"If only I could stop hoping. If only I could say to my heart: Give up. Be alone forever. There's always opera. There's angel-food cake and neighborhood children caroling, and the look of autumn leaves on a wet roof. But no."

— George Saunders

Rory was sprawled on the couch at home one Tuesday afternoon staring at her rewrites when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" she called, too focused to get up.

The door opened. "It's me," Jess announced himself.

She sat up. "Hey! Is it already four?" He had texted her that morning to say he was going to be in town, and they made plans to meet up for coffee before he headed home.

"It's four," he confirmed. "What is going on in here?" He surveyed the pile of crumpled pages covered in red ink.

"Oh, you know, just shredding my own lovingly written words into pieces for about the fifteenth time today. Do you mind if I finish going through this one more time before we go? I just need ten minutes."

"Not at all," he said, plopping down in the chair. He pulled out a book.

Rory returned to her work, chewing anxiously on her pen as she considered a comma.

She had just crossed out the comma when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID before answering. "Hey, Paris," she said.

"I'm finalizing my seating chart. Are you really not bringing a date?"

"Uh, no, it'll just be me."

"You're still not dating anyone?"

"Nope."

"Jeez. Okay, well, that's actually perfect, because I'll seat you next to Doyle's cousin Skip. He's nothing special — he's a dentist, he went to Dartmouth, he's in an a cappella group — but he's single. I told him you have nice teeth. It's the best I can do. I would've put you with our old neighbor who lives in DC now, but he just got caught sexting college interns and it's been all over the news, so he's laying low for awhile."

Rory's eyes widened in horror. "Is your old neighbor that recently disgraced Congressman who just resigned?"

"Yes."

"So Skip was actually your second choice, after the high-profile pervert?"

"He wasn't that high-profile. House, not Senate. Anyway, the pickings are slim."

"You know what? Hang on a second." She covered the phone with her hand. "What are you doing Saturday night?" she asked impulsively.

Jess looked up from his book. "Uh, nothing special, I think." He furrowed his brow. "Why?" he asked warily.

Rory uncovered the phone. "Actually, you know what, I do have a — I am bringing someone after all. So you can just go ahead and seat me with him and put Doyle's cousin somewhere else. Far away."

"Suit yourself," Paris said, hanging up before Rory could say another word.

Rory put her phone down and turned to Jess with wide, blinking eyes. "So," she said innocently. "I need a favor."

"What's happening on Saturday?"

"Well, Paris and Doyle are getting married."

"I thought Paris and Doyle were already married?"

"They were. And then they got divorced. And now they're getting married again."

"No kidding? A Taylor-Burton — you don't see that every day."

"She threatened to set me up with Doyle's cousin if I don't bring a date. His name is Skip. He's into a cappella. If he tries to sing 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight' I might stab him in the throat with a cocktail fork. Please?"

He sighed dramatically.

"It's at the New York Public Library," she said brightly, trying to sell it.

He shrugged. "I'll go. If only to prevent the bloodshed."

"Okay, then," she said, surprised at how little begging it had taken. At first she felt relief at the fact that she'd dodged Paris' torturous setup attempt. But then she realized that bringing Jess to the wedding meant bringing Jess to the wedding.

Saturday arrived quickly. Per Paris' request, Rory got ready with her at a hotel. "Just to make sure the makeup artist doesn't make me look like a whore," Paris had said. Once Paris was satisfied with her face, Rory hurried to the library to meet Jess.

They found each other out front. It was just getting dark, and the steps of the library were scattered with tiny glowing candles. There was a buzz in the air as the guests milled around outside.

"You look…" He stopped, blinking. The rest of the sentence didn't come. A car horn blared.

"Thanks," she said, immediately feeling a little stupid for thanking him for a compliment he hadn't actually given her. Maybe he was going to say that she looked tired. She straightened one of the straps of her simple blue dress and leaned in for a hug. "Where'd you get a tux on such short notice?"

He brushed off his lapel. "Found it in the back of my closet. Just had to dust it off."

"You do not own a tuxedo. Where else would you go that requires a tuxedo?" Rory asked suspiciously. Was he serious? He couldn't be serious.

He shrugged and smirked. "Grocery store. Car wash. And I've been wearing it a lot more since I just joined a new cappella group. In fact, one of the other guys from my group is here — should we go find him and do a little harmonizing?"

Rory pointed a finger at him in mock seriousness. "Don't even start. You're wearing a penguin suit so I expect you to behave like a gentleman."

