A/N: I'm really happy with this one. I was always curious about what Jess' work life looked like. AND, only a couple more chapters until the lovebirds actually see each other in person. I can't wait for you to find out what happens!

I love reviews, good or bad, so feel free to give me your opinions.

Also, as always, I don't own Gilmore Girls nor any of the characters.

ENJOY!

Chapter 10 – Discovery

"I'm just saying, man, this would be much easier if they had attached photos."

Jess made secret, angry faces at the phone, hoping Chris would somehow feel his annoyance through their virtual connection. They had been at this for twenty minutes, and hadn't gotten further than the list of candidates.

"And as I said before, as much as you and Matt might like to, you can't judge a book by its cover. Besides, some of these resumes are from men. You really want to evaluate suitability based on a snapshot from some guy's camping trip?"

"Well," Chris hedged, "maybe he's a fun guy. We could use another fun guy in the store, considering you're becoming a grumpy old fart!"

Jess dropped his head into his hands and prayed for patience. The placement agency had sent over almost twenty resumes, all of them no doubt extremely qualified for the manager positions. Trying to narrow the field down, however, was proving to be next to impossible. After a brief glance, Matt had declared himself 'sick', leaving Jess to review them via phone with Chris.

"Look, can we just read through these and make some decisions? I have stuff I have to do before I'm dead."

"Got a big shuffleboard tournament, do you?" Chris snickered, and Jess actually cracked a smile.

"No, but my appointment with the funeral director is time sensitive, so screw your head on straight." They could grumble at each other like this for days, but it wasn't getting them anywhere.

"Fine. Killjoy."

"That's me, snuffing out fun since 1983. Now can we please go through these? Otherwise, I'm just going to throw them up in the air and choose to interview whoever lands face up."

He rolled his eyes at Chris' dramatic sigh, and the two got down to business.

"Ok, first one, Tara Tebbings."

Chris shot her down immediately. "Double initial name, like a comic book character. No way."

"Yeah, I've seen that episode of Big Bang too, but you're seriously going to reject her based on her initials?"

"That and the fact there's two major typos in her cover letter."

Jess raised his eyebrows. He hadn't caught those yet. "Right. Sayonara Tara. Next: Kyon James."

The two were quiet as they each scanned the papers in front of them.

"Undergrad from Texas State, but no real work experience." Chris sounded interested, and Jess was willing to read a little deeper for a college grad.

"Never mind, his degree is in kinesiology." Jess tossed the pages on the floor and moved on. "Jessica Ouelette, originally from Quebec City."

Chris perked up at that. "She sounds hot."

"Well, despite that, she also looks pretty damn qualified. Diploma in Financial Management from Carleton University and she managed front of house for a radio station in college, so she knows promotion. She's worked the past two years for Chicago Review Press."

"Doing what?"

"Uh, looks like office grunt-work." Jess flipped back and forth, looking to see if there was anything else relevant he'd missed.

"Sounds good. Add her to the yes pile."

He tossed the resume to the side of his desk, happy to have at least one interview to schedule. "Well done, Jessica. Ok, your turn."

"Neil Matheson," Chris' voice called out, "business major at Phila U."

Jess shuffled the stack to find the right package. "Sounds promising."

"Plays left tackle and works as an account manager for Orion Sales, whatever that is."

"Wait, did you say he plays left tackle? Is he still in school?"

Chris groaned, disappointed. "Yeah, my bad. He's got a semester to go."

"Sorry, Neil. We need someone full time, ASAP." Jess tossed the papers onto the floor.

"Oh, please let this be the next one."

He could hear the teasing laughter in Chris' voice. "Who?"

"Diezel Manselli, with a 'z', because that makes it cooler."

Jess quickly ran his fingers through the potential candidates, finding the right resume. "Wow, you weren't kidding. That's actually his name. You figure his parents chose that winner, or…?"

"No way. No parent is that cruel."

He chuckled as he checked the contact address. "Guess again, my friend. He's from Jersey. That's probably the name on his birth certificate."

Chris laughed, conceding defeat. "Is this one an automatic toss?"

"No, no. If we're going to judge him, let's at least judge him on his work experience at," Jess scanned the second page quickly, "Bargain Barn."

"Nooo. Come on."

"He also had a summer job as a shift manager and inventory supervisor at an Affliction store in Trenton, which is how he probably got added to our list."

"Three strikes and he's out."

"Sorry, Diezel with a z." The pages fluttered down, scattering on the wood floor. "Next up is… Willow Hart."

