𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

The day before Thanksgiving in Stars Hollow was always a little bit magic.

The whole town seemed dipped in golden light—mums on porches, wreaths on shop doors, and the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke trailing through the air like something out of a postcard.

For Brooke Carson, it was tradition. Every year since she could remember, the day before Thanksgiving meant a mental checklist of all the little rituals she and her mom, Sienna, had perfected over time.

First: a quick stop to pick up flowers for her dad—who, despite being a generally cool and charming human, had absolutely zero taste in anything botanical.

Last year he'd set out a bouquet that looked like it had been assembled by a toddler with a glitter gun. Brooke had vowed to intervene every year from then on.

Then came breakfast at the diner. Not just any breakfast, but a full-table, family-style, somewhat-chaotic Thanksgiving breakfast hosted by Luke Danes himself.

Luke, who never smiled for more than five seconds at a time, somehow made waffles with cinnamon in them and allowed everyone to linger at their booths far longer than usual.

The Gilmores—Lorelai, Rory, even Emily when she was in the mood—often joined. It wasn't fancy, but it was theirs.

Afterward, Brooke and Sienna would say their goodbyes, grab their overnight bags, and drive just about an hour out of town—up to Northampton, Massachusetts—to spend Thanksgiving with Brooke's dad.

Even though her parents had divorced when she was in middle school, they were still weirdly close.

Best friends, even. They called each other for advice, sent funny memes, and co-parented so seamlessly it confused people who didn't know the backstory. Brooke liked it that way. Simple. Familiar.

She stood outside Lucy's Flower Nook now, inspecting buckets of blooms with a furrowed brow and a little too much intensity for someone simply buying a centerpiece.

She plucked out a bunch of too-bright red carnations. "Too Valentine's Day." She held up a bubblegum-pink bouquet with sparkly baby's breath. "Too Barbie funeral." Then she picked up an aggressively symmetrical bouquet of roses and daisies. "Too perfect. What even are you?"

She leaned in to adjust a stem when she felt it—hands sliding gently onto her waist from behind. Warmth, pressure, a familiar presence just inches from her back.

"Guess who," came a voice, low and teasing.

Brooke grinned, eyes still on the flowers. "Hmm. Gimme a hint."

"Devastatingly handsome. Wears too much gray. Probably going to get punched in the face if he doesn't kiss you soon."

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Hayden Christensen?"

Jess groaned. "You wish."

She turned slowly, lips already curled into a smirk. "I know."

He was standing there, hoodie half-zipped, dark curls a little windswept, eyes lit with mischief. And okay, maybe he didn't look exactly like Hayden Christensen, but he had the same intense stare, the same slouchy charm.

the same you-know-you-like-me-and-I-like-you-so-let's-just-skip-to-the-kiss energy that made Brooke's heart pick up speed.

Without a word, Jess leaned in and kissed her—soft and warm and just cocky enough to leave her slightly breathless.

When they pulled apart, she sighed dramatically. "You do realize we're in front of a flower shop in broad daylight, right?"

He glanced around. "If you're waiting for me to be embarrassed, it's not gonna happen."

"Shame," she said. "Embarrassed Jess is my favorite flavor."

He raised a brow, arms sliding loosely around her waist again. "So. What're you doing tomorrow?"

"Other than the big Carson-Gilmore-Danes Thanksgiving breakfast extravaganza?" she asked innocently.

Jess blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah. Me and my mom have breakfast at Luke's every Thanksgiving. You seriously didn't know that?"

"No," he said slowly. "He never mentioned it."

"Huh," she murmured, amused. "He's probably blacking out all memories involving emotions."

Jess scoffed. "Sounds about right."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and added gently, "After breakfast, we're heading to Northampton. My dad's place."

Jess tried to look casual. "How long?"

"Just a few days," she said. "Spend time with my dad. You know—holidays, divorced parents, passive-aggressive board games. The usual."

Jess nodded, but his eyes flickered downward for a beat. That subtle Jess way of not saying what he was really feeling.

Brooke softened. "Hey," she said, bumping his arm. "You gonna miss me?"

"Shut up," he muttered.

She grinned. "You are."

"I'll survive."

"I'll call you every day baby " she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Promise."

"Good. Because I need my daily dose of sarcasm and unsolicited flower critiques."

Brooke leaned up to kiss him again, slower this time, like the kind of goodbye that lingered even after they pulled apart.

"I'll miss you too, by the way," she whispered.

Jess rested his forehead against hers. "You better."