Paris had been heavily involved in the event planning, so it was organized with military precision and tastefully designed down to the last detail. The ceremony was brief and low-key — "For God's sake, it's a second wedding," Paris had snapped when the wedding planner had asked if she was going to have bridesmaids. "Do I look like a Kardashian?" Rory didn't quite understand why two hundred guests at the New York Public Library were acceptable but a few bridesmaids weren't, but hey, she hadn't even been married once. And at least this meant she didn't have to be in the wedding.

After the ceremony the guests funneled into Astor Hall, a grand space in all its glory, full of white marble, high ceilings, and graceful arches. It was lit warmly with round tables surrounding a dance floor.

"Aw, man," Rory said, a little disappointed.

"What? Not enough orchids?" Jess said.

"It's kind of stupid now that I think about it, but I was hoping that since the wedding is at a library, the reception would be in a room with, you know, books."

He smiled, shaking his head. "You wanted to be able to pick out something to read in case the music is bad."

"I just thought it would be cool."

They found their table and settled in among a few other Yale Daily News alumni that Rory hadn't seen in years. Most of them were still terrified by Paris, but Doyle was enough of a bigwig that people came just for the networking opportunities. A year ago she would've hated this kind of thing because everyone was always interrogating each other about their careers, but now she felt okay about it: she was writing a book, and it was being published, for real. And Jess was doing just fine with the type-A crowd, too, Rory realized as he described Truncheon to one of her old editors, Bill. After their dinner plates were taken away and people started to feel the effects of the flowing wine, they started drifting off to the dance floor and the bar.

"How painful is this for you?" Rory asked when they were alone at the table.

"It's fine," Jess said, "but I could use another drink. Do you want one?"

"Yes, please," she said, and he headed off for the bar.

Bill reappeared at the table. "Hey, Rory, before I forget - can you give this to Jess?" He held out his business card. "I'd like to pick his brain about a few things. Maybe get coffee next week or something. Ask him to call me?"

"Oh! Yeah, no problem," Rory said, surprised. She felt a little burst of pride.

Just as he arrived back at the table with their drinks, the music slowed. He set the drinks down on the table and reached out his hand expectantly. "Want to dance?"

"Sure," Rory said, caught off guard, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest. This is just a normal thing that people do at weddings, she reminded herself. She put down her napkin and stood, and he took her hand. They made their way out to the middle of the dance floor.

Jess turned to face her squarely and she settled her free hand on his shoulder, while he rested his on her waist. God, he looks good, she noted first. Take a cold shower, she chided herself immediately thereafter.

Paris and Doyle were right next to them locked in an embrace, barely swaying to the music, so Rory busied herself with looking at the happy couple.

"Two crazy kids in love," Jess commented, following her gaze.

"I actually think it's going to stick this time," Rory remarked.

"I didn't think you were a romantic."

"No?" she asked. She considered it. "Well, I did cry during The Notebook."

"You did?" He raised his eyebrows.

"We ran out of Red Vines and the store was closed."

He shook his head. "Heartbreaking."

"Luke and my mom seem to have done it," Rory continued. "And what about Liz and TJ? If they can make it work…"

"… maybe there's hope for the rest of us," Jess finished.

"If, you know, that's what you want," Rory hedged.

"Sure."

They fell silent. Rory could feel Jess breathing. Was he breathing normally, the way you'd breath when dancing with a friend? Or was he breathing a little faster, the kind of breathing that signaled non-platonic feelings for your dance partner? At one point they turned their heads at the same time and his beard lightly grazed her cheek. She scanned his face, trying to read it, but it was so damn inscrutable. Maybe a little too inscrutable? Was he trying really hard to hide whatever was going on in his head?

"Did you read Kendall's article?" she asked. An opening salvo.

But before he could answer, Doyle shouted, "OKAY, ENOUGH OF THIS!" Rory let go of Jess' hand as everyone turned to look. The music stopped. "I'M READY TO SHAKE MY MONEYMAKER. CAN YOU DROP A REAL BEAT?"

A new song came on, something with so much bass Rory felt her rib cage vibrate.

Jess tilted his head, gesturing toward the door. "Somewhere quieter?" he hollered over the music, and Rory nodded. She grabbed two glasses of champagne off a tray as they left the dance floor and handed one to Jess. But before they could escape the room, a hand grabbed Rory's shoulder. It was Paris.

"Hey!" Rory said, turning around. "Everything is so beautiful."

"Best wishes, Paris," Jess said, raising his glass.

"Oh, hey, Jess, it's great to see you!" Paris said in a friendly voice. She turned to Rory and changed her tone. "My idiot second cousin was flailing around on the dance floor and she pulled out one of my bobby pins. You'd think she'd have a modicum of coordination by the age of nine, but apparently not. Anyway, can you come help me?"