"She sounds—"

"Don't say it!" Jess barked.

"For your information, I was going to say freaky."

"That's not any better."

"Killjoy."

Hoping to stave off another headache, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes before settling back in his chair. "Let's see, she currently manages a record store in Fishtown."

"Do they still have those?"

Jess snorted. "How can you be a poet and know dick all about music?"

"I'm just special."

He shook his head at his partner, flipping the single sheet over in his hands. "Bookkeeping, time as a personal assistant, blah, blah, blah. School is lacking, except for a brief stint at La Salle, in creative writing. Interesting."

Chris made a dismissive noise in his throat. "Like that matters. Honestly, I'm surprised you care if they're formally educated. Of the three of us, only Matt has paper hanging on the wall, and he's still the dumbest."

"I'll tell him you said that."

"Be my guest."

Jess sat up a little straighter, looking closely at the back page. "In the Hobbies section, she says she's read over two thousand books."

"Who puts something like that in their resume?"

"Apparently Ms. Hart does."

Chris was quiet a minute. "Sounds like she might be our kind of people."

He slid the one page resume across his desk into the short, yes pile. "Congratulations, Willow."

"Ok, I think I've got another winner."

"Lay it on me."

Chris cleared his throat. "Henry James."

"Shut. Up."

"No, that's really the dude's name."

Jess rolled his eyes, and scanned through the remaining resumes. "Ok. Henry James, currently of Scranton. Work experience from Three Horn Financial as an account manager, diploma in Office Management from the Tepper School of Business in Pittsburgh."

"Ok, what's the catch?"

He flipped over to the second page, looking for anything that stuck out. "He's a hockey fan, played goal in high school."

Chris sighed. "That's it?"

"Yeah, nothing of note in his interests or anything. But he's got the education and experience, I suppose."

"Ok, yeah. Put him in the yes pile. I guess we won't really know if these people fit until we meet them."

Jess nodded, hoping there was a winner in their short stack of interviewees. "Right, although they'll have to be a special kind of weird to fit in with us."

"What are you talking about? We're easy to get along with!"

"You keep telling yourself that."

He and Chris continued on like that, back and forth for another hour, until they had sufficient yes piles for both Philly and Boston. While it was a painful process, Jess had to admit that Rory was right. At least everyone in the running was moderately qualified; no short-order cooks or retail clones to wade through. And the placement agency had a guarantee, in case the person they hired had lied about their experience or was horribly unsuitable. It was definitely worth the fee for their services.

"So, you think you can come down for two days next week for the interviews?"

"Yeah. Honestly, I can't wait to get out of here. The store will probably self-destruct while I'm away, but it'll be worth it to breathe some sweet Philly air."

Jess laughed. "Trust me, man. There's nothing sweet about the garbage aroma from that new restaurant down the block. I can't even imagine what it's going to smell like in August."

"Whatever. It's Philly. That place will probably be closed by April."

"True. Ok, so I'll call all these shiny-faced hopefuls and set up appointments for Monday and Tuesday."

"Sounds good. Don't make the interviews too early. I'm not at my most judgemental until at least 10:30."

"I think Matt and I can judge enough to cover you, if you're not at full strength."

His partner chuckled, and Jess acknowledged that he was looking forward to the three of them being together again.

"Want to grab dinner on Sunday?"

Jess blinked, looking away from his electronic calendar. "Sunday? Matt and I figured you'd be here all weekend."

Chris took a few seconds too long to answer, and Jess' ears perked up.

"I'm not catching the train until Sunday."

"Because…?"

"Can't a guy just want a Saturday to himself?"

His evasive tone made Jess put down the papers he was shuffling and give the speaker phone his full attention.

"Sure, a guy could want that. But you've been itching to get out of that town for weeks. What gives? You got a hot date or something?"

When his question was met only with silence and the buzz from the open phone line, Jess laughed sharply.

"You DO have a date! What the hell? I thought Boston girls didn't like you?"

"Yeah, well, there had to be at least one in a city this big." His friend sounded a little bashful, and Jess laughed even harder.

"So tell me, what is this girl like? I mean, she must be blind, deaf and dumb to want to date you."

"Yeah, screw you right back, Mariano."

"Oh come on, man. She's probably not dumb. So fill me in."

"Her name is Charlotte. I met her at the laundromat. Don't laugh!"

Jess had to clamp his hand over his own mouth, but he tried to comply.

"She's from Savannah, and she's here doing her Masters in Music Therapy at Berklee."

