A/N: Sorry, guys. I was reading over it when I realized that my computer decided to screw me over by not posting the last (and in my opinion, best) part of the story!!! Don't worry, though! My computer has realized it's mistake and here now is the full chapter 3!!!!!!!! Enjoy! I'll probably post again on next Tuesday!
One last thing then we'll get to the good stuff: THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!!!!!! I HAVE THE BEST FANS!!!! I LUV YOU GUYS!!!!!!!
Chapter 3:
Tell Me Who You Are
Rory was overjoyed. This completely gorgeous, adorable guy had actually accepted her offer and joined her at her table. She could practically hear Lorelai's voice in her head saying: 'You go, mini-me. No man can resist the Gilmore charm.' The thought made Rory smile and she realized that she had something else to be thankful for.
Tristan.
It suited him just right and Rory had to admit that just the sight of him, not to mention his adorable blush, made her heart race. For a moment she had been afraid that he would turn her down; his frantic glances over her shoulder made her wonder if her mother had come up behind her with blown-up, embarrassing baby pictures or huge granny underwear. It took all her strength to resist turning around and checking.
But, thank God, he hadn't run away screaming. Instead, he less than gracefully took a seat and gave her that shy smile that melted her heart.
As she took a sip of her calming coffee, Rory couldn't stop her eyes from wandering and examining his strong chin and his soft, kissable lips. 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Kissable?!?!? Since when do you go around dreaming about kissing guys you've just met?!'
Rory shocked herself with that thought. Ever since Dean had died, she had had a hard time getting back in the swing of things. Her best friend, Lane, had set her up on a blind date but Rory had adamantly refused to go. Whether it was dating, flirting, or anything having to do with a guy, Rory felt like she was betraying Dean.
Dean. She knew now that he wasn't the love of her life and that she could and would move on, but it took time. He was her first love, her first kiss; it was hard to just completely forget about him. Forget, how could she ever forget that fateful night?
He had been on his way to her grandparent's house for dinner. Rory asked him to be there; telling him it would mean a lot to her. She could remember how badly the first dinner went, but he had still agreed to go because he loved her. But the roads were bad, black ice was everywhere and he didn't show. Rory had been worried about him being so late when she got the call from his sister.
There had been an accident. Something had wandered on to the road and Dean had swerved, trying not to hit the animal, or person. The witnesses said they had been sure what it was, they had only seen Dean's car jerk to the right, hit black ice, and slam into a tree. An ambulance had arrived and by then, whatever was in the road was gone. Dean was rushed to the hospital, they did everything they could, Rory knew that, but he was announced dead on arrival.
Rory had been devastated. It was all her fault and she knew it. If she hadn't insisted on him being there, if he hadn't been rushing just so he could please her, he'd still be alive today. How could she talk to a guy without remembering that she was responsible for someone's death? That feeling of guilt was always there.
But not with Tristan. She was excited and eager to know everything about this enigmatic, handsome young man but he beat her to speaking.
"What were you reading?"
Rory pulled out her book and showed it to him.
"Pride and Prejudice. It's really good, one of my favourites actually." Books. That was a safe topic, something she could freely talk about.
Tristan read the back quickly. "Hmm, it sounds good. I've never read it before."
"You can borrow it." Rory had no idea why she was giving a stranger one of her favourite books, but for some reason she felt like she could trust him.
"Thank you, but I couldn't, you're reading it."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I've already read it thirteen times, you won't ruin it for me." Tristan accepted the book with a soft 'Thank you' and Rory felt incredibly stupid for admitting to reading a romantic Jane Austen novel thirteen times. A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell between them and this time it was Rory's turn to break it.
"So, Tristan. That's a very interesting name."
"Yeah, a very interesting name for a very boring person." Rory grinned and he returned it, a bit sheepishly.
"I don't believe that!"
"No?" He smiled at her, amused and surprised. There was something different about her. She was like no other girl he had ever met.
"Nope. Everybody is interesting in their own way. Everyone has a story."
Tristan sucked in a breath sharply and, before she would notice, covered it by clearing his throat. Would she want to know his story? Would she still be interested and kind, or would she run, like all the others?
Rory wondered if she had sounded too naïve and found herself wishing that she could take back what she had said. In a softer, more timid voice she asked, "You don't think so?"
Tristan, realizing that she had taken his silence the wrong way, gathered his courage to be honest. He didn't want to lie to her, he liked her and wanted her to like him but he knew that that would never happen if she knew the truth. And even though he didn't want to, but he knew that very soon he would have to lie to her.
