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David Nolan sat at the front corner table in Granny’s Diner sipping on a cup of lukewarm coffee bitter enough to put the hair back on Leroy’s head. It was the slow hour before the lunch crowd came barreling through — just himself, Belle French the quiet librarian at the counter, and Mr. Gold sitting at a booth with his back against the wall facing the front like some sort of mob boss. David eyed him as he sipped his coffee, wincing at the acrid taste and made a note to scrape his tongue when he got back to the shelter.
As far as he knew Mr. Gold had never dined inside Granny’s. Heck, as far as he knew the man didn’t even eat. He was certainly thin enough. Downright scrawny in fact. The kids in town and probably half the grownups thought he transformed into a bat at night to suck the blood from unwilling victims. It was preposterous because Mr. Gold sucked the blood from unwilling victims in broad daylight—metaphorically speaking of course, but it was more interesting than imagining him, say, trudging back to his lonely house for a lonely evening spent with his piles of money. Alone.
David frowned wondering where that thought came from. Everyone knew that Mr. Gold was as heartless and cold and hard as a diamond. No one even knew his first name — it could actually be Mister as far as anyone knows. He was more like a robot than a warm-blooded creature as fascinating as a bat. There was no entreating with the man. No reprieves. And no backing out of a deal if you were desperate enough to make one. He was smoother than silk, Mr. Gold. Always perfectly dressed in a suit no matter the weather (completely out of place for a blue-collar town in Maine), topped with a sneer and a cutting remark if you attempted to make casual conversation. And yet, here he sat, for the first time he could recall, ordering a blue plate special from Granny, his fingers nervously twiddling on his gold-topped cane handle and looking as if he was going to be sick.
David squirmed in his seat a little, shifting the weight a bit trying to find a more comfortable spot. His habit of sitting in the same booth meant that he invariably sat in the seat with the jagged rip which pinched his leg every so often. He should change booths but this one gave him the best view of the street – not that he had anything or anyone in particular he wanted to see. But sometimes, on a nice Saturday such as this one, Mary Margaret would trot by on her way to… wherever she went on a nice Saturday. Such as this one. He shook his leg a bit to ease the pinch away.
His eyes wandered back to Mr. Gold, still fiddling with his cane and glancing ever so often at Belle French at the counter. David startled a bit when he noticed that Mr. Gold’s seat gave him a perfect view of the beautiful librarian. He wasn’t staring at her ass or leering in any manner in which David would feel it necessary to intervene but it still made him uncomfortable. Miss French’s cheerful voice carried a bit across the diner as she talked to Ruby over her plate rhubarb pie à la mode. An odd choice for eleven in the morning, but who was he to judge what a grown woman orders for her lunch? Mary Margaret once told him, “Life is short, eat dessert first”. Well, she didn’t tell him, but he overheard her say it once. To someone else. He just happened to have been standing nearby.
Mr. Gold was still looking at Belle French. There was no denying it now, he was outright staring at her and to David, whose first instincts were to rush the woman out of the diner before Mr. Gold could pounce on her, it would have been creepy if not for the fact that Mr Gold’s face has gone soft. Not like actual goo or anything, but there was a very distinct softening to his features as he gazed at her. Instead of the sharp, eagle-eyed glare and ever-present smirk, the hard mask has slipped and he looked wistful. Hopeful and so honestly downright scared that David was very nearly moved for him. Almost. He didn’t know what it was about Belle that caused his eyes to grow warm and his breath to quicken, but he began to root for the sly bastard. Silently. In his booth. Far away from the fireworks should any occur.
David and Mr. Gold each startled out of their reveries as Belle hopped down from her stool and headed toward the bathroom in the back. Mr. Gold quickly glanced down at the table, his hands cupped one over another and a thumb restlessly rubbing over a forefinger in a nervous tick that David had never noticed before and wasn’t that interesting as well? He gave him credit for not turning to watch her walk away. Say what you will about the bastard at least he had some respect for Belle French.
David turned to look out the window once more. The road was pretty empty save for his own truck and Archie coming down the street with Pongo, signaling the beginning of lunch hour and his daily mooning over Ruby. Between Archie, Mr. Gold, and himself the place would be filled with a bunch of saps who would give much to be in the company of the women they loved—
Oh. Well, that was interesting, too. David set his cup on the table and stretched his arms in front of him before spreading them out and casually placing one over the backrest. It was a perfect move if he actually had a date, but it also allowed him to turn in his seat and get a better view of the action without drawing notice to himself. He gaped instead.