"Wow."

Chris exhaled slowly, and Jess could practically see the smile on his friend's face.

"She's way outta my league."

"No shit." He ran his hands through his hair, happy for Chris, but thinking that he was in a similar situation with Rory. Just two shmucks drooling after women that were way too good for them.

"So, where are you taking her?"

"Drinks downtown and then an art show by this photographer that takes great pictures of old theatres and concert halls and stuff."

Jess rolled his eyes. Chris obviously had it bad for this girl if he was laying out that kind of date.

"Well, good luck. She sounds like just the kind of girl you could royally screw up."

He wasn't too surprised when his joke went right over Chris' head.

"Oh, man. I haven't even told you about her accent. She calls me 'darlin', and it makes me break out in a sweat."

"Gross."

"And her eyes. Damn. I'm in serious trouble."

Jess rolled his eyes again. "Sounds like it. Ok, dinner on Sunday, and you can give us all the gory details."

"Will do. See you guys soon."

They ended their call, and Jess finished gathering up all the scattered paper, still laughing about how lovesick Chris sounded. Man, did he understand that feeling. At least Chris didn't have to watch her date a tall, boring, bag boy while mooning after her. God, when he thought about all the idiotic things he'd done back then to get Rory's attention - it was just embarrassing.

Showing up at her house with a fake food delivery. Learning dumb magic tricks. He was pathetic.

But he couldn't have stopped, even if he wanted to. Every time she smiled at him, or glared at him, it was like another hit of his favourite drug. It just made him want to do it again and again. And then, by some stroke of luck, he got her.

Which is when he got lazy. And even more stupid.

It was dumb, but he never wanted her to know how much she affected him, how much power she wielded over his life and his heart. His pointless teenage pride let her sit at home, waiting for him to call. And what was even more ridiculous, usually he was sitting at home too, wanting to call her but refusing to admit how important she was to him.

He was just stupid. And if she had been anyone else, she would have dumped his ass like so much worthless trash. But because she was Rory, she stuck to him even when it would have been easier and healthier for her to walk away. When he was a kid, he didn't deserve that kind of loyalty, or misguided devotion, or whatever it was she had suffered from. He wasn't entirely sure he was worthy of it now, either.

But, as the result of what had to be a miracle, it seemed like he was getting a second, or fifteenth, chance with her. Without thinking, he pulled open his desk drawer and fished out her letter that had arrived that morning.

Jess,

My thrilling life in prison continues. There are now 3 motion sensors, 7 door and window contacts, 2 control panels, 2 deadbolts, an alarm company and a Secret Service agent monitoring my comings and goings. Not to mention a creepy stalker. And a partridge in a pear tree, but who's counting? Honestly, sometimes I just want to scream "I'm NOT THAT INTERESTING!" and see if some of them take a hike.

Work is definitely going better, despite the obvious hatred displayed by my direct underling. I generally never use that word, underling, because it's so demeaning, but in his case I'm willing to make an exception. It's a huge concession, but he's so worth it.

You're absolutely right about 'Go Set a Watchman'. I love 'Mockingbird', of course, but there was something so exciting about 'Watchman' being found in her safety deposit box and published decades after her last work. I wonder if it's true that she was coerced into agreeing to let it go to print? I know writers are so protective of their work, and often don't want anyone to see something that isn't finished. But it's just sad for their words to be lost forever.

Do you think you'd ever let any of your work be published posthumously? If a big stack of your notebooks were found after you were gone, I hope the world would get a chance to read them. Or at least me.

I finally read one of those books I bought down the street! 'The Heart Goes Last' by Margaret Atwood. I'm not sure if you've read it, but I loved the way it messed with my head. Think 1984 meets Stepford Wives with a little Freaky Friday thrown in. Trust me, it's wonderful.

So yes, I successfully read a book I bought, but I still haven't learned to cook. Good thing we're going out when you're here, then, because anything I attempt to make would likely kill us both. There's something tragically poetic about that, don't you think?

I honestly haven't been out since I moved, so I'm really looking forward to it. And let's be real, I'm looking forward to not being at work until late, too. So you're saving me from death, and boredom, and being a workaholic - so noble of you. My knight in shining leather jacket.

And before you go brushing off the noble comment, remember: the pen is mightier than the sword. And there's no one mightier with words than you.

Forever in your noble, wordy debt,

Rory

Jess laughed to himself in his quiet office, just like he had the first time he read it. She was the only person he knew that could ramble as eloquently on paper as she could in person. It was one of the things he had missed most about her, actually. She was beautiful, certainly, and kind, and funny, and all the things anyone could ever want. But it was her mind that had hooked him the deepest.

