𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

The air in Luke's Diner was thick with warmth and cinnamon—mugs clinking, bacon sizzling behind the counter, and the windows steamed up against the November chill. It was barely 7:45 AM, still fifteen minutes before opening, but Luke had already pulled the chairs down from the tables for one reason: Thanksgiving.

Brooke sat in her usual seat at the window booth, stretching her legs under the table, the heels of her boots clinking against Rory's. She wore a thick cream-colored sweater that swallowed her hands and had shoved her curls up in a half-bun that looked both accidental and adorable. Next to her, Rory was flipping through a copy of the Stars Hollow Gazette, pretending to read but mostly watching Lorelai try to teach Sienna the subtle art of coffee-to-creamer ratio with exaggerated seriousness.

Luke, ever the reluctant host, refilled mugs with a grunt, but didn't complain when Sienna asked for a second packet of raw sugar. Lorelai winked at him across the table. "You say this isn't your holiday, but you always make the fluffiest pancakes. It's very suspicious."

"I'm not cooking for Thanksgiving," he muttered. "I'm cooking because people showed up and expected food."

"Sounds a lot like Thanksgiving," Rory said under her breath.

The chair beside Brooke sat empty. She noticed. Everyone else had, too.

"Should we be concerned he's sleeping through breakfast?" Rory asked, biting into a buttered muffin.

Brooke shrugged. "I told him I'd wake him up."

"You didn't," Lorelai pointed out.

"I didn't," Brooke agreed, hiding a grin behind her mug. "I figured... if he cared enough, he'd show."

"Wow," Sienna said, raising her eyebrows. "You really went full power move."

Just then, the door to the apartment creaked open.

Jess shuffled down the stairs with his hair still damp and sticking up in weird angles, flannel half-buttoned, and that usual scowl on his face that didn't really reach his eyes. His gaze swept the table, but stopped the second he saw Brooke.

"Morning," he mumbled, walking over.

She stood up before anyone could comment and leaned up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He blinked once. "I like waking up to that."

"Not every morning," Luke warned from the counter.

"Oh, please," Brooke said, dropping back into her seat. "It was one tiny smooch."

Jess smirked as he sat beside her and slipped an arm lazily over the back of her chair. His fingers barely grazed her shoulder, but it was enough to make her entire posture soften.

Rory narrowed her eyes. "You two are giving off serious 'We made out behind the high school bleachers' energy right now."

"Rory!" Brooke gasped, laughing.

Jess leaned over. "She's not wrong."

Luke pointed a spatula toward them. "Sit two inches apart."

Brooke met his glare, deadpan. "No."

They all laughed. Even Jess cracked a real smile.

Sienna took another sip of coffee. "So, what's everyone doing today besides the obvious?"

"Parade-watching," Lorelai said. "Turkey-prepping. Attempting to not burn the rolls this year."

"Attempting?" Rory asked.

"Okay, failing."

Brooke nudged Jess. "We're heading to my dad's later. Just for a few days."

Jess looked at her. "Massachusetts, right?"

"Yeah. Holiday obligations. Divorced parents. You know the drill."

He didn't say anything at first. Just nodded, then shifted his hand under the table to rest on her knee, tracing light circles with his thumb. "You gonna call me?"

"Every day," she said. "Even if you don't pick up."

"I always pick up for you."

That earned a few soft awws from the Gilmore side of the table. Brooke flushed and rolled her eyes.

"I don't do clingy," Jess muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

"I'm not clingy," Brooke said. "I'm... seasonally affectionate."

"Is that a thing?"

"It is now."

A plate of waffles landed in front of her. Jess had pancakes. Lorelai had French toast. Luke had eggs. It was all happening, all familiar and warm and alive.

Conversation drifted from small-town gossip (someone's turkey got stolen?) to Christopher's recent trip to Vermont, to whether Rory had finally picked a paper topic. Jess mostly listened, occasionally tossing in a dry comment that made Brooke snort-laugh into her juice.

Eventually, Brooke shifted, turned slightly toward him with a glint in her eye.

He clocked it immediately. "What?"

She leaned in closer. "Just... follow me."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

She glanced at the rest of the table, then turned back, innocent. "Jess, could you show me that new Shins album? You said it came in last week?"

There was the briefest pause before he caught on. "Oh. Yeah. The one with the limited cover?"

"Exactly."

They both stood. Brooke smoothed her sweater. Jess ran a hand through his still-damp hair.

"Don't be gone long," Luke called. "You're still on table-clearing duty."

"Five minutes!" Brooke called over her shoulder, tugging Jess down the hallway.

Back in the quiet of the apartment above the diner, Jess didn't waste a second.

He moved to the stack of records by his bookcase, flipping through with the focus of a surgeon and the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. "Okay, okay—here," he said, pulling one out like it was a golden ticket. "Limited run. Matte finish. You can't tell from the cover, but there's this one track that wasn't on the regular release."

Brooke leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a soft smile.

Jess turned the album over, pointing to the song list. "They called it 'Red Thread'—it's kind of buried, but it's nuts. The guitar comes in weird, off-rhythm, and then there's this synth part that shouldn't work but totally does. It's like... controlled chaos."

He looked up at her then, mid-ramble, like realizing he might be saying too much.

But Brooke just stepped closer. "You really love this stuff."

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but he was smiling. "It's good. It's better than good."

She took the record from his hands, not looking at it. "You get all excited when you talk about it. Like, your eyes do that thing."

He narrowed his gaze playfully. "What thing?"

"That thing where they go all shiny and serious like you're about to argue with someone about guitar tone in track five."

Jess laughed—actually laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe." She slid the record onto the desk behind him, fingers brushing his as she did. "But you're ridiculously cute right now."

"Oh, come on," he said, feigning protest. "You dragged me up here to compliment me again?"

"Nope." Brooke's voice dropped a little, her eyes already drifting to his lips. "I dragged you up here to kiss you and compliment you."

And then she kissed him — slow, lingering, and warm, like the sun finally rising over a snowy town. His hand found the back of her neck. Hers tangled in the hem of his flannel. It wasn't rushed. It was earned.

Jess pulled away just enough to whisper, "Still think this is about an album?"

Brooke raised her brows. "I mean... the album helped."