"Sure," Rory said. She looked at Jess and mouthed a helpless apology.

Paris led her to a quiet room off to the side that was reserved for brides and their entourages.

"You and Doyle seem really happy," Rory remarked as she leaned over to examine the curl that had fallen out of Paris' updo.

"He's probably out there doing the worm as we speak. The only reason we had the wedding here is that he's obsessed with the Sex and the City movie. But alas, this is the life I chose."

Rory surveyed the supplies in the room. Hairspray, tampons, deodorant. "Aha," she said, spotting a basket of bobby pins. She grabbed one. "I may not be Vidal Sassoon but I think I can fix it."

"Thanks," Paris said. "So, what's the deal with Jess?"

"There is no deal with Jess."

"Really? Please."

Rory was ready to bubble over with anxiety, and she was tired, so tired, of walling it off inside herself. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe it's crazy. But I feel like there's something there." Rory felt a wave of relief as she finally said it out loud. "I don't know if he's feeling it, though. Sometimes I think... but then I'm not so sure."

"Well, it's you, so I'm sure he's pining away too."

"It's different this time. It's been so long since it was like that between us."

"What does Lorelai think?"

"I haven't told her." Rory held the bobby pin with her teeth as she tucked the curl into the rest and then inserted the pin.

"Because of the whole family thing?"

"What do you mean?" Rory asked.

"Well, you're family. I don't mean in an icky Game of Thrones kind of way. I just mean in a complicated way."

"Yeah…"

"So, if you ever break up, you're still going to see each other for the rest of your lives. You can't put Lorelai and Luke in a position where they have to take a side. So either it has to work out forever, or it has to end amicably. Whatever that looks like."

"You're right. It is complicated," she said weakly. She sprayed the back of Paris' head with hairspray and stepped back to admire her handiwork. "All set."

Paris patted her hair to make sure it felt secure. "He's my favorite of all your old boyfriends," Paris continued before opening the door, "if that's worth anything."

Rory reentered the hall, where the musical selection was still shaking the champagne glasses. She carried a new weight on her shoulders. Paris had rattled her, and her stomach churned. Forever. That was a big word.

Jess' seat was empty. She checked the bar, but he wasn't there either. She scanned the perimeter of the room - nope. Finally, she walked tentatively toward the dance floor, where Doyle was arching his back and hopping forward, trying to clear an imaginary limbo bar.

"Rory." Jess grabbed her arm.

"Oh, hey. I was wondering if you'd somehow been taken hostage and forced to do that fishing rod dance move with Doyle."

He leaned in conspiratorially. "I found something even better. Follow me and stay quiet."

He led her out of the hall and up two flights of a roped-off staircase. He looked back and forth down the hallway to see if anyone was there. Then he crossed the hallway and opened a door.

"After you," he said, gesturing inside.

"Jess, what —" she started to say, but stopped when she went inside. They were in a long room filled with heavy wooden tables and chairs, dotted with brass lamps. Big chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was ornate and gilded, with painted skies full of fluffy clouds. And then there were the books: shelves and shelves of them lining the walls all around the room.

"This is the main reading room," Rory said in a hushed voice. She'd been there before, but not like this. "I cannot believe we're in the main reading room of the New York Public Library all by ourselves right now. Am I dead? Am I in heaven? We are definitely not supposed to be in here."

Jess shrugged, entertained by her excitement. "You said you wanted to see books."

She walked down the aisle in the center of the room, turning in a circle to see everything. "I mean, could there possibly be a more perfect way to experience a library? One of the greatest libraries in the world, no less?" She looked back at him. "You know what it almost feels like?"

"What?"

"The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler."

He laughed and shook his head. She turned away and walked over to the bookshelves across the room, running her fingers along the spines of the books. He trailed behind her by a few steps.

She turned back and shot him a grateful look. "This is incredible. I'm never going to forget this."

"It's not a big deal," he said, adjusting his bow tie. He noticed that she was still watching him and gave her a measured look. They were older, and his face was a man's face now, but she still recognized that look.

He was feeling it, the thing between them. Wasn't he? She was pretty sure. He'd come to the wedding. He'd brought her up here. And he was looking at her like that.

Everything was quiet except for the faint sound of music from below. It was so still, him and her in the cavernous room filled with books. A room a mile long, with just the two of them standing a foot apart.

The look on his face — it was an answer and a question at the same time. Her cheeks felt warm. Part of her was telling herself to just stand there and keep looking at him, to wait for him to kiss her or say something irrevocable, or to kiss him herself or say the things she wanted to say. But another part of her, the part thinking about what Paris said, the part that had gotten quite comfortable being alone over the past year, the part with an instinct for self-preservation at all costs, was saying bail, bail, bail.

