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“Miss French says it’s like magic, how it relaxes you.”
Mr. Gold grunted, casting a sideways glance at his grandson as they walked in step together on the cold January evening, Gold’s cane striking the ground at regular intervals. Henry and his parents had moved to Storybrooke only the previous fall, the open sheriff position representing a promotion for Gold’s daughter-in-law, Emma. As for Neal, as a writer he could basically work anywhere.
That’s what Neal had said, anyway. Gold’s conversations with his son were still on the short side. Awkward and full of meaningless nothings. But at least they were talking again. That was almost a miracle in itself, and Gold wasn’t inclined to push matters. The fact that Neal was willing to try to have some semblance of a relationship with him again humbled Gold beyond measure. As a bonus, both his son and Emma seemed to be encouraging--albeit cautiously--Gold to get to know his grandson. Given his history with his son, the caution was understandable. In any case, Gold had always subscribed to the adage of actions speaking louder, and in Henry Gold had the perfect opportunity to demonstrate for Neal just how much he had changed.
This weekend was to be the start. Neal and Emma had gone to New York for their anniversary, Gold having offered to watch over Henry for the duration. He’d invited the boy to plan whatever he wanted to do for their time together, expecting to be subjected to the extended viewing of some tiresome sporting event or, worse, inaugurated into the mysteries of computer gaming. Not that what they did would really matter—just the fact of being with Henry, of getting this unlooked-for second chance with his son, was what really counted.
At least, that had been Gold’s attitude--before.
Before he’d learned that what Henry wanted them to do together was color.
In a coloring book.
In their respective coloring books, purchased especially for the occasion, to be fair. Not that anything about the activity inspired feelings of fairness in Gold. Embarrassment, definitely. Fairness--not so much. Particularly when Henry mentioned, as he had so frequently in the last week, the name of the new librarian in Storybrooke, whose brain had conceived and implemented these bi-monthly coloring activities, to take place at the library. “BYOB—Bring Your Own Book, and come engage with yourself.” That’s what the fliers around town said, not that Gold had noticed them until Henry had brought up his idea for how to spend the Friday night of their long weekend together. Miss French had been in Storybrooke all of two months, and Gold had yet to meet her, but her sponsorship of this event was a point decidedly not in her favor. When Henry had first broached the subject Gold remembered snorting in derision, deriding the idea as nothing but a childish attempt to increase foot traffic into the town’s sorry excuse for a library, undoubtedly with the goal of forcing the city council to direct even more taxpayer dollars towards the establishment’s upkeep. In Gold’s opinion, quite enough money was already poured into that particular black hole on an annual basis. And, as treasurer on the city council, he should know.
Henry was not to be dissuaded from the activity, however. It seemed his friend, Grace Maddox, had quite an interest in art, and planned to attend tonight with her father Jefferson. As Gold suspected his grandson of harboring a rather monumental crush on young Grace, he knew any persuasion would be futile, and two coloring books had been duly purchased.
Gold stifled a sigh. It was going to be a long evening.
***
Actually, it was rather soothing, Gold admitted to himself. He paused to rub his eyes—and he really did need to swallow his pride and make an appointment with the local optometrist soon—and glanced at the clock. Instead of the five or, at most, ten minutes he would have suspected of passing, he noted in surprise that he’d been steadily engaged in coloring for three quarters of an hour. He was even more surprised to realize his efforts had been rather good. The picture he’d nearly completed was not half bad, particularly for a first effort. Beside him, Henry worked steadily on, nearly finished with his own creation.
Gold took in the other occupants of the room, all of whom seemed to be as immersed in their respective coloring books as he had been. Young Grace’s red head was bent in earnest contemplation of the page in front of her, while on her left her father seemed caught up in equally serious study of the tip of the pink pencil in his hand--Jefferson had always been an odd one. He recognized most of the occupants in the room at sight, and was a bit surprised by the turnout. The room was filled almost to capacity. This idea, it seemed, had not been such a bad one as he had first assumed—if nothing else, there were certainly more patrons within the library walls than had been in recent memory. Gold let his glance continue to wander out into the more general parts of the library, noting neutrally that someone—most likely the unknown Miss French—had certainly been at pains to brighten up the place. It had a more welcoming aura to it than had been known in quite some time. All at once Gold was conscious of an urge to close his eyes and take a deep breath, realizing as he did so how good it felt to just…relax. He hadn’t done that in a long time.