The people Jess met in his daily life missed 99% of the sarcastic comments he hurled at them as a way to amuse himself. They just didn't have the mental facility to get it. Rory was different. From the day they met, he knew she was his intellectual equal, or more likely his superior. At 17, he could appreciate a pretty girl. But a pretty girl that could keep up with him and regularly challenged him? Jess hadn't known to wish for that because he didn't know it was a possibility.

When they were finally together, they spent a lot of time making out. Of course they did. They were teenagers, after all. She made him feel things he didn't know he was capable of, in his heart and elsewhere. But the memories he cherished the most, the ones that still turned him on to this very day, were the arguments they had about authors long dead and worlds that were complete fantasy. She would patiently listen to his side, consider his opinion, and then tear him to ribbons with a thoughtful perspective that left him awed.

Yes, she was way too good for him; but by the sound of her letter, she was excited about their dinner date anyway.

Jess scratched at his stubbly cheek and thought about Chris' carefully planned evening with Charlotte. He owed Rory just as much care and planning, didn't he? He was hoping that maybe, just maybe this could be a step forward for them. There was no way he was leaving it to chance.

With that in mind, he pulled out his phone and started researching restaurants. He'd never spent much time in D.C., and didn't know anyone local that could make a recommendation, so he was relying on good old Google. He didn't want to pick an obvious place, nothing with a name she would recognize. He wasn't a white tablecloth kind of guy, so that eliminated most of the places right downtown. And he was taking out a Gilmore, so portion size was a serious consideration. More than anything though, he didn't want her to think for even a second that this was a friendly date.

Finally he settled on what he thought was the right place. A quick call secured a table for two in a dark corner in a jazz bar he was sure no one had ever heard of. Good burgers, good music, and privacy to talk.

With that decision made, he pulled up the itinerary his agent had sent him for his book tour dates. He was arriving in Washington before noon on the 13th, which gave him plenty of wiggle room in case his flight was delayed. He honestly wasn't sure why Samuel insisted he fly everywhere. On the East Coast, everyone knew trains were faster. But the publisher paid for it all, so he supposed it was just standard procedure.

He still had to decide on some passages to read at his appearances. The publisher liked him to read things that were salacious and attention grabbing, because they made the best sound bites for reporters. As an author, he preferred quotes that spoke more to the deep emotional journeys of the characters. Generally, they settled somewhere in the middle. This tour was particularly hard to prep for because the book had been out for quite some time. While the paperback release was new, the material was not. Everyone probably already knew the quotes he might choose, so he was having problems coming up with something that seemed fresh.

After a minute of scrolling through the electronic copy, he slammed down the top of his laptop and stalked out into the store. His books had their own shelf by the front door, despite his specific request to hide them in a corner somewhere. Matt even had a cardboard cut-out made, at full life-size, as a gag when Jess' second book in the trilogy hit 10,000 copies in its first week. It was supposedly for Jess' myriad of fans to take selfies with, but the partners all knew it was really just to piss him off. After being greeted by his own face for several consecutive days, he had taken perverse pleasure in decapitating the cardboard version of himself. And while his effigy had been dismantled, the front-and-centre book display remained.

He grabbed a copy of Dark Queen and headed back to his desk. It was so much easier, feeling the tangible, paper book in his hands. Computers had their place, but books were meant to be held and heard and smelled. He flipped through aimlessly, hoping some line or fragment of dialogue would give him an idea. But after a half hour of fruitless searching, he sat back and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands hard enough to send little jolts into his scalp.

Not only was his task frustrating, his heart wasn't in it. This tour just felt like a cash-grab to him, and he was hard pressed to put his enthusiasm behind it. Still, it was getting him to DC, and that wasn't nothing. If he was honest, he was feeling pretty distracted, too. The 13th couldn't arrive fast enough for him. If things still worked between them, it would open up a door he thought was firmly closed. If it didn't, well, at least then he would know and maybe be able to move on with his life.

But this waiting was killing him, bit by bit. And he was the instrument of his own demise.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was already 3:30. Since he wasn't getting anywhere, he decided to head home with a rough draft from one of their up and comers. The piece would need a lot of work, but he knew from experience that it was worth it. This girl just had that elusive something, the spark that could catch a reader's imagination and hold it for hundreds of pages. She had declined to work with the other guys, apparently only trusting Jess with her words. He was flattered, and humbled by her assertion that he was the only one who understood the soul of her writing. Unfortunately, he was also stretched so thin at work that finding time to dedicate to her latest pages was nearly impossible. He couldn't turn down a request from someone this talented, though, so he decided to spend the rest of his night on it.

