In Class
Belle glanced at the piece of paper taped to the craft store's window and squeezed Rumple's hand. "Why don't we give it a go?"
He blinked at her, tipping his head back in surprise before making a gesture at the shop and then the sleepy city around them. "You want to give up our evening stroll for painting?" Mirth mingled with the words, making each become a sound of pleasant disbelief.
"And why shouldn't we?" Belle thrust her hands to her hips and tilted her head to the side. It had been a while since she and Rumple had time to be on their own. Even longer since they'd had an evening stroll like the ones they used to take in Storybrooke. The atmosphere only served to fuel her playful banter. "Unless you think you couldn't do it."
"Of course I can do it." Her husband wrinkled his nose as he would have back when she first knew him. The mask didn't stay on long, however. After a breath, his eyes had softened. "I just don't want to take away from our limited time together."
Belle gave him a warm smile. "We can hire more sitters for Gideon," she reminded him. "All you have to do is ask."
He looked at the store, eyes narrowing at the activity happening beyond the glass. "I suppose we could see if they are still taking students."
With a giggle, Belle reached for the door and gave it a gentle tug. It responded with a rattle so loud that every head within the craft store turned their way.
One woman, brows knitted tight, strode forward and pointed at a sign in the window opposite to the one the Golds had been focused on. "Sorry. We're closed."
"We were hoping it wasn't to late to sign up for the lesson," Rumple called out kindly. "We're traveling through town this week. We'd be willing to pay full price for whatever you have left to teach tonight."
A thoughtful hum could be heard on the other side of the glass while several of the students leaned close to whisper to each other. Eventually the lock clicked and the door swung partially open.
"I think we could allow that exception."
The golds learned a lot about the town that night, and a lot about Miss Lanette, their instructor. They also learned a lot about each other and themselves.
It turned out that Rumple was the better painter, which had surprised him, but not Belle, who insisted that his talent came from years of flourished hand gestures. Belle was much more capable of sketching, making short work of copying the form of the flamingo they would be working on. Deciding to work together on one piece meant that they were able to catch up to the rest of the class quickly and were soon as comfortable with the others as if the class were taking place in Storybrooke.
"Now, these lighter feathers should pick up a little of the darker color, but not much. We want a brief, gentle blending, not something muddy."
Belle tucked her lip in her teeth and studied the work they'd done so far. It looked good, or was at least recognizable, but what she liked most about it was the true blend of technique. It was obvious that the painting was a collaboration. Her strokes clashed in look with Rumple's. Yet the spread of their work, the way her strokes and his gently alternated, made it beautiful.
"I'm going to ruin this," she said.
Rumple shifted position so that he stood beside her and reached out to take her hand and the brush in his own. He pressed close and murmured into her ear. "Then we'll do it together."
"I think we found a new hobby," Belle whispered as he helped her make the first, careful stroke.
Her husband's chest vibrated as he let out an approving hum. "Perhaps we have indeed."
"Where'd that come from?" Alice pointed to a painting of a pink flamingo leaning against the wall. It clashed so horribly with the rest of the house that she couldn't imagine it had ever belonged in it.
Gideon turned to see what she was pointing at and his eyes instantly clouded over, filling with memories Alice would never know. "My parents brought that home after one of their dates. I was too little to remember everything, but I know we were in a small town and they found someone to watch me while they were out. When I woke up the next day it was in our hotel room and they couldn't stop looking at it."
Alice imagined Rumple, the way he would melt at the mere thought of Belle. She could easily picture that expression again; a man dissolving at the thought of whatever romantic moment caused the purchase of such an interesting item that was not at all his style. It was harder to picture Belle exactly, but she could piece together something from all the stories Gideon had told. She would be sipping tea, elbows on the table, one arm brushing Rumple's. As Gideon munched on his morning oatmeal, his parents would lean into each other until their heads touched and stare at the haphazard feathers that made up their bird...
And everything would be whole in their universe.
Based on the flamingo and city at night images at the Monthly Rumbelling post here: