Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW. And Netflix now, I guess.

A/N This is a collection of all the oneshots I've written about moments at the margins of lit. scenes in seasons 2 and 3, in no particular order. It's these scenes that first made me write fanfiction: conversations we didn't hear both before and after Jess and Rory got together. Car rides, reading dates, a 15 block subway journey, times where Lorelai is called away from their usual table at Luke's. Nothing very dramatic, but fun to write and, hopefully, fun to read.

Winter Carnival

The red cherry flavoring had stained her mouth but the shaved ice hadn't chilled it he discovered, kissing her. She had eaten her weight in corn dogs, cotton candy, and popcorn, and he had watched her glad eyes through the steam of the hot apple cider that was cupped in both gloved hands beneath her nose to inhale unselfconsciously before she sipped.

Of course, she didn't know what had happened. The goading. And just like before - this is my town, jeez - no way she ever would. But he'd been right, he knew it. And look how it turned out for you. He knew it. How was it that no one saw through his guy?

Afterwards, he steeled himself and reached for her. Kept her close, trying to relax into the warmth of her side on his. And when finally the Munchkin tore the Scarecrow away for the evening's last hour or so, he just gritted his teeth at the exchange of "See you around!" and spread his fingers on her waist to hold her nearer.

"So," he said, "anything fried, frozen, or coated in sugar you haven't demolished?"

"Nope. My rampage is over. That is - " she paused, then added dramatically, "until next time," grinning.

"Great," he deadpanned. "Can't wait for the sequel."

She nudged him with her hip, saying proudly, "I make a good disaster-movie monster, don't I?"

"Can't argue with the trail of carnage and destruction." Taking a hand from his pocket, he pointed, "I think the corn-dog guy is weeping."

"You mean Stu? No way. I can't have put him out of business just for a little extra cheese goop."

"Right, like it's that, not the 'buy 3 get 2 free' deal you wrestled out of him with your eyelashes."

"Hey! I did not use my - -Plus my mom always gets - "

"Yeah, I bet she does. Anyway, guess you'll find out next year, because please, tell me there isn't another one of these things for a while?"

"Well …" she drew out with gleeful mock-guilt.

"Okay, you know what, don't spoil it. It'll be a nice surprise. Something good to dread on a daily basis."

"You mean you don't keep Taylor's lovingly clipart-ed 'Festivals, Events, and Meetings' calendar in your back pocket?"

"Sure. Laminated even. Wanna check?"

She rolled her eyes theatrically, and they walked a final turn of the square in silence.

They were just passing Evie's Trinkets and Tchotchkes when Rory turned her face to him, cheeks pinked by the cold, and kissed him square in the middle of one of his.

"Thank you," she said.

"Huh."

"For coming, you know. For -"

"No biggie," he shrugged. That smile she gets from him because hers is infectious. Only hers.

As they reached Maple, she stopped on the corner and put her hands on his shoulders. He tightened his arms around her waist as she tilted her head to press her lips on his. Apples and spices kindled on his tongue, her mouth firing with their taste, though he'd expected the sweetness of artificial cherries. But it was hot and tart and moreish despite the unfamiliarity of cloves pricking his tastebuds.

She had always seemed exotic to him in the weird, humdrum town, her English rose complexion deceptive of the foreign worlds and foreign words that spilled from her mind into her mouth. But he knew her now - enough to know that she was habitually surprising anyway. La Boheme slumming it with I Love Lucy, and something like impulsiveness right there behind the schedules and lists.

Woollen fingers rough and warm on his neck as her other hand cradled his jaw, chafing softly as if she worried he was cold. She reached to place her hands over his at her waist and rubbed, then interleaved their fingers and smoothed her thumbs over his.

"Here," she said, "put them in my pockets," and tried to wedge both their hands into the front of her jacket, looking down. He laughed quietly, the cloud crisping in the cold air between them, and she looked back up at him, her lips together in resignation.

"It's not working, is it?"

"Nope. How about …" He pulled their hands towards him and into his jacket pockets, drawing her closer as he did. She smiled and pulled him nearer too, until he caught his lips on hers. Her cheeks felt as if they flamed at the contrast of his cold nose. Fairy-lights in the distance seemed to flare and haze when her eyes opened, blinking slowly in the fog their breath had made.

"Cold?" he asked, his words heating the skin where her collar opened.

"Not really."

She felt the kisses spark against the pulse in her throat and wondered if this was hypothermia: the cold sending you to sleep but your skin burning as the blood rushed. His fingers worked on hers, squeezing gently in the constricted space and then withdrawn to feel beneath her hair and encircle her waist. As the fronts of her thighs met his, she felt the exchange of heat and shuddered.

"Liar," he concluded. "And, against my better judgement, probably ought to get you home, too."

"I wasn't, but, yeah, I guess so."

He slipped his arm around her, his hand snaking its way into her pocket, holding her hip to his. She aimed a kiss at the tip of his nose, missing as they stepped off the curb, but determinedly retrying as he snickered, and they fell into step.

Halfway down the block she looked back over her shoulder. "Stu's going to be fine, right?"

A/N Thanks for reading. If you have a sec to review, I'd appreciate it.

I have a ton of these 'between the scenes' moments in draft, and they all need work, but I hope to post them here over time.