𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

Al's Pancake World smelled like syrup and a little too much burnt coffee — which was exactly how Brooke liked it.

The bell over the door jingled as she, Rae, and Lena stepped inside, bundled in jackets, cheeks pink from the cold. The place was buzzing with that odd, small-town mix of locals pretending not to care about something everyone was very obviously talking about.

That something? Rory Gilmore's debutante ball.

The girls slid into their usual booth near the window. Brooke tugged her scarf loose as Rae immediately leaned across the table, eyes wide.

"So," Rae asked in a whisper, like she was about to share state secrets, "did you see Rory's dress?"

Lena nodded. "I did. She looked like a proper debutante. Very... swan-like. In the rich people sense."

Brooke grinned. "I mean, it's Emily Gilmore. Of course it was going to be perfect. Custom-pressed and soaked in generational wealth."

"Who's even going to that thing?" Rae asked, twisting her straw in her drink. "It's not like the whole town's invited."

"Nope," Brooke replied. "Very exclusive. Like, prestige-to-the-point-you-have-to-fake-a-British-accent exclusive. I think half of Hartford is there."

Lena made a face. "Okay, but I still think it's kinda sweet. Old-timey. Fancy gloves. Dancing. It's like prom but with more diamonds and parental trauma."

Brooke laughed just as a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Girls night, huh?"

They looked up to see Miss Patty swaying toward them, draped in her usual silk shawl and armed with an over-animated smile.

Behind her stood a boy—tallish, dark-haired, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. He looked like he'd rather melt into the floor than make eye contact with anyone.

"This," Miss Patty declared dramatically, resting her hand on the boy's shoulder, "is my great-nephew Mathew. He's staying with me while his parents are off doing yoga on a boat somewhere."

Mathew gave the table a polite nod but didn't speak. His eyes briefly met Brooke's before darting away again.

"Hi," Lena said cheerfully.

"Hey," Rae added with a grin.

Brooke nodded. "Cool jacket."

He blinked. "Uh. Thanks."

Miss Patty beamed. "Well, don't let me interrupt your syrup-fueled gossip fest. We'll just be over there. Mathew, say goodbye, darling."

He gave a small wave, already halfway to their booth.

Once they were out of earshot, Rae leaned forward, elbow on the table, eyes tracking Mathew as he slid into the booth across the room.

"He's kinda cute," she said casually, like she was commenting on the weather.

Rae smirked. "Totally your type."

"My type?" Brooke snorted, taking a sip of her drink. "Please. That's your type."

Raw raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "I mean-he's got Rae written all over it. Quiet. Broody. Probably journals in secret. Classic."

Brooke shook her head with a laugh. "I think you just projected an entire personality onto a boy who hasn't said more than one word."

"And?" Rae said, flicking her straw at her. "Let me live."

Lena chuckled. "He is kind of mysterious in a 'reads poetry when no one's looking' kind of way."

"Exactly!" Rae pointed at her. "See? Someone gets it."

Brooke rolled her eyes again, but this time she didn't glance back. Not even once.

Well. Maybe once.

But only to see if Miss Patty had ordered the weird pancakes again.

Totally.