The seats were itchy and her legs cramping. "It's only 120 miles," he'd said. "Less than 3 hours," he'd promised. Mumbling to herself about Jess's Yahoo skills not accounting for comfort, because who even uses Yahoo anymore, Rory flexed her feet as far in front of her as she could. Her fingers anxiously tapped on the window in time with her iPod. She didn't remember the bus from Hartford to New York being so unbearably uncomfortable – or long. Hell, she'd braved 12-hour bus rides between campaign stops for months, fueled by coffee and the newness of being a real reporter. Pregnant, the bus was a entirely different experience. Truthfully, half of the battle was physically containing her excitement of returning to New York, and Jess.
Rory watched, forehead pressed to the window, as the city came into view. It felt like a lifetime ago that this place had been her dream – a competitive, news-hungry metropolis filled with more possibility than could fit into her first shoebox apartment. Those first few years of independence, chasing stories and living on takeout were irreplaceable. That was before she'd realized that it wasn't everything she'd ever wanted after all.
Print journalism was a dying medium by the time she'd begun. Non-stop buses and flights, couldn't compare to home; seeing her words on a screen to feeling them on paper; and an affair with an old love nothing compared to being in love. It may have taken mediocre sex with a Wookie source and an unplanned pregnancy to understand that she'd been chasing the wrong dream all along. She didn't regret it.
She checked her phone – another half an hour to go and a text message, from Jess.
"I miss you. Hurry up and get here."
She smiled to herself and simultaneously swore that the driver had maliciously taken a serious of wrong turns and to torment her. Just another half an hour. Her legs were cramped. Just another twenty minutes. Her fingers tapped the glass impatiently. Just another 15 minutes.
As the city loomed larger and larger, it no longer represented her naivety nor squandered opportunities. In her briefcase, there was a book, the one about her life and baby. And at the station, she had a man who loved her waiting.
He spotted her immediately as she stepped off the bus, her blue eyes scanning the station and her long hair swept up into a ponytail. He'd always had a sixth sense when it came to her. Casually leaning against a brick wall, Jess watched her for a few more seconds before making his way through the crowd to gather her up in his arms.
"Hi Dodger"
"How are you doing?
"Good. How about you?"
"Good."
"Now that we've got that out of the way," he said with a laugh. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me, too. I must say, you waiting for me here sure beats trying to find Fifth."
"Come here," he smirked. Jess pulled Rory into his arms again and held her tightly against his chest, placing gentle kisses in her hair as she nuzzled his neck. "So, I was thinking we could stop by my apartment to drop off your bags and then I can give you my notes on your book."
"Notes?"
"For your meeting."
"Meeting?"
"Catch up, Gilmore. It's not a big deal. I met with my agent last week and I happened to mention this incredible book I'd just finished reading. He practically begged me to make an introduction."
Rory was incredulous. "Wow... just, wow. A publisher wants to read my book?"
"I had the same reaction when the Matt and Chris wanted to publish the Subsect. I thought they were crazy, or high, or both. Trust me Ror, you're going to have publishing houses fighting over this story. I'd know."
The wheels began to turn and quickly her surprise was overtaken by the kind of panic only a list-making overachiever can muster. "Jess, I have so much to do. I need to research the publisher. I should read at least three of their latest memoirs for comparison. Edit my chapters. I need thankyou cards that properly express my gratitude but also say I'm a series author..."
He couldn't help but laugh as she caught her breath. A few months back he thought the old Rory, his Rory, was gone for good. Here she was, in her exasperated glory. She just needed something to care about. "It's an informal thing. You'll show them a couple rough chapters, no pressure. OK?" he said reassuringly and rubbed her shoulder.
"Easy for you to say Mr. Best Seller," replied Rory, swatting and missing.
Jess caught her hand and intertwined their fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not an impulse he'd had to resist anytime they'd walked side by side over the years. He saw her down look at their joined hands, also contemplating the significance of such a simple gesture. "This feels right," she said.
He smiled back at her. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me not to do that all these years? Or this." Jess leaned in and began to kiss her slowly, parting her lips and deepening the kiss. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his hair, Rory eagerly reciprocated. "Or this." His voice was muffled as his lips made their way to the pulse point on her neck that drove her crazy. She placed her hands on his shoulders to brace herself, knees suddenly weak.
The entire way home, they walked hand in hand, completely absorbed in one another despite the throngs of people passing by. Intermittently, one of them would stop to press the other against a wall or light post, kissing until they couldn't catch their breath, or, often, when a passerby shouted for them to 'get a room.'
"We're going to walk right in front of a car one of these days," Rory warned. "Or get lynched for public indecency."
"Don't care," Jess said as he felt for his keys in jacket pocket, refusing to break their kiss.
Rory slid her hand into the back pocket of Jess's jeans, taking her time to feel her way down and then coyly handed him the keys. "Looking for these?" she said with an amused expression.
He grinned and kissed her harder.
Warning - the next chapter is smut.