"Oh, no, I agree with you. It's just that...I don't think that everyone always has a...good story." Tristan held his breath, waiting for her reply.
Rory thought about it for a moment. He seemed very hesitant to tell her that, almost as if he was holding something back, and Rory had seen it in his eyes. His face was calm and almost blank, but his sapphire eyes gave him away and she had seen a tiny glimpse of all his pain and sadness. Rory's heart broke at the thought of him being one of those people with a bad story. She wanted to ask more than anything but she knew it would be rude, and probably painful for him, and she didn't want to scare him away.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm a big believer in sharing everything. Good stories and bad stories, but you've got to find someone you can trust. Otherwise, it gets to hard to deal sometimes." She remembered how right after Dean died her mom had been there for her. Rory didn't think she would have made it without her. But the whole purpose of her answer was to try and tell him that he could talk to her if he needed to, she wanted him to know that she would be there for him anytime, but something told her that he wouldn't allow himself to open up.
Tristan knew, he knew more than anyone just how hard it was to deal sometimes. Although his solitary, lone way of dealing with his fear and sorrow was familiar to him, the idea of sharing it with someone was completely foreign.
Tristan could remember coming back from his first day in grade three. He had been so excited and was overflowing with exciting stories about his day, but no one had cared. His father had been in his study and Tristan was told to never disturb his father when he was inside working. Looking back, Tristan had realized that much more than work went on in that room. His mother, with the glass of brandy that was always glued to her hand, nodded her head at intervals and, as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, turned to the maid and instructed her to put Tristan to bed that night because she was attending a "social function". Tristan had never understood his mother's reason for saying that, after all his mother had never tucked him in, it had always been the job of one of the maids. Never once in his whole life, except from his grandfather on the rare occasion that he saw him, was Tristan ever kissed or told that he was loved before he was sent to bed.
"Do you have anyone like that?" He had only known her for a couple of minutes, but he had already decided that out of all the people he had met, Rory was the most deserving of a comfortable life surrounded by many people that she loved and trusted. Some people, like himself, were just never meant to have that.
"Yes." Good, he was glad. "My mom. She's great and really weird in a spunky, energetic way, but I love her. She passed most of her wierdness on to me, though I don't know if that's good or bad."
Upon witnessing her babbling, Tristan laughed for the first time in a long time. "You're not weird, at least, not in a bad way. It's a good thing though, trust me. Your mother sounds very interesting, what's she like?"
"Well, she has this insane obsession for coffee, as do I. Seriously, beware. I'm being completely honest with you when I say that we can't live without it - we've practically built a religion around it! I mean, don't even talk to us in the morning before we have at least three cups, because if you do, you are signing your own death wish. Let's see, there's so much more, what's next? She runs an inn, talks to herself constantly, and has this terrible habit of speaking without thinking first. It gets her into a lot of trouble, but it's even more funny to watch her confuse a person, thus getting herself out of said trouble. If there was a Whack Job of the Year Award she'd win it - and be proud of herself, too! Her three favourite men are Luke, Willy, and Forest, she thinks that Barbara Striesand stole her chance at being famous, and she believe that Michael Jackson is actually an alien in human form who is here to spy and get information so he can call his troops in for the 'Unlimate Annihilation Showdown'." Rory finally stopped to breathe and, strangely, didn't feel the least bit embarrassed.
She watched as Tristan let his laughter escaped and decided that she wanted to see him laugh more often - and she wanted to be the reason for it, too. He looked so much younger and carefree, it really lit up his whole face and he looked even cuter, if that was possible. That simple action had an amazing affect on his eyes, as well; for a moment the bright playfulness held back the tidal waves of pain and sorrow that she knew would soon return. Eventually, his laughter subsided but a charming, lingering smile hung on his lips as he replied.
"Wow. She sounds like quite a character." Just like Rory. He had seen how her eyes had lit up and how her movements had become free and animated. He had seen it, and fallen in love with it. 'Love? Whoa, slow it down DuGrey. Don't set yourself up for heartbreak...'
Tristan ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and spoke again, trying to get his mind off what he had just admitted to himself. "But I'm confused. Who's Luke, Willy, and Forest?"
Rory let her face drop into a look of mock shock and let out a loud gasp. "Blasphemer!!! My mother would have you hanged by your toes! How could you ask such a question, you ignorant fool? Off with his head!" Rory pointed an accusatory finger at him and Tristan roared with laughter at her performance.
