A/N: Double update! If you haven't read chapter 17, then please check that first before this one. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 18

'Umm.' Lorelai had to think fast. She could either explain where Rory really was, or just play along. With her mother staring at her impatiently, Lorelai made the decision quickly. 'Yeah. That's exactly it. Dave and Rory. Rory and Dave. And prom. Together. Yes.'

Dave was perplexed, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 'Me?'

'Dave's a really sweet kid, mom.' Lorelai explained.

The boy in question apparently had a lot of experience in going along with made-up dating scenarios and appeasing angry mothers, so he recovered quickly. 'Me and Rory, uh, yeah.'

Emily eyed Dave up and down, narrowing her eyes. 'What happened to that other thug she was dating?'

'Oh, you mean Jess? He's, uh, in New York. Gone. Not here. Definitely not anywhere near this house.' Technically, not a lie.

There was a moment of silence as Emily looked between Lorelai and Dave. It was like everyone in the room collectively held their breath.

'Well, I wanna see the dress. It's very lucky Celine is here to make adjustments.'

'Oh, no, mom, that's not –'

'And I wanna see my granddaughter before her big night. I'll go home and get the camera.'

'No, no, don't.' Lorelai said too quickly. She could almost feel her nose getting longer. 'Rory doesn't want photos. She's very self-conscious. Trust me, photos are a very bad idea. Actually, any kind of fussing is a very bad idea.'

'Since when? I'm not going to embarrass her, Lorelai. They're just a few photos.'

'No, no, believe me. Rory's having a very weird phase about photos. Don't ever mention her nose to her. I tried very hard with the whole photos thing and she's adamant. A single photo and she'll cancel the whole thing. In fact, even the word prom gets her all riled up. We don't speak of it.'

'Because of her… nose?' Emily raised an eyebrow.

Dave nodded somberly. 'It's true.'

'Teenagers, right? What can I say? Trust me, mom, you'll just have to see her tomorrow.' Lorelai sighed and continued to ramble as she led a very bewildered Emily out of the house.

A few streets away, Lane closed her bedroom door softly. She stared at her body double for the night very seriously.

'Ok, Chloe. So, we've gone over this. Mama Kim's asleep for the next few hours.'

'Terrible diarrhea. Long nap.' Chloe echoed, sounding bored. The 16-year-old was Chinese, not Korean, and refused to speak in full sentences, apparently even after spending three years as an exchange student in New York. It seemed that all of Jess's friends were monosyllabic. But Lane tried to stay hopeful the plan would work. They were paying Chloe enough for helping out anyway.

'If she wakes up, what do you do?'

'Pretend to be asleep.'

'Right. Like I said, everybody in the house has food poisoning tonight, courtesy of yours truly.' Lane waved a hand at herself. 'No one's leaving bed. So… if Mama calls you for dinner, what do you say?'

'Tired, Mama.' Chloe gave an eerily accurate impression of Lane's grumbling voice. Jess was right about this girl. She does have an impressive knack for voices.

'And if she asks in Korean?'

'Tired, Mama.' The young girl repeated, rolling her eyes.

'Right. Only answer in English, always remember that. And then after dinner?'

'Switch off the light. Pretend to be asleep.'

'Good. I think I've trained you well, kid. I laid out some snacks, so you don't have to leave the room. Feel free to sit in the closet if you like. I put out lots of magazines and a few CDs. But if I come back to find any CDs missing, you die, got it?' Lane tried to glare.

The girl nodded in amusement.

'Wish me luck.' Lane said, climbing out the window carefully to meet Dave.

'It's 50 cents. How is that possible? Where'd you even find this?' Rory turned over a copy of Melville's Benito Cereno in fascination.

'New York book sales are no joke.' Jess nudged her arm playfully.

They were sitting side-by-side on the floor by the French literature aisle, surrounded by four large piles of books. Though the book fair was bustling with people, their spot was relatively quiet, undisturbed. He hadn't been to this place in about two years, but it was exactly as he remembered it. The two huge tents that smelled like old paper and licorice were his favorite kind of messy, with books spilling out of shelves, piled on tables, next to tables, on the floor, on chairs and in large cardboard boxes.

He'd never brought anyone with him before, but Rory was as excited about this fair as he'd always been as a kid. Four hours had flown by pretty quickly with her, as they both assembled book lists, exchanged them, and scoured the bookshelves again and again. She couldn't stop raving about the book deals and he couldn't stop staring at her sparkling eyes. It was always stifling hot beneath the tents, so they were both a little red-faced and sweaty, which meant that Rory's shirt – well, his shirt – was sticking to her body beautifully. She was so unaware though, so engrossed in sorting her books that when he snuck his arm around her shoulders, she barely noticed. He liked that about her. That she could be so entranced in something, she'd forget the world around her. Like when she read or studied. Like when they kissed.