He didn't even pause on his way out, and in minutes he was sprinting up the steps to his apartment. Before settling in, he flipped on the coffee pot, and sat down to the gurgling sound of the brewer. True to her style, he was hooked on the very first page. And soon he was blindly reaching for his phone.

"Yeah?"

"Chris, when was the last time anyone talked to Shavi Nassad?"

"That high school kid?" His business partner was quiet a minute, thinking about the answer. "I haven't talked to her in ages. But I think Matt got a call from her early last week? Maybe it was the week before. Whenever her package arrived, probably. Why?"

Jess exhaled and shoved his hand through his hair. "I'm just reading her new first draft. It's gold. Absolute gold. I'm going to need to dedicate some time to this, to get it ready. But this is going to be her big break, I can feel it."

"I thought you said she still needed time to mature, to dig deeper?"

Jess shook his head, excitement welling up and colouring his words. "No, this is it. I'm going to call her now and make sure she isn't thinking of going anywhere else."

"I hate to kill the party before it begins," Chris hedged, "but I don't know if we have time to prep another book before the holidays. We already have that anthology to put out."

Chris wasn't wrong. They were already running at full capacity, and it took a lot of work behind the scenes to get a book to print. With layout and covers and production, even after the text was perfected, it was no small task.

Jess sat forward and leaned into his knees. "Well, then maybe I should be calling my guy at Random House. We could look at a joint release, like we've done with my stuff."

"You think it's that good?" Chris sounded skeptical, but Jess knew he would change his tune once he read the pages that were sitting in front of him.

"Yeah. I really do."

"Ok, man, you don't need my permission anymore. Go with your gut. Matt and I trust your instincts."

Jess was struck momentarily speechless. He'd always taken big decisions to his partners, believing that the business was truly theirs to steer. It was a double check for himself, too, so that he could be sure he was making the right move. But this blanket approval from Chris threw him for a loop. He'd never 'gone with his gut', so to speak, when it came to the business. If he didn't have to check with his partners, what assurances did he have that he was moving in the right direction?

"Uh, ok. Ok, thanks. I'm going to call her now and see if she'll sign an exclusivity agreement."

"Sounds good." Chris was grinning so big, Jess could hear it through the phone. "Go bag that fish. Nice job recognizing that rough diamond—"

"Yeah, ok. Enough with the cheese. I'll let you know how it turns out."

He hung up on his friend's teasing laughter. Shaking his head, Jess looked up the author and dialled in her number.

"Hello?"

"Shavi? Hey, it's Jess Mariano."

"Jess! Hi, I wasn't expecting your call, was I?"

He chuckled. She was an amazing writer, but the girl had a memory like a sieve. "No, no, we didn't have anything scheduled. I just started reading your draft, and I had some thoughts. Do you have time now?"

"Oh. Um, sure. I guess. Just hold on a minute."

In the background, he heard her speaking in Farsi to someone, probably her grandmother, and then her end of the call got very quiet.

"Are you in the closet again?"

She laughed tightly. It was a running joke between them. When Jess first found her through the writing club at her school, he was surprised to hear that she usually wrote in her bedroom closet. She had quickly explained that it was the only space in the house where she could be by herself. That was over six months ago, before she graduated. As far as he knew, she still lived with her entire extended family in their 2-storey in Northeast Philly. Aunts, uncles, grandparents and too many kids to count, all under one roof. He'd been there for dinner more than once, as a way to prove to her father that he wasn't just some creep, and was indeed helping Shavi with her writing.

"So, you're reading my new book?"

He grinned, finding her hopeful enthusiasm endearing, as always. "Yes, I just started it today. Sorry it's taken me so long to get to it."

"Don't worry, Jess. I know you're very busy. I'm just glad that you're reading it."

"It's good, Shavi. Really, really good."

There was nothing but self-conscious silence at her end for a long beat, and Jess remembered back to the days when Matt and Chris had praised his first book. While the validation secretly felt amazing, he didn't know what to do with their compliments. Having thought of himself as a screw up for so long, to hear someone legitimately tell him he wasn't had sounded false to his ears. He didn't start to believe the praise for a long time, and still struggled with it now and again.

"Do you really think so?"