Suddenly they realized that the café had become very quiet. They looked up to see everybody watching and giving them incredulous, disapproving looks. They both blushed furiously at their behaviour and looked everywhere but at each other.
For Tristan it was worse, he could feel the crowd's displeasure and scrutiny but he brushed it off. But there was something else. He could feel extreme rage pouring off someone in the crowd, so strong that it gave him a headache, and it was directed at him.
Tristan turned in his chair and anxiously searched the crowd, desperately trying to figure out who could possibly have such a strong hatred for him.
Meanwhile, Rory was lost in her own reverie, thinking about this mysterious man. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice Tristan's frantic searching. He was so gentle, and handsome, and easy to get along with. It was like she had found her dream guy, and in a coffee shop, no less. How perfect was that. Rory took a deep breath before admitting it to herself. 'I like him'.
SMASH!
Tristan spun in the other direction, along with most of the crowd, seeking the reason for the loud shattering noise. He heard the crowd gasp but he was too deep in thought.
He saw them now, the ghosts, they were everywhere. One was leaning nonchalantly against the counter, her hand stirring a cup of coffee that wasn't even there. Another was leaning against the telephones and Tristan could feel that he was frustrated, frustrated because none of the pretty girls seemed to notice him. And there was one more, the guy from before, the one who had been standing behind Rory.
Over the course of their conversation, the ghost had disappeared, he must be strong if he had that capability, and Tristan had completely forgotten about him. But he was standing behind the counter now, his arm out, palm facing Tristan. It was then that Tristan realized that that noise was a mug shattering into a thousand tiny pieces as it sailed over his shoulder, narrowly missing his head, and smacked into the window.
Tristan sat there as shocked as everyone else, but for a very different reason. This ghost must have realized that he was dead, which meant he wasn't wandering the streets wondering why he could bump into someone and that person wouldn't even notice. That means he had unfinished business, something having to do with Rory, and, judging by the show he had just given, he had power.
Telekinesis.
His reason for doing something as dangerous as what he had just done was something Tristan could only guess. The spirit was mad, mad at Tristan for speaking to Rory. But what Tristan couldn't understand was why now? He had been talking and laughing with Rory for several minutes, but the ghost's fury had exploded when neither one of them was looking at or speaking to the other.
Suddenly, it dawned on Tristan. This ghost could read minds; something one of them had thought angered him to the point of making a public display of his powers. He wanted Tristan to know that he was more powerful. It was a challenge. A challenge that Tristan knew he had no chance of winning.
Obviously, this spirit had deep feelings for Rory and Tristan was confidant that if he were to leave, everybody else would be safe. He had to back down, let him now that he was winning. For now, that is.
"My God! What was that?" Rory whispered, staring at the ceramic shards behind Tristan's chair.
"I don't know. Listen, Rory, I have to go." She just nodded, staring up at him with wide, beautiful eyes, and Tristan knew she was still in shock. He really did have to go. This spirit's animosity towards him was beginning to make him feel sick, but he felt terrible leaving her. He knew that she'd be safe though. This spirit would never let anyone harm her and it, Tristan was sure, would never hurt her himself.
He pushed his chair pack and stood to leave, as many other customers were doing. But he was worried; worried that he would never see her again. He picked up the novel she had lent him, holding to close to his chest, and readied himself to be bold.
"Can I see you again?" He looked at her, gently and expectantly, and she stared back now truly shocked.
"Um, yeah..." She yanked a pen out of her purse and, standing up, took her book back from him. She flipped over the inside cover and scrawled her name and phone number down. Closing it quickly, she handed it back to him and their hands brushed as he took it from her. They both froze at the spark they felt between their hands and their gazed locked, surprised and overjoyed.
Forcefully, Tristan pulled his hand and his eyes away from hers. "I'll see you soon, Rory."
"Goodbye, Tristan," was her quiet reply. He stared at her for a second longer, savouring the gentle smile one her face, then turned and walked out of the café.
He glanced inside the book and smiled happily at what he saw there:
'Rory Gilmore
555-1046'
Rory Gilmore, the first girl he had ever felt this way about. And she had given him her number, hoping to meet with him soon. He grinned as he hurried on his way, pushing all thoughts of fear and floppy-haired ghosts out of his head.
'Sorry, Floppy, but I am not giving up on this girl', Tristan thought to himself. He could still feel the electricity coursing through him from that slight touch of her hand. She was special, and he wouldn't just let that ghost follow her everywhere. He would save her and, in doing so, hopefully save himself.
