𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚☕︎

Brooke sat cross-legged on her bed, leaning close to her mirror to swipe on one last layer of mascara.

Her room smelled faintly of vanilla lotion and the floral perfume she'd spritzed a few minutes ago.

The music playing quietly from her speaker was almost drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat—though she'd never admit it was because she knew Jess would be here any minute.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous."

Brooke looked over her shoulder to find Sienna leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, a warm smile tucked into the corners of her mouth.

"Thanks, Mama," Brooke said, turning back to fix a curl that had decided to go rogue.

Charlie poked her head in behind Sienna, her eyes widening. "Yeah, you look way too good for a carnival. Like, people are going to assume you're part of the attractions."

"That's because her boyfriend's gonna be there," Sienna chimed in, her tone just smug enough to make Brooke groan.

"Shut it," Brooke muttered, grabbing her jacket from the chair. "Hey—why aren't you two ready?"

"I'm not going," Sienna replied, wandering over to casually pick up Brooke's perfume bottle, like she might claim it as her own.

Brooke froze halfway through slipping on her sleeve. "Um What? Why?"

"Lorelai's grandmother is in town," Sienna said, "and I'm going to keep her and Emily sane. Trust me, the world will thank me."

Brooke's eyes flicked to Charlie. "And you?"

"I'm joining your mother."

Brooke narrowed her eyes. "So... you'll be home early?"

Sienna's mouth curved into a dangerous little smirk. "No. Why? Did you invite your boyfriend over after the carnival?"

Brooke's voice pitched higher than she intended. "No!"

"It's fine," Sienna sing-songed. "You'll have the whole house to yourselves."

Charlie crossed her arms, grinning. "And you better tell us everything that happens."

"Minus the—" Sienna puckered her lips and made exaggerated kissing noises.

Brooke snatched the throw pillow from her bed and lobbed it at them. "Grow up!"

And then—perfect timing—the doorbell rang.

Brooke's stomach flipped so hard she had to take a breath before heading for the stairs. "Okay—he's here. I'm going."

She pulled the door open, and there he was—Jess , leaning casually against the porch railing like he had all the time in the world.

His hands were shoved into the pockets of his dark jacket, hair perfectly messy in that frustrating way that was probably accidental.

The cold air had given him a faint pink flush across his cheeks, and his eyes lit up when they met hers.

"Hey," she said, her voice coming out softer than she meant.

"Hey," he replied, gaze flicking down her outfit before returning to her face. "You look... like you're going to make me look bad by comparison."

She smirked. "Don't worry, you're already used to that."

Jess's mouth twitched like he was fighting back a smile. "Confident tonight, huh?"

"Always," she said, stepping outside and shutting the door behind her.

As they started down the porch steps, Jess reached for her hand—just casually enough to pretend it wasn't a big deal.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles like it had every right to be there.

"So," he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, "how many games do I have to win before you admit I'm good at something?"

Brooke grinned. "That depends. Do participation trophies count?"

He chuckled low under his breath. "You're lucky you're cute, Carson."

She tilted her head toward him. "I'm aware."

Halfway down the walk, Jess slowed and tugged gently on her hand until she turned to face him. "Hold up."

"What?" she asked, her breath fogging in the cool air.

"Nothing," he said, leaning in to press his lips against hers.

It was unhurried—just long enough for her to feel the warm contrast between his mouth and the chilled air, just long enough to make her heart skip.

When he pulled back, there was a hint of a smile still lingering. "Okay. Now we can go."

"You're ridiculous," she muttered, cheeks still warm as they started walking again.

"You're still holding my hand," he said, giving it a squeeze.

"Don't get used to it," she teased.

"Too late."

Ahead of them, the glow of the carnival lights spilled over the town square, the air buzzing with the faint hum of music and the smell of fried dough drifting toward them.