Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gilmore Girls or its characters – like millions of other admiring fans, I only wish I did!

 

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Cheers

Chapter 7: Grocery Shopping – With a Twist

Milk. Eggs. Bread.

The cold night breeze blew down the length of the quiet street, and Dean burrowed his hands deeper in his pockets, a frown of concentration creasing his forehead.

Peanut butter. Cereal.

Orange juice. Tissues. Cooking oil.

Now, what else was he supposed to get?

Glancing up to check for oncoming traffic, he crossed the street, walking briskly. It was another beautiful Friday evening in Stars Hollow, the air crisp and cold, and his mother had just sent him out on an errand – they'd run out of a few things, and could he possibly run down to the market to buy some groceries? Dean had been more than happy to oblige. After all, it had been more than six months since he'd last been home, and he'd actually begun to miss all the everyday things he'd always taken for granted before going away to live on his own. He missed his family, he missed doing things like buying groceries for his parents, like listening to his younger sister Clara ramble on about the latest developments in her life, little things like that.

Looking around him, Dean cast his gaze across the town square. Most of the shops were already closed, with the exception of Luke's Diner and Doose's Market. People still walked about outside in the cold, most likely on their way home. A few teenagers gathered near the town gazebo, their laughter ringing across the still night air, unrestrained, lively. Picking up his pace, Dean headed for the market, mentally running through the list of things he was supposed to get.

Walking into the small market was like taking a step back into the past. Images of days spent standing behind the counter packing groceries and stocking food cans in the shelves suddenly rushed back to him, and Dean couldn't suppress the broad smile tugging at his lips. How strange it was that he could still remember those days so clearly, so vividly.

He could see himself as the tall sixteen-year-old stock boy he'd been back then, uprooted from Chicago and transported to small town Stars Hollow, where everything was picture-perfect, and the residents were downright weird. (Although Rory always insisted they were special, not weird. Not that he was about to argue with her on that point, of course.)

He remembered visits from Rory while he was still on his shifts; he remembered stocking beans as she timidly attempted to talk him into accompanying her to the Chilton school formal, which later turned out to be a night he would never forget. He remembered afternoons spent waiting for her at the bus stop, waiting for her to return from Chilton, waiting every day with a steaming cup of coffee and a report of the latest book she'd successfully coaxed him into reading.

Seeing his old boss at the counter, Dean walked over. "Hey Taylor."

"Hello, Dean," the older man beamed, his accounting forgotten. "Haven't seen you here in awhile!"

"Well, I do recall handing in my apron to you ages ago," Dean kidded, producing a laugh from Taylor. "How've you been?"

"Me?" Taylor's smile grew wider. "Oh, everything is great! Business is booming! Although," he lowered his voice, and Dean leaned in closer to catch his words, "although I never did manage to find another stock boy half as good as you."

"High praise," Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Well, I'm just going to get some stuff, groceries for my mom…"

"Of course, of course!" Taylor waved him away. "Go right ahead."

Smiling, Dean ambled around the aisles, a little surprised to discover the layout of the market was exactly the same as it had been when he'd worked there. And for some reason, it heartened him to see that at least some things hadn't changed in his absence. Humming to himself, Dean bent his head and began to inspect the products stacked neatly on the shelf in front of him.

Milk. Eggs. Bread.

Peanut butter.

Cereal.

Walking to the next aisle, he began to sort through the jars of peanut butter, picking one up and carrying it with him.

Orange juice.

Tissues.

Cooking oil–

"Oof!"

Startled, Dean looked up, shifting his gaze from the bottle of aspirin he'd been holding and to the person he'd inadvertently bumped into. "Oh, I'm so–" But words failed him when he found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes – a pair of achingly familiar blue eyes. He gulped.

Rory looked up at him, the expression in her bright sapphire eyes clearly torn between merriment and shock. "Dean! What a coincidence."

"Rory," Dean finally managed to say. "Fancy meeting you here."

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To Be Continued…