Huh. Maybe Miss French had been on to something with that “magical” comment.
A sound, like nothing so much as the timer on his oven at home, beeped repeatedly throughout the room before being silenced by an unseen hand. Almost as one, Henry and the other participants looked up from their books and began putting their coloring implements away, some closing their eyes briefly first as Gold had just done. Soon enough, sounds of purses being unzipped and book satchels being fastened began to fill the room, accompanied by the soft hum of chatter. Henry stood up with his book in hand, crossing over to Grace to look admiringly at her nearly completed picture and show her his own. Gold watched the two youngsters, a feeling of contentment welling up within him from some nearly forgotten place deep inside.
“Hi.”
A low pitched, oddly accented voice sounded next to Gold and he turned, the mellow mood still lingering on him like a second skin.
Turned, and froze.
The most incredibly blue eyes looked down on him out of a heart shaped face framed by auburn waves that tumbled over the speaker’s shoulders, curling just at her breasts. Her smile, warm and welcoming, seemed to fill the room, landing like gentle sunshine on his face and almost, he could swear, seeping into his bones. She was so unexpected a sight that for a long moment he just gazed at her, spellbound, his brain sputtering to catch up with his senses. That organ still hadn’t quite made it when Gold stood abruptly, the etiquette training drilled into him by his spinster great-aunts taking over his body without his consent. His bad knee, unaccustomed to such quick movement, gave out on him and Gold stumbled for a moment before catching the edge of the table to brace himself.
“Whoa, there!” The vision reached out immediately to help steady him. The feeling of heat engendered by her smile intensified to a burning sensation where her small hands closed over his forearms, and Gold bit back a gasp. She waited until he was steady before withdrawing her touch, Gold instantly feeling the loss. “Are you ok?”
Gold couldn’t stop staring. Belatedly he realized that at some point his mouth had fallen open and closed it with a snap. Opened it again. Closed it again. His mind feeling hazy, Gold suddenly realized he must appear insane, or perhaps suffering from an acute stroke—certainly the woman’s look of concern was becoming more pronounced as the seconds passed. Hurriedly he held out his hand to her, clearing his throat at the same time.
“Gold,” he managed to get out, still a bit breathless. How in the world could eyes be that blue? “My name,” he added, as the concern in her face changed to confusion.
The confusion cleared, replaced with an almost incredulous surprise. “Oh!” she breathed, her accent rendering even this slight syllable into the most refined of melodies to Gold’s ears. The blue eyes that continued to hold him in thrall cast him a searching look, then the woman seemed to recover herself, stepping back slightly, her face framing itself into a look of professional friendliness, though Gold had the impression that some kind of barrier had just been erected.
“Miss French!” Henry popped up at Gold’s right arm, smiling broadly. The boy took a moment to wave across the adults, and Gold followed his gaze to see Grace and her father exiting. It took a few seconds more before Gold’s brain was able to process what his ears had just heard.
This was Miss French? This gorgeous, youthful creature was the new librarian? Why, she didn’t look old enough to have left school herself, much less to have taken over from the old dragon who had previously occupied the position. This woman was nothing like that. This woman--Miss French--looked like an escapee from a fairy tale world, a princess who could inspire a wide variety of woodland creatures to break into cheerful song…
“Grandpa?”
The moniker penetrated Gold’s haze of thought. He blinked, suddenly bringing Henry’s worried face back in focus. Risking a quick side glance at Miss French, Gold grimaced when he saw that concern once again clouded her fair brow.
Wonderful. All in all, Gold rather wished he was having a stroke. It would be far less embarrassing. He cleared his throat, grateful beyond belief when his voice came out in its usual, smooth-brogue tones. “Sorry--what were you saying, Henry?”