Her childlike voice squeezed briefly at his heart. There were a lot of hopes and dreams riding on his treatment of this book.

"I think it's going to be an important novel. I mean, I think it's going to be in bookstores, big ones, for a long time."

Shavi took a shaky breath, but didn't respond.

"So, I just want to make sure that you still want me to be your editor. I would understand if you wanted someone more experienced, or with better connections."

"No! Jess, no. Of course I want you. You're the only one that understands my writing."

He smiled and the tension in his neck eased. "Ok. Good, I'm glad. I'm going to send you a contract, ok? To formalize us working together and to list our responsibilities to get this book published. Just read it over with your family, and if you have any questions, you can call me any time."

"Ok. Wow, you really think it will be in bookstores?"

"Yeah, I do. This is going to be huge for you, Shavi, you and your family. And I just want to say thanks, for trusting me with it. I'm honoured."

She said something back to him in her native language, her words like a lullaby without music.

"Sorry, my Farsi hasn't improved since the last time we talked."

Shavi laughed a little, then explained. "You have honoured us with your esteem and conviction."

Even though something was probably lost in the overly formal translation, the message still made him feel a little loose in the knees.

"I'll send that contract when I'm in the office tomorrow, and I'll call you when I'm ready with the edits, ok?"

"Ok. Thanks again, Jess. For everything. I'm really excited."

"Me, too. Talk to you soon."

Jess sat and stared at the cover of her manuscript for a long time after he ended the call. He thought about the faith she was putting in him, trusting him with what could be her ticket to a life she never dreamed of.

It tended to hit him, at moments like these. While he still considered himself an author first, and always would, he found the most personal satisfaction in developing and encouraging people like Shavi Nassad. How would his life have turned out if Matt and Chris hadn't come into it when they did? He didn't like to think about the possibilities. And now he was able to pass on that opportunity to others; others who might not otherwise have the chance to reach their full potential.

With her bright, young future still at the front of his mind, he filled a mug with coffee and sat down to read the rest of what he was sure would be a modern masterpiece.

His red pen didn't take a break for several hours until his growling stomach and screaming bladder forced the issue. His eyes were starting to swim behind his glasses anyway, so he decided to stop for dinner. When his slab-sized grilled cheese hit the pan, he hopped up to sit on the counter, munching on the remains of a veggie tray he'd bought over the weekend.

After reading nearly a thousand pages, he was still just as confident about the future of Shavi's book. It was poignant and sweet, just like the author herself. And only she could have written this book. Someone else with a different life, a different history, would have come at the subject matter from another direction entirely. And the story would have suffered greatly for it. He still couldn't believe his luck at finding her.

Jess pulled his phone out again, wanting to share the news with someone he knew would appreciate it. He was secretly happy to note that Rory was his top contact. The frequency he talked to her, both by phone and text, was another small sign that he wasn't the same, incommunicative moron as when they met. Hopefully that boded well for them.

-How was your day?

The sandwich was ready to be flipped, and his phone buzzed while the bread was arching through the air above the pan.

Rory_: Decent. I haven't killed anyone yet.

Rory_: Yours?

He chuckled, filled a glass with milk and took everything to the table.

-Mine has been freaking fantastic

-Mostly

Rory_: Well, yours definitely sounds better. Can I call you when I get home?

Jess frowned, concerned that she was again at the office at 9:00pm. He was noticing it was a nasty habit of hers.

-Sorry. Didn't know you were still working

Rory_: That's ok. I'd rather talk to you anyway. Should only be another half hour.

-Sounds good

When he'd polished off his dinner, he decided against going back to editing. He was tired, and he knew he wouldn't be able to really get into it again before Rory called him back. And Shavi deserved his complete concentration. Instead, he flipped on the television and found a rerun of The Outer Limits to occupy his mind. It was just getting to the inevitable plot twist when his phone rang.

"You're spoiling the only TV time I've had in the past week, you know."

She laughed, not at all put off by his gruff tone. "You'll get over it, I'm sure. So tell me about this wonderful day of yours."

"You first. Why are you counting not murdering someone as a real accomplishment?"

His brows drew down when he heard her sigh deeply.

"Different show, same channel."

"The underling guy, huh?"

"Yes. Mr. Perry Tremaine, who has been with the administration for 21 illustrious years."

Jess snickered as her voice edged lower into an exaggerated southern drawl. Or, at least a horrible rendition of one.

"My deputy. Who, by definition, is supposed to work for ME. But he apparently missed that part of his orientation, 21 illustrious years ago."