'Come on, Floppy. Bring it on.'
One last thing then we'll get to the good stuff: THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!!!!!! I HAVE THE BEST FANS!!!! I LUV YOU GUYS!!!!!!!
Chapter 3:
Tell Me Who You Are
Rory was overjoyed. This completely gorgeous, adorable guy had actually accepted her offer and joined her at her table. She could practically hear Lorelai's voice in her head saying: 'You go, mini-me. No man can resist the Gilmore charm.' The thought made Rory smile and she realized that she had something else to be thankful for.
Tristan.
It suited him just right and Rory had to admit that just the sight of him, not to mention his adorable blush, made her heart race. For a moment she had been afraid that he would turn her down; his frantic glances over her shoulder made her wonder if her mother had come up behind her with blown-up, embarrassing baby pictures or huge granny underwear. It took all her strength to resist turning around and checking.
But, thank God, he hadn't run away screaming. Instead, he less than gracefully took a seat and gave her that shy smile that melted her heart.
As she took a sip of her calming coffee, Rory couldn't stop her eyes from wandering and examining his strong chin and his soft, kissable lips. 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Kissable?!?!? Since when do you go around dreaming about kissing guys you've just met?!'
Rory shocked herself with that thought. Ever since Dean had died, she had had a hard time getting back in the swing of things. Her best friend, Lane, had set her up on a blind date but Rory had adamantly refused to go. Whether it was dating, flirting, or anything having to do with a guy, Rory felt like she was betraying Dean.
Dean. She knew now that he wasn't the love of her life and that she could and would move on, but it took time. He was her first love, her first kiss; it was hard to just completely forget about him. Forget, how could she ever forget that fateful night?
He had been on his way to her grandparent's house for dinner. Rory asked him to be there; telling him it would mean a lot to her. She could remember how badly the first dinner went, but he had still agreed to go because he loved her. But the roads were bad, black ice was everywhere and he didn't show. Rory had been worried about him being so late when she got the call from his sister.
There had been an accident. Something had wandered on to the road and Dean had swerved, trying not to hit the animal, or person. The witnesses said they had been sure what it was, they had only seen Dean's car jerk to the right, hit black ice, and slam into a tree. An ambulance had arrived and by then, whatever was in the road was gone. Dean was rushed to the hospital, they did everything they could, Rory knew that, but he was announced dead on arrival.
Rory had been devastated. It was all her fault and she knew it. If she hadn't insisted on him being there, if he hadn't been rushing just so he could please her, he'd still be alive today. How could she talk to a guy without remembering that she was responsible for someone's death? That feeling of guilt was always there.
But not with Tristan. She was excited and eager to know everything about this enigmatic, handsome young man but he beat her to speaking.
"What were you reading?"
Rory pulled out her book and showed it to him.
"Pride and Prejudice. It's really good, one of my favourites actually." Books. That was a safe topic, something she could freely talk about.
Tristan read the back quickly. "Hmm, it sounds good. I've never read it before."
"You can borrow it." Rory had no idea why she was giving a stranger one of her favourite books, but for some reason she felt like she could trust him.
"Thank you, but I couldn't, you're reading it."
"Oh, don't worry about it. I've already read it thirteen times, you won't ruin it for me." Tristan accepted the book with a soft 'Thank you' and Rory felt incredibly stupid for admitting to reading a romantic Jane Austen novel thirteen times. A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell between them and this time it was Rory's turn to break it.
"So, Tristan. That's a very interesting name."
"Yeah, a very interesting name for a very boring person." Rory grinned and he returned it, a bit sheepishly.
"I don't believe that!"
"No?" He smiled at her, amused and surprised. There was something different about her. She was like no other girl he had ever met.
"Nope. Everybody is interesting in their own way. Everyone has a story."
Tristan sucked in a breath sharply and, before she would notice, covered it by clearing his throat. Would she want to know his story? Would she still be interested and kind, or would she run, like all the others?
Rory wondered if she had sounded too naïve and found herself wishing that she could take back what she had said. In a softer, more timid voice she asked, "You don't think so?"
Tristan, realizing that she had taken his silence the wrong way, gathered his courage to be honest. He didn't want to lie to her, he liked her and wanted her to like him but he knew that that would never happen if she knew the truth. And even though he didn't want to, but he knew that very soon he would have to lie to her.