Mr. Gold had oh-so-casually placed a book on the table – off to the side a bit with a corner poking over the edge of the table so as not to get in the way of his hamburger— and if Belle French, who everyone knows loves books —the woman was a librarian for god’s sake— just happened to walk by and just happened to glance over and just happened to remark on it, well, that was purely a coincidence wasn’t it? David could see it all in his head and he would have bet his truck and a kidney that it had been randomly opened and not, as Mr. Gold would have one believe, read with any interest before now.
He raised his mug to take another sip of coffee, imagining the whole scenario as Mr. Gold no doubt envisioned it:
Belle would come out of the bathroom and walk past his table only to stop short at the sight of the book. She would turn to him with a smile on her lips.
“Mr. Gold! I didn’t know you were a reader,” she would cheerfully say in her delightful accent. No doubt there would be some cooing. A coy smile. Maybe a blush dusting her cheeks.
Mr. Gold would probably respond with, “Aye, I’m an avid reader. I have many important books, some of them rare first editions, in my library at home. You should come over and see them sometime.” His voice would be rough and filled with that Scottish accent that sent a shiver of fear into every citizen of this town. No doubt in Mr. Gold’s fantasy Belle would find it attractive instead of repellent.
A smile, a look of understanding, and maybe her hand on his would happen next. “I would love to, Mr. Gold! By all means, take me to your home and let me see these masterpieces,” she would tell him before Mr. Gold would get up, drop a twenty on the table, take his cane and lead her to his waiting Cadillac which mysteriously appeared just outside of the diner.
David scoffed into his mug, the sound echoing in the cup and splattering coffee over his chin. He wiped it off with a napkin, looking shamefacedly around to make sure no one saw it. Nobody even looked his way. Ruby was in the kitchen preparing for the lunch rush and Mr. Gold was staring at his book with such fierce determination that David wondered if it owed him money. He looked nervous. He wondered how long it had taken him to get up the nerve to try this approach. He never would have guessed that Mr. Gold was a timid person, but it was obvious the man had no game whatsoever. David gave him credit for trying.
The squeaking of the ladies’ bathroom door resounded through the quiet diner and Gold quickly drew in his breath in anticipation. David was sure the man wasn’t breathing at all, just waiting to see if his bait worked, looking out of the corner of his eye at her approach, his mouth went slack and his face was full of earnest hope.
Belle breezed right by him. She’d called out a farewell to Ruby in her throaty voice, grabbed her purse from the counter, and walked out the door before Gold could exhale.
He blinked once. Twice then let out his breath slowly, disappointment written over his face for a brief moment before being carefully packed away. He slowly closed the book and ran a well-manicured finger down the spine in a caress and David was sure then, just has he had been sure about everything else, that Gold had picked that book specifically because he knew Belle liked it.
Feeling David’s gaze upon him, Mr. Gold’s eyes snapped up and just like that his face was back to its harsh features, flushing with humiliation. He glared, eyes narrowed as if to warn him that if David ever talked of this to anyone ever at any time in the future they would need to use his dental records for identification purposes.
David nodded to let him know that, “Hey, I got you, man,” but Mr. Gold didn’t speak Bro as he had no one to Bro with so he looked back down at his empty coffee cup instead and waited until the storm passed.
Gold slowly got up, leaning heavily on his cane and cradling the book. David was about to let him leave without acknowledging whatever it was they’d just shared (a moment and a threat) but there was something he needed to do first.
“Mr. Gold!” he called out before his brain had caught up to his mouth. His eyes widened in panic but he gamely plowed on as Gold stopped next to his table. He looked down upon him like a king would a piece of toilet paper on the bottom of his shoe and David felt that he may have made a strategic error. Still, someone had to rescue the man from himself. “Look, Mary Margaret was talking the other day… I just happened to overhear it. She was making plans with Belle and Ariel to go out this Saturday night…”
Gold’s face relaxed a bit and a corner of his mouth twitched as if he was about to smile. “Why Mr. Nolan, are you asking me out on a date?”
David crossed his arms on the table and hunched over them, looking over his shoulder quickly before turning back. “You can tell me no,” he said in a low voice. “Or you could meet me at the Rabbit Hole Saturday at nine. Wear that purple shirt with the stripes. I’ve heard it’s a favorite.”
Mr. Gold looked nonplussed. “How do you—” He flushed and looked down at his shirt cuff, paying strict attention to some invisible lint before glancing at him with a light of hope in his eyes. “It’s a date. I’ll see you on Saturday.”