"I get the feeling that his continued employment is a source of pride for him," Jess dryly panned back. He was rewarded with a tired giggle, which was more than enough for him.

"I honestly think I'm going to have to fire him. I mean, it's just gone way past anything I can reasonably overlook."

"Well, if it has to be done..."

Rory sighed again. "Enough. Distract me with some wonderfulness. Oh, sorry, how did you put it? Freaking fantastic-ness."

He chuckled. Even if her day had been rotten, Rory never lost her sense of humour.

"Well, you can start by congratulating me. I think I've discovered the next generation's Maya Angelou."

Considering the momentous implications of his statement, he wasn't surprised when she sucked in a breath.

"Ok. Your day wins. Tell me everything."

"I knew I could count on you." He grinned and took a deep breath. "This girl, she's… amazing."

"And you're her editor?"

Jess could hear her settling in for a nice long chat about her favourite subject.

"Yeah. I found her by accident, through a contact I have that runs a writing club for high schools in the city. It started as a literacy initiative, but it's grown so much that I've filled in for him here and there."

"That sounds amazing. All those young minds with stories just waiting to get out…"

"Exactly!" He loved it when they talked like this; like his thoughts were already in her head before he voiced them. "So he came to me in the spring with this short story that he said had real promise. I wasn't optimistic, because he'd tried to get me to bite on student work before that just wasn't up to par."

"But this one was different?"

"Oh Ror, it was like reading A Moveable Feast for the first time. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It's a shame it's only 20 pages."

Rory chuckled softly. "Wow. A Hemingway comparison already? That's high praise, coming from you."

"Oh shut it," he grumbled amicably. "I swear, this girl's soul is a hundred years old. It must be to write like she does."

"She sounds amazing. So you're going to publish her short story?"

"No, no. She just finished a memoir. It's semi-autobiographical, from what I can tell; about a young girl from a farming village in Kashmir, stuck in a pre-determined life but dreaming of seeing what's beyond her little valley."

"Wow—"

"And it's even better than her first attempt. It's going to be big. Really big." He could feel himself getting excited about it again, the knowledge that he could help present a real literary giant to the world.

"That's incredible, Jess. She couldn't have picked a better editor."

"I actually suggested she go with someone more experienced."

"What? You can't be serious!" She sounded appalled.

"Of course I am."

"Quit selling yourself short! I know you can push her to be the best she can be. She's very lucky to be working with you."

"Stop. You're going to make me blush."

She laughed at his flat delivery, and his chest puffed up a little bigger, not that he would ever admit it.

"So, when do I get to read this masterpiece?"

"When it's published and on the shelf, just like everyone else."

"WHAT!?"

Jess grinned over her outrage. "Sorry, but the author was very clear. I'm the only one who gets to read it."

"Well," she huffed, "who's the book tease now?"

He let the history of those words trickle down his spine to pool somewhere just south of his waist. The feeling made him think of stolen kisses and walks through the snow; a nearly perfect winter where they were so wrapped up in each other, he didn't see the future crashing down on him.

"No, that title will always belong to you."

There was heat in his voice, so much that even he could hear it. He waited, wondering if Rory would follow him or shy away. The silence stretched and he imagined he could hear her breathing, weighing the pros and cons of revisiting their mutual memories.

"So, you said your day was mostly good?"

Damn, he thought. There was that invisible line again, the one she wouldn't cross when it was pointed out to her.

"Uh, yeah." Jess tried not to let his disappointment creep in, but it was a struggle. "I hit a snag prepping for the book tour."

"Oh?" Her voice sounded a little rough as well.

"I'm trying to pick some passages to read, but with the number of appearances I've done for this series, I think I've read them all at one point or another."

"I'll bet your fans will love anything you read."

He shrugged, suddenly not so sure he was excited about the tour anymore. "Maybe. I wonder if it's possible to be sick of your own writing…"

"Oh, I think it definitely is. There have been a few articles that I've reworked over and over to fit in with what a producer wants. After looking at them for so long, I just wanted to throw them away."

"It's weird – after being so proud of it, I find myself never wanting to see it again."

"I'll bet musicians are the same way. I mean, imagine writing a song you think is beautiful and meaningful, and then you have to play it over and over again to different audiences until there's nothing left of what made it special."

Jess nodded along with her, agreeing as usual. With his eyes closed, he leaned back into the couch, exhausted just from thinking about standing up and speaking in front of people. Lots of people.