Henry looked hesitantly from Gold to the librarian and back. “I just didn’t know you’d already met Miss French—?“
“Just meeting, actually, Henry.” Miss French put in, her smile back in place, just as warm and friendly as it had ever been. Gold felt a small burst of hope blossom in his chest. Perhaps she was unaware of his reputation? After all, she was relatively new in town. Perhaps she hadn’t heard that he was the terror of Storybrooke--the bastard who hounded its denizens for rent money on the very day it was due!--selfishly taking no excuses for late payments. The scourge of widows and orphans. The treasurer on the City Council, who just last week had denied any increase to the library’s annual budget--
No such luck. When her gaze left his grandson’s face and rested briefly on his own, Gold could detect a hint of wary speculation creeping into Miss French’s fantastically blue eyes. That look made him willing to bet that his reputation--and his actions of last week--had indeed preceded him.
But her voice when next she spoke betrayed nothing but curiosity. “I have heard of you, Mr. Gold. But I didn’t realize you were related to Henry. Different surnames and all.” The question was unasked, but no less apparent for that.
“It’s a long story,” Gold managed quickly, intercepting Henry as the boy opened his mouth to provide what would doubtless have been a thorough and—at least for Gold—embarrassing treatise on their shared family history. No need to sully the ears of the dazzling Miss French with tales of his spectacular failings as a father.
Thankfully, the lovely librarian seemed content to let it go. Miss French nodded, politely, and appeared about to move on to greet some of the other participants milling about the exit, when she happened to glance down at the coloring book in front of Gold. Her smile brightened fractionally, seeming somehow more genuine, and she reached a tentative finger out to stroke lightly over his work.
“The Enchanted Forest,” she murmured, her tone almost caressing the title of Gold’s coloring book. “I love this one. And you’ve done such a beautiful job with it,” she remarked, directing the smile and those impossibly blue eyes, back to his face before returning to the page still open before them. “Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the coloring type,” she continued, so softly that Gold had the distinct impression she hadn’t meant to voice the thought aloud—a feeling that became certainty in the seconds that followed, as Miss French’s cheeks took on a deep red hue.
“Oh, he’s not,” Henry snorted, apparently oblivious to the librarian’s discomfort, reacting only to her spoken words. “He thinks coloring is kids stuff, ‘unfit to be subsidized by taxpayer dollars’—“
“—an opinion I have since revised.” Gold interjected hurriedly, inordinately pleased when the librarian’s eyes shifted from Henry’s face back to his own, both surprise and pleasure in their depths. “I’ve had an unexpectedly pleasant evening, Miss French,” he hastened to continue, willing to spin the most outrageous lies to keep her looking at him like that, and distantly pleased that, so far at least, he had not needed to lie at all. “I haven’t felt so relaxed in ages,” he ended, feeling like he was pushing his luck but some instinct telling him it was worth the risk. “It was almost magical.”
Now it was Miss French staring at him, those stunning eyes scanning his face, seemingly trying to learn all his depths in one thorough go. The effect was overwhelming, and Gold felt his breath catch, noting at the same time how the blush that had been fading from Miss French’s face again appeared briefly in both cheeks, just before she dropped her gaze from his, bending towards the desk to gather his coloring book together for him.
“I’m glad you had such a good time,” she said softly, pressing the book into his free hand. Her beautiful eyes met his again, quickly, shyly, before she drew back slightly, professionalism again being called forth like a mantle, and bade him and Henry a collective goodbye.
“I hope we see you again,” she said, something almost wistful in her tone making Gold hasten to assure her.
“We’ll be back in two weeks, pencils at the ready.” He smiled, and she smiled, and the moment seemed to stretch out toward eternity, until the jostling of Miss French by a couple heading to the door ended the silent communication as abruptly as it had begun. Mr. Gold trailed Henry to the door, nodding a distracted acquiescence when the boy asked to be allowed to check the shelves—quickly—for the newest volume of his favorite sci-fi series. A whim struck Gold to ask the boy to check him out the first book in said series—even if Gold didn’t have an active library card, Henry certainly did. And having the book would provide the perfect excuse for a return trip to the library, prior to the next coloring book event...
But then, so would the need to sign up for a library card of one’s own. And Gold surmised that in the event, Miss French would certainly be willing to provide some reading recommendations.
He and Henry might just have to return here tomorrow morning to test that theory.