All the events of the past few days flashed by in Rory's head. She marvelled at how so much had happened in so little time. And still the pressing question of whether or not to go to the Promenade rested on her shoulders.
Jess.
Dean.
Jess said he loved her.
Dean really loved her.
Who would give up all of their time, money...love for some girl that they weren't even sure would return it? There was so much more to Dean than met the eye - he was so thoughtful, so forgiving, and Rory was hardly deserving of his love...
***
It was Saturday night.
The past two days had flashed by so quickly, with nothing of much importance happening. Tristan would bump into her in the halls ("Accidentally!") occasionally, and smirk, Jess was nowhere to be seen - there had been no contact with him since her embarrassing runaway, and Dean? Well. She would just have to see.
It was already 5:00 in the afternoon and she had no idea whether she was going to the Promenade after all. If she was going to reach there in time, she'd have to leave by 7:00 at the very latest. She sighed.
Moments later she stood up and looked through her cupboard for a suitable dress to wear...
***
Dean checked his handwatch. 8:50 pm exactly. Was Rory going to come? Was she? Wasn't she? He was going to call her in the afternoon and ask, but had chickened out. Did the letter he sent her even reach her? What if it'd gotten lost? Maybe that's why Rory didn't come. But then again - what if it hadn't gotten lost? And Rory hadn't come...?
Dean was seating on a table for two which he had especially set by himself. A lacy tablecloth covered it, and candles were lit romantically. There were ruby red roses littering the hotel room, and a dozen roses on Rory's chair - which was still empty.
On the untouched plates was pasta cooked by 'the finest chef in the hotel'. There was red wine in the little goblets, but most importantly there was Dean. On his chair. In the most expensive tuxedo that he could hire.
Dean checked his watch again. 9:02 pm. This was not looking good. He decided to wait until 9:30 pm. After all, Rory could be late. Delayed...couldn't she? The Promenade was pretty far away from her house.
***
It was 10:00 pm. A survey of room 2207 of the Promenade hotel revealed that Dean's pasta had been half-eaten, the candles had burned to stubs, and the roses were wilting throughout the suite. And there was no Rory there.
Dean looked miserably at the roses on Rory's chair. He had envisioned the night to be glamorous. He would've made up with her - they could've gotten back together. He loved Rory. Now where was she?
He'd told her he'd know it wasn't meant to be at 9:00. Now it was 10:00.
"Face it, Dean," he growled angrily to himself, "...It wasn't meant to be."
Jess.
Dean.
Jess said he loved her.
Dean really loved her.
Who would give up all of their time, money...love for some girl that they weren't even sure would return it? There was so much more to Dean than met the eye - he was so thoughtful, so forgiving, and Rory was hardly deserving of his love...
***
It was Saturday night.
The past two days had flashed by so quickly, with nothing of much importance happening. Tristan would bump into her in the halls ("Accidentally!") occasionally, and smirk, Jess was nowhere to be seen - there had been no contact with him since her embarrassing runaway, and Dean? Well. She would just have to see.
It was already 5:00 in the afternoon and she had no idea whether she was going to the Promenade after all. If she was going to reach there in time, she'd have to leave by 7:00 at the very latest. She sighed.
Moments later she stood up and looked through her cupboard for a suitable dress to wear...
***
Dean checked his handwatch. 8:50 pm exactly. Was Rory going to come? Was she? Wasn't she? He was going to call her in the afternoon and ask, but had chickened out. Did the letter he sent her even reach her? What if it'd gotten lost? Maybe that's why Rory didn't come. But then again - what if it hadn't gotten lost? And Rory hadn't come...?
Dean was seating on a table for two which he had especially set by himself. A lacy tablecloth covered it, and candles were lit romantically. There were ruby red roses littering the hotel room, and a dozen roses on Rory's chair - which was still empty.
On the untouched plates was pasta cooked by 'the finest chef in the hotel'. There was red wine in the little goblets, but most importantly there was Dean. On his chair. In the most expensive tuxedo that he could hire.
Dean checked his watch again. 9:02 pm. This was not looking good. He decided to wait until 9:30 pm. After all, Rory could be late. Delayed...couldn't she? The Promenade was pretty far away from her house.
***
It was 10:00 pm. A survey of room 2207 of the Promenade hotel revealed that Dean's pasta had been half-eaten, the candles had burned to stubs, and the roses were wilting throughout the suite. And there was no Rory there.
Dean looked miserably at the roses on Rory's chair. He had envisioned the night to be glamorous. He would've made up with her - they could've gotten back together. He loved Rory. Now where was she?
He'd told her he'd know it wasn't meant to be at 9:00. Now it was 10:00.
"Face it, Dean," he growled angrily to himself, "...It wasn't meant to be."