'Ok, let's see what you have for me.' Jess leaned towards her, his cheek close enough to rub her hair and the citrusy smell of her hair intoxicating him in the best possible way.

Rory placed the Melville book on top of the pile closest to her and extracted a book from another pile, handing it to him. She explained excitedly. 'I think you'll really like this. Joan Didion was apparently a huge Hemingway fan.'

'Huh. I didn't know that.'

'She wrote for The New Yorker back in the eighties and she writes in this beautiful prose. She said it was all inspired by her copying out Hemingway passages as a kid.'

'It's giving me The Bell Jar vibes.' He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

'No, no. Think The Great Gatsby meets Less Than Zero.'

'So it's a book on partying, drugs and nihilism?' He reexamined the book with renewed interest, raising an eyebrow at her.

Rory nodded in affirmation. 'In prose.'

'Huh, I should let you pick out books for me every year.' He looked at her with pride.

'Agreed. I'm giving you my literary wish-list every year.' She beamed back.

They both extracted two more books from their own book piles and exchanged them.

'Now this: Pirates and robots in apocalyptic Paris? This sounds just weird enough to be great.' He tapped the book against his knuckles.

Rory nodded animatedly. 'Kathy Acker is one of those rare feminist punk writers. And I thought since you loved the Oral History of Punk so much, that you should give her a go.'

'I will.' He flipped over the cover. 'And as an added bonus, there's a half-naked woman on the cover.' He added, laughing when Rory tried to wrestle the book back from him.

He swatted her hands away, and pushed a thick hardcover towards her nose. When she saw the title, she grabbed the book and grinned. 'Ooh, how'd you know I wanted to read The Letters of Vincent van Gogh? That wasn't on my list!'

'Well, you said a book from every genre. You didn't have much on tortured artists, so I figured.' He explained easily, then he added, holding out another book to her. 'And it beats some of the books on your list. I mean, here, this Modiano book looks like such a bore.'

'Hey, you found it! I've been looking for that for ages.' Rory gave him a bright smile, slapping his arm lightly. 'And it's not boring! It's supposed to be this melancholic story about a couple who fall in love one summer in their twenties and then meet in Paris by accident fifteen years later. The Hartford Courant said Modiano might be the next Nobel prize winner.'

'I sure hope not. I read the first chapter while you were by the Russian section and it's just so pretentious.' Jess almost rolled his eyes.

'But it has these beautiful descriptions of Paris in the fifties. I was thinking I could take it with me when I go.' She flipped through the book, as if trying to find the passages that would prove her point.

'Still sounds to me like one of those cheesy books about nothing.'

'As opposed to Hemingway, the master of suspense?' Rory teased.

'Hey, don't take jabs at poor Ernest. You know he's always had a soft spot for you.' He bumped his knee against hers.

She smiled softly, letting her knee rest against his. Her gaze dropped again to the book in front of her and he pretended not to notice how red her cheeks were getting.

Somehow, at that instant, the stray sunlight caught her eyes perfectly, turning them into a captivating, clear, cerulean blue. So bright and so warm. Nobody had eyes like that, almost like liquid crystals. He must've been staring too intently, because she suddenly slid her eyes from his and dipped her head down to look for the next book. He exhaled quietly, realizing he'd been holding his breath. It was embarrassing. She was barely touching him, she wasn't naked, she wasn't even flirting and yet here he was, waiting for his heartbeat to jumpstart itself again. Embarrassing is what it was.

He cleared his throat and took a moment to examine the book in his hands, trying to go back to the familiar banter. Instead, he found himself saying. 'You should take A Moveable Feast.'

'What?'

'To Paris. It's sort of a memoir Hemingway wrote about his time in Paris in the 1920s, when he was an unknown, starving writer.' She was looking at him with interest, so he kept going. 'He describes post-war Paris really well. The food, cafes, museums. And he talks a lot about writing, how he worried his books weren't any good, that he didn't have the right words, things like that. You should read it.'

She nodded thoughtfully, then said. 'Do you already have a copy?'

He nodded. 'Yeah, why?'

'I'll take yours then. I wanna see your margin notes.'

'Alright. As you wish.' A small smile played on his lips.

Rory slouched slightly, to dip her head into his shoulder, her eyes flickering to his. She sounded somewhat worried when she said. 'So… we haven't really talked about this whole Europe trip.'

'You wanna talk about that now?' Given both of their good moods so far, Jess hoped they'd change the subject.