"Oh, no, I agree with you. It's just that...I don't think that everyone always has a...good story." Tristan held his breath, waiting for her reply.
Rory thought about it for a moment. He seemed very hesitant to tell her that, almost as if he was holding something back, and Rory had seen it in his eyes. His face was calm and almost blank, but his sapphire eyes gave him away and she had seen a tiny glimpse of all his pain and sadness. Rory's heart broke at the thought of him being one of those people with a bad story. She wanted to ask more than anything but she knew it would be rude, and probably painful for him, and she didn't want to scare him away.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm a big believer in sharing everything. Good stories and bad stories, but you've got to find someone you can trust. Otherwise, it gets to hard to deal sometimes." She remembered how right after Dean died her mom had been there for her. Rory didn't think she would have made it without her. But the whole purpose of her answer was to try and tell him that he could talk to her if he needed to, she wanted him to know that she would be there for him anytime, but something told her that he wouldn't allow himself to open up.
Tristan knew, he knew more than anyone just how hard it was to deal sometimes. Although his solitary, lone way of dealing with his fear and sorrow was familiar to him, the idea of sharing it with someone was completely foreign.
Tristan could remember coming back from his first day in grade three. He had been so excited and was overflowing with exciting stories about his day, but no one had cared. His father had been in his study and Tristan was told to never disturb his father when he was inside working. Looking back, Tristan had realized that much more than work went on in that room. His mother, with the glass of brandy that was always glued to her hand, nodded her head at intervals and, as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, turned to the maid and instructed her to put Tristan to bed that night because she was attending a "social function". Tristan had never understood his mother's reason for saying that, after all his mother had never tucked him in, it had always been the job of one of the maids. Never once in his whole life, except from his grandfather on the rare occasion that he saw him, was Tristan ever kissed or told that he was loved before he was sent to bed.
"Do you have anyone like that?" He had only known her for a couple of minutes, but he had already decided that out of all the people he had met, Rory was the most deserving of a comfortable life surrounded by many people that she loved and trusted. Some people, like himself, were just never meant to have that.
"Yes." Good, he was glad. "My mom. She's great and really weird in a spunky, energetic way, but I love her. She passed most of her wierdness on to me, though I don't know if that's good or bad."
Upon witnessing her babbling, Tristan laughed for the first time in a long time. "You're not weird, at least, not in a bad way. It's a good thing though, trust me. Your mother sounds very interesting, what's she like?"
"Well, she has this insane obsession for coffee, as do I. Seriously, beware. I'm being completely honest with you when I say that we can't live without it - we've practically built a religion around it! I mean, don't even talk to us in the morning before we have at least three cups, because if you do, you are signing your own death wish. Let's see, there's so much more, what's next? She runs an inn, talks to herself constantly, and has this terrible habit of speaking without thinking first. It gets her into a lot of trouble, but it's even more funny to watch her confuse a person, thus getting herself out of said trouble. If there was a Whack Job of the Year Award she'd win it - and be proud of herself, too! Her three favourite men are Luke, Willy, and Forest, she thinks that Barbara Striesand stole her chance at being famous, and she believe that Michael Jackson is actually an alien in human form who is here to spy and get information so he can call his troops in for the 'Unlimate Annihilation Showdown'." Rory finally stopped to breathe and, strangely, didn't feel the least bit embarrassed.
She watched as Tristan let his laughter escaped and decided that she wanted to see him laugh more often - and she wanted to be the reason for it, too. He looked so much younger and carefree, it really lit up his whole face and he looked even cuter, if that was possible. That simple action had an amazing affect on his eyes, as well; for a moment the bright playfulness held back the tidal waves of pain and sorrow that she knew would soon return. Eventually, his laughter subsided but a charming, lingering smile hung on his lips as he replied.
"Wow. She sounds like quite a character." Just like Rory. He had seen how her eyes had lit up and how her movements had become free and animated. He had seen it, and fallen in love with it. 'Love? Whoa, slow it down DuGrey. Don't set yourself up for heartbreak...'
Tristan ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and spoke again, trying to get his mind off what he had just admitted to himself. "But I'm confused. Who's Luke, Willy, and Forest?"
Rory let her face drop into a look of mock shock and let out a loud gasp. "Blasphemer!!! My mother would have you hanged by your toes! How could you ask such a question, you ignorant fool? Off with his head!" Rory pointed an accusatory finger at him and Tristan roared with laughter at her performance.