"Maybe you need a fresh pair of eyes."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just find someone who knows my books as well as I do and let them pick." He didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, but it came naturally to him when the stress piled up. In the rational part of his brain he knew she was just trying to help, throwing out any idea that came to mind.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to grouch at you—"

"How about me?"

His face screwed up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She cleared her throat, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "I know your books pretty well. I could help, if you want."

"You know my books?" Jess' feet fell down from the coffee table and he sat up a little straighter. He definitely hadn't expected to hear her say that.

"Of course I do, Jess. The Subsect will always be my favourite, but I've probably read the rest of them a half-dozen times, at least." Her voice trailed off as she realized the depth of her admission.

"I had no idea..."

His mind spun as he connected the dots. She'd read his books. All of them. And knew them well enough to offer him her assistance. It was surprising. Hell, it was astounding. He figured she'd probably heard of him from time to time, but never would have guessed that she'd follow his work so closely.

"You know I love your writing. I always have. I mean sure, I read them initially because they're yours. But I would have read them anyway just because they're so good."

Jess didn't know exactly how to label what he was feeling. He figured choked up came pretty close, though.

"That, uh... that would be great. Thank you, Ror."

"Anytime." Her happy smile came through the phone, loud and clear. "I'll get started right away. Is there a theme or a message you're going for? Or is it just the highlights? Or maybe you want a mix of things, depending on the mood of the audience?"

He shook his head, marvelling at the whirlwind that surrounded Rory when she was working on a pet project. She was a force to be reckoned with.

"How about you just pick your favourites?"

"My favourites? How long are these tour stops, anyway?"

"You're hilarious." He laughed sarcastically at her lame joke. "Just pick a bunch, and then I'll have some choices to switch it up."

Honestly, he didn't care if she picked a hundred pages. He just wanted to know what her favourites were, for himself.

"And this is only if you have time, ok? I don't want you neglecting the country or anything."

Rory clapped excitedly in the background. "This is going to be so much fun! Oh! You know what one of them will be? When Malcolm finds out that Sarah moved away while he was gone."

Her voice took on a dreamy quality and he rolled his eyes.

"Really? With all that moping and angst? I didn't figure you for such a drama queen."

"Not that part," she scoffed. "I meant when his neighbour actually tells him and he doesn't want to react. I could feel Malcolm's pain just in the way you described how he was standing and breathing. Sometimes emotions are the strongest when they're hidden."

Her words hit him hard. How long had he been hiding his feelings from her? From Luke? Even from himself?

"You really have read them a lot, haven't you?"

She ignored the question, her mind still tumbling forward faster than her mouth could maintain. "I'm just sad I won't get to see you actually reading them. Maybe you can re-enact one of your appearances at dinner?"

Jess snorted. "I promise to get my agent to tape one for you."

"Ok. I guess that will have to do."

God, he loved it when she pouted like that.

"Speaking of dinner, I finally made a reservation." He grinned when her ramble came to an abrupt end.

"Oh."

"I'm presuming you still eat like a Gilmore?"

Rory laughed lightly, but the mood of the conversation had definitely shifted. "Of course. It's the talking, you know. The secret to our incredible metabolisms."

"That would explain it."

"Luke still thinks my mom and I should be studied. In a lab. Or maybe at the Culinary Institute, because it sounds food-y and science-y. We haven't worked out all the details—"

"Rory?" Jess chuckled under his breath.

"Hmm?"

"I'm really looking forward to seeing you."

Her breath came out shaky enough that he could hear it, and his smirk grew until his cheeks hurt.

"You are?"

"Very much."

"Me, too."

He marvelled at how they could say so much with so few words, an entire conversation about hopes and expectations and insecurities playing just under the surface that they both understood very clearly.

"10 more days."

Jess was ridiculously happy that she was counting down until his visit. Did that make him as lovesick as poor Chris? Probably, but he didn't mind in the slightest.

"Yeah, 10 more days."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"But that would ruin the surprise."

"Jess..." She tried to convince him the only way she could.

"Those puppy dog eyes don't work over the phone, you know."

Rory huffed out a breath, frustrated that he wouldn't cave in. "Please?"

"Is it really that important for you to scope out the menu in advance?" He shook his head at how ridiculous she was acting, while still managing to be her adorable self.

"No. It's just..." She paused, and he imagined her worrying her bottom lip. And it was a delicious picture. "How will I know what to wear if I don't know where we're going?"

Jess tipped his head back and laughed until his chest hurt. Yep. This was the best day he could remember in a very long time.

A fan-freaking-tastic day.