Rory didn't back away. 'It's just, my mom and I have been planning for this trip practically since kindergarten. How we'd go backpacking, visit a different city every day, stay in motels. The whole thing.'

He sighed, softening at the emotion in her voice. 'I know and it sounds great. Really.' He gave her a small smile and kissed her hair. 'You deserve it.'

'I wish you could come.' Her eyebrows furrowed and her voice took on a pleading note.

'You want Lorelai to kill me?'

'My mom's warming up to you, she won't kill you.'

'She'll try.'

'But… it's a whole month.'

'Which gives her more than enough time to torture me slowly before killing me.'

'But, Jess, it's a whole month.'

'Yeah, on second thought, just one Hemingway book won't be enough.'

'No, I mean, we won't see each other for –'

'I won't let you take any boring political books to Europe. And no 18th century poetry either. In fact, no poetry at all.'

'Jess.'

'And no Shakespeare. Nothing that's required school reading. Unless maybe it's Romeo and Juliet.'

'So we'll figure it out?'

'We'll figure it out, I promise.' He reassured softly, grasping her hand, intertwining their hands.

She sighed, then burrowed her head into his shoulders again. When she spoke again, her voice was light. 'Please don't get together with any blonde bimbos while I'm gone.'

'Only if you promise not to fall for any French guys.'

She sighed and gave him a look, batting her eyelashes. 'I think Italian guys might be more my thing.'

'I think one of them might be.' He agreed somberly.

She nodded, then said longingly. 'I wish we could have our own trip to Europe.'

He could only smile, pretending to be lighter than he felt. 'Maybe when you're a famous journalist, you can take me as your plus-one.'

She lifted her head towards his and he held her eyes for a moment, returning her smile. He had the feeling he'd unintentionally crossed a line, but as he noticed her blush again, he realized he didn't care.

The more bookshelves she explored, the more Rory became convinced that no amount of time would be enough to peruse through the entire collection of shelves in this fair. It'd been over four hours, the sun was almost setting, and her pile of must-have books was approaching a dangerous height. She was starting to worry whether there would even be enough space in her room to keep all these books. It seemed she might have to start throwing out clothes, Rory thought, just as she reached the Russian literature section and picked two more books. Just then, she got a call on her cell.

'Hello?' Rory picked up.

'Rory, I'm calling to tell you that I forgive you for not returning my calls. We can absolutely reschedule for next week.' Her grandmother started.

Rory frowned. Her grandmother could be very random sometimes. 'Oh, thanks, Grandma.' She paused. 'I'm really glad you understand.'

'It must've been a very busy week for you with all your studying and picking out your dress. Although, if you'd let me know, I'm sure I could've helped with that. We have a wonderful fashion consultant in our family, you know. And this is just the kind of occasion she specializes in.'

'Uh, thanks.' Rory didn't really know what she was talking about. Graduation dress maybe? She decided not to ask too many questions. Her grandmother had been making a big deal about graduation dresses all week.

'I have to say I'm a bit disappointed in you, Rory. Every young girl should have her fair share of prom pictures. It's a once-in-a-lifetime event. I still like to look at mine every once a while, ask your grandfather. If you'd told me in advance, I could've hired a photographer for tonight.'

'Wait, what?' Rory removed the phone from her ear and looked at it strangely, as if doubting she'd heard correctly. Hadn't she already told her grandmother she wasn't going to prom? Where was this coming from?

'—And you have the Gilmore nose, young lady. It's a great nose and you should hold your head up high and be proud of it.'

'Did you say prom?' This whole conversation was making no sense. And did she say tonight? The Chilton prom was last week and the Stars Hollow prom wasn't for another week. How would she…? Oh. Oh.

Rory froze, then slowly turned around, her eyes sweeping the bookshelves to find Jess, who was leaning against a lamp pole, reading in total oblivion. Was he…? No. He wouldn't. But… Would he?

'Grandma, I don't understand –'

'Oh, your mother told me. I also met this new David. He seems like a nice young man, although he does stutter quite a bit. Anyway, I'd love to have him over for dinner soon, maybe after your exams?'

Her mother? David… Dave? Lane's Dave? And prom? Just what was going on here?

A/N: The books that Rory and Jess discuss (in order) are: Benito Cereno by Herman Melville, Play It as it Lays by Joan Didion, Empire of the Senseless by Kathy Acker, Oral History of Punk – Please Kill Me by Gillian McCain and Legs McNell, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh by Vincent Van Gogh, Out of the dark by Patrick Modiano, A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.

A/N2: I'm curious to know: Has anyone read any of the books Rory and Jess mentioned in this chapter? I haven't (yet), so I hope I didn't mess up the dialogue there XD