gentle accent to his voice.
“A bit, yeah,” she responded. She stood up, stretching her back and pushing strands of hair out of her face. “When I started packing,” she said ruefully, “it seemed like it would be worth it to make fewer trips rather than easier ones.”
“A noble ambition,” he said gravely. “Have you got more to bring up?”
“Loads,” she said.
He flashed her a quick wink, and her heart skipped a beat. “One moment, then, and I’ll be right out.” With that, the stranger ducked back into his apartment and shut the door.
Rather than waiting uselessly in the hallway, Belle shoved the box the last few feet down the hall and into her apartment. She had just gotten it tucked inside the door when the man reappeared, leaning on a cane with one hand and pushing a hand-truck with the other.
“I’m no great shakes at lifting things myself,” he said, not meeting her eyes and holding the cane up as if in explanation, “but this trolley might be even more useful than I would be.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said with conviction. “And I’m - I’m Belle French.”
“Liam Gold,” he said, and he gestured with his cane for her to take the lead. “Call me Gold.”
After they brought up the remaining boxes from her car, Belle mentioned that she’d be making another trip to her old place to pick up her remaining items. He’d immediately offered to lend her the trolley and even his own time if it would speed things up, and after a short but furious internal debate, Belle told him that she’d welcome his company.
Yes, she was absolutely thrilled that her striking new neighbor was such a friendly man, and yes she was absolutely delighted to spend time with him - but she wasn’t altogether sure that bringing him back to the college residence hall that she was moving out of was quite the right way to impress him. Sure, she’d been there as a supervisor over students while she finished her Master’s, but it still hadn’t been the most flattering of living arrangements.
Still, more hands made lighter work, and the afternoon was passing surprisingly quickly.
As they drove across town to campus, they shared stories of themselves. He told her about his career as a chef and showed off the scars that still criss-crossed and spotted his hands and wrists from his learning days - days which, he told her, never seemed to be over. In return, she shared stories of her the pranks she’d seen around her dorm and her dreams of reopening the library near their apartment complex.
Belle took a moment, as they started loading the last few boxes, bits, and bobs out of her old room, to be grateful that she’d already made all her goodbyes and prepared everything for her final departure. She handed over her keys, ignored the amused and inquiring looks shot to her by her erstwhile coworkers, and said goodbye to her home of six years.
Gold had excused himself once all of her belongings were moved up to the new apartment, saying he was sure she had a lot to do and he’d only get in the way.
Telling herself quite firmly that she was not disappointed, Belle thanked him for his time and help, waved him at the door, and turned to the business of unpacking.
She lost the better part of an hour to shoving boxes this way and that until they were all in the room they belonged in, then set up her laptop to stream some movies as background noise as she prepared to unpack her living room until she passed out.
It was some time later that her concentration was broken by a knock on the door. She opened the door a crack and peered out inquisitively.
There stood Gold, a shy sort of smile on his face and a large brown bag in one hand. Belle opened the door a little wider.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” he said, holding the bag up as an offering, “that you didn’t seem to have made time for dinner.”
“Oh, no I - you didn’t have to -” she began, but was cut off.
“I know I didn’t have to do anything, dearie,” he responded, stepping into her apartment as she backed up and made room for him, “But I know as well as anyone how tiring moving can be. A good, hot meal’s the only way to end the process.”
Belle laughed and went to her little kitchen to rifle through boxes until she found some plates and napkins, which she brought back to the living room and set atop two unopened boxes. Gold opened his bag and distributed several the contents of several Chinese takeout containers across both plates.
“I hope it’s to your taste,” he said with a sly look. “I tend to leave work at the office, as it were, or I’d have come up with something a little more personal.”
Belle laughed and gave him a brilliant smile before attacking her plate, more touched by his actions than she cared to voice.
They spent a couple more hours talking while old movies buzzed in the background, until Belle was all but yawning in Gold’s face and feeling very happy indeed that she’d already made her bed and it was ready for her to collapse into. If Gold groaned and favored his leg when she helped him stand from where they’d been sitting on the floor, he still had the good grace to smile and wave aside both her thanks for the dinner and her worries that she’d taken up too much of his time.
Belle walked him across the hall to his own door, where she impulsively hugged him. She felt him tense up in surprise, then one hand wrapped tentatively around her waist.
“Thank you, neighbor,” she said shyly as they parted. She looked up at him and was quite pleased to see a dazed sort of look in his eyes and his mouth slightly open as if he wasn’t quite sure what he ought to say.
“I’ll see you around.” She gave him a wink that was bolder than she felt before retreating as quickly as dignity allowed to her own apartment, where she headed straight to her bedroom and fell onto the mattress without so much as undressing.