Suddenly they realized that the café had become very quiet. They looked up to see everybody watching and giving them incredulous, disapproving looks. They both blushed furiously at their behaviour and looked everywhere but at each other.
For Tristan it was worse, he could feel the crowd's displeasure and scrutiny but he brushed it off. But there was something else. He could feel extreme rage pouring off someone in the crowd, so strong that it gave him a headache, and it was directed at him.
Tristan turned in his chair and anxiously searched the crowd, desperately trying to figure out who could possibly have such a strong hatred for him.
Meanwhile, Rory was lost in her own reverie, thinking about this mysterious man. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice Tristan's frantic searching. He was so gentle, and handsome, and easy to get along with. It was like she had found her dream guy, and in a coffee shop, no less. How perfect was that. Rory took a deep breath before admitting it to herself. 'I like him'.
SMASH!
Tristan spun in the other direction, along with most of the crowd, seeking the reason for the loud shattering noise. He heard the crowd gasp but he was too deep in thought.
He saw them now, the ghosts, they were everywhere. One was leaning nonchalantly against the counter, her hand stirring a cup of coffee that wasn't even there. Another was leaning against the telephones and Tristan could feel that he was frustrated, frustrated because none of the pretty girls seemed to notice him. And there was one more, the guy from before, the one who had been standing behind Rory.
Over the course of their conversation, the ghost had disappeared, he must be strong if he had that capability, and Tristan had completely forgotten about him. But he was standing behind the counter now, his arm out, palm facing Tristan. It was then that Tristan realized that that noise was a mug shattering into a thousand tiny pieces as it sailed over his shoulder, narrowly missing his head, and smacked into the window.
Tristan sat there as shocked as everyone else, but for a very different reason. This ghost must have realized that he was dead, which meant he wasn't wandering the streets wondering why he could bump into someone and that person wouldn't even notice. That means he had unfinished business, something having to do with Rory, and, judging by the show he had just given, he had power.
Telekinesis.
His reason for doing something as dangerous as what he had just done was something Tristan could only guess. The spirit was mad, mad at Tristan for speaking to Rory. But what Tristan couldn't understand was why now? He had been talking and laughing with Rory for several minutes, but the ghost's fury had exploded when neither one of them was looking at or speaking to the other.
Suddenly, it dawned on Tristan. This ghost could read minds; something one of them had thought angered him to the point of making a public display of his powers. He wanted Tristan to know that he was more powerful. It was a challenge. A challenge that Tristan knew he had no chance of winning.
Obviously, this spirit had deep feelings for Rory and Tristan was confidant that if he were to leave, everybody else would be safe. He had to back down, let him now that he was winning. For now, that is.
"My God! What was that?" Rory whispered, staring at the ceramic shards behind Tristan's chair.
"I don't know. Listen, Rory, I have to go." She just nodded, staring up at him with wide, beautiful eyes, and Tristan knew she was still in shock. He really did have to go. This spirit's animosity towards him was beginning to make him feel sick, but he felt terrible leaving her. He knew that she'd be safe though. This spirit would never let anyone harm her and it, Tristan was sure, would never hurt her himself.
He pushed his chair pack and stood to leave, as many other customers were doing. But he was worried; worried that he would never see her again. He picked up the novel she had lent him, holding to close to his chest, and readied himself to be bold.
"Can I see you again?" He looked at her, gently and expectantly, and she stared back now truly shocked.
"Um, yeah..." She yanked a pen out of her purse and, standing up, took her book back from him. She flipped over the inside cover and scrawled her name and phone number down. Closing it quickly, she handed it back to him and their hands brushed as he took it from her. They both froze at the spark they felt between their hands and their gazed locked, surprised and overjoyed.
Forcefully, Tristan pulled his hand and his eyes away from hers. "I'll see you soon, Rory."
"Goodbye, Tristan," was her quiet reply. He stared at her for a second longer, savouring the gentle smile one her face, then turned and walked out of the café.
He glanced inside the book and smiled happily at what he saw there:
'Rory Gilmore
555-1046'
Rory Gilmore, the first girl he had ever felt this way about. And she had given him her number, hoping to meet with him soon. He grinned as he hurried on his way, pushing all thoughts of fear and floppy-haired ghosts out of his head.
'Sorry, Floppy, but I am not giving up on this girl', Tristan thought to himself. He could still feel the electricity coursing through him from that slight touch of her hand. She was special, and he wouldn't just let that ghost follow her everywhere. He would save her and, in doing so, hopefully save himself.
'Come on, Floppy. Bring it on.'