She thought he was moving closer to her but then she realized that she was moving closer to him too. His fingertips grazed her wrist, gently, just a whisper of contact. The loudest whisper she'd ever heard.

"I think —" she said.

"Do you —" he said at the same time.

Just then the door opened. They both spun around, expecting a security guard, but it was two women, both giggling. Rory recognized one of them.

"Oh, I guess we weren't the only ones who had this idea," the blonde nurse with thick glasses and said when she spotted Rory and Jess.

"Sorry to interrupt," said the brunette. She was tall and thin with a full-sleeve arm tattoo. Her name came to Rory after a moment: Katherine. They'd met at Paris' holiday party. "We just figured — wouldn't it be cool to see the main reading room without anyone else here?"

"No worries," Rory said lightly, trying to hide her disappointment. "We had the same thought."

"Rory!" Katherine said, grinning, as she recognized her. "It's great to see you."

"It's nice to see you, too, Katherine." Rory smiled politely, hoping they would excuse themselves, but they drew closer instead. "Oh, this is Jess," she finally said.

"I'm Katherine," the brunette said, reading out to Jess for a handshake. "This is Andi. We work with Paris. I'm a reproductive endocrinologist at her clinic. Andi is a nurse."

"Working with Paris. That must be interesting," he mused.

"Imagine being one of Patton's lieutenant generals and you're just about there." She smiled. "What about you, Jess?"

"I run a small publishing house," he said.

"And he's a published novelist," Rory added.

"Well, ten years ago," he said.

"That's awesome," Katherine said. "What's your novel about?"

"Hard to explain."

Katherine smiled. "The meaning of the universe, etcetera?"

"Something like that." He cleared his throat. Katherine laughed. Rory wrinkled her nose involuntarily.

The door opened again, but this time it was a security guard.

"Sorry, we were looking for the bathroom and we just got lost," Andi tried.

"Save it," he said, bored. "Back downstairs, please."

Rory moved slowly so that Andi and Katherine would leave first. She took one last look around, trying to imprint it in her memory. "Thanks," she whispered to Jess as they filed downstairs, elbowing him gently.

"You're welcome, Claudia Kincaid."

Just before they reentered the hall, Katherine twirled around to face them. "Hey," she said, pointing at them. "I know this might be awkward, but I've had plenty of booze tonight. Are you two dating?"

They froze and glanced at each other.

"At first I thought you were, but then I thought you weren't. The vibe wasn't clear," Katherine went on.

The vibe wasn't clear. Rory almost laughed. She thought about the moment between them upstairs. And she thought about what Paris had said. Forever. Forever forever forever forever. It was such a long time, and it required complete certainty. And after she'd done all that thinking she realized that Jess hadn't said a word. Somebody needed to answer the question. "No, definitely not," she said quickly. "We're just friends. That's it. Practically family." Too far. Her eyes darted to the side. Jess' face was a brick wall.

"So you don't mind if I — if I talk to Jess alone for a minute?"

Oh. Rory realized where this was going and her face flamed. She swallowed nervously. "Not at all. Jess is a — he's, um, a grown man, an adult man. If you want to talk to each other, or whatever, you can go right ahead." She waved her hand casually. "And I will be at the bar."

She bolted for the bar without waiting to see what happened next. "Martini, please, and fast," she called to the bartender. She wondered how their conversation was going. Katherine was really cool, cooler than Rory. And more accomplished. And she already lived in the same city as Jess. Not that it was a competition. Rory wasn't going to pursue him. She couldn't. Upstairs it had seemed like there was a window, the possibility of something, but she wasn't thinking straight. She was caught up in the wedding, the library. There were so many good reasons not to act on these feelings. And, besides, if Jess wanted her, would he really be talking to Katherine right now?

Half a drink later, she was staring at her glass when Jess came up next to her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she responded with forced cheeriness. "How was — that?" Her words came out a bit strangled.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I'm great."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Okay."

"So what did she want to talk about?"

He flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink. Rory downed the rest of hers in one shot.

He turned to her. "She asked me out," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Rory said. "Well, that's… what did you say?"

His eyes locked on hers. "I said yes."

Her heart sank. "Oh — you did. Well, I, I think that's great." She forced the words out. "Paris has only said good things about her, so she's probably amazing."

Jess didn't respond, and Rory couldn't will herself to say anything more. They stood silently at the bar, the bass continuing to vibrate for what felt like all of eternity.

Next week: Everything comes to a head at the Stars Hollow High anniversary celebration. Because if it doesn't happen at a town event, does it even count?