Jess didn't look round to where Luke's voice issued from behind the counter, though the cloth began moving again in a slow arc because he eased his weight off that arm. Luke threw his hands up and went back to the kitchen.

Not that there were any customers to serve, Luke thought. Not with the macabre procession, the burial, the wake. The elaborate rites of death in Stars Hollow.

Rights the dead have on the living. The last. Like a toll for not crossing over. Better pay up. And you do because it's not you yet. Because you better hope someone else will when it is.

But he wasn't about to trail 'round after a casket in some big production, trying to check his watch with Patty leaning on him again, making him deaf in one ear. Or having to go shuffle-for-shuffle with some old coot at the back he'd have to bend down to hear. The same story three times and get called Sonny or Billy or ...

Maybe later he'd close up early and make an appearance at the wake. He could stand it, he thought. For a while. Same story eleven times. Have to put the suit back on.

If anything, a trickle of tourists. Antiquers. Singular, serious. Odd. Or unserious couples, well-off, unencumbered by kids. Looking for afternoon tea - the bakery's closed, so we thought - and finding coffee and donuts.

A handful of mourners might roll in maudlin drunk at 8.30 for coffee and company and gossip. Maybe he should just close up now, but -

"We might get stragglers," Luke barked from the back, "from this walk-with-the-casket thing, so -"

"Who the hell can't keep up with a casket?"

"Just make some coffee, okay?" Luke yelled. "And keep your voice down, Jess, for crying out loud." The ones who'll go next. "How about a little respect?"

He wasn't listening.

Still there.

Past his reflection, it was as if the hands she rushed back through her hair tore her head back to look at the sky and held it there. Elbows too high for too long. But then her face went forward into her palms, where it pulled through slowly and back again, until peaked fingers pressed beside her nose.

She hadn't moved.

Hugged herself as she looked around. And began to pick her way across the last few feet of grass to the sidewalk. Jaywalking purposefully towards the diner.

So he turned away.

"I give up," she said plumping down into a chair and shrugging her coat over its back, partway inside out.

"You do, huh?"

She watched his shoulder blades move as he shook a rough last measure of grounds into the machine. A pot half-full on the counter behind him.

"Yup. I tried, it didn't work, I give up."

"That stuff's old," his back said with a half-shrug, snapping a mechanism into place. "But if you want it -"

"I'll take it," she said. "When you're done, I mean."

He craned back to pick a mug from one of the cubbyholes and she added, "Join me?"

"No thanks." Centering the fresh pot under its drip.

"Is Luke -?"

"Kitchen," he said coming forward, her mug hanging off his finger.

When he finished pouring, her nose followed the steam and she moulded her hands around the earthenware, looking into it. He set the pot down on her table and cursorily scraped one of its chairs further under on his way back to the counter. Flicked the rag up off the formica with a damp eardrum pop and kept moving.

"It is weird, though, right?" she said, bringing the cradled mug close to her chest as she sat back. "To tell someone you're getting married at a funeral?"

He turned back from the table he'd slapped the cloth onto, frowning - "What?" - wrist flattening as he leaned, twisted.

"What comes with mashed potatoes?"

"What?"

"- -Luke?" she ended.

Twisted more to see.

In the doorway, Luke looked up from his list. "Anything," he said with a benign shrug. "As long as you got fifteen minutes, give or take. Who's getting married?"

"Oh, um ... I probably -"

"Nevermind," Luke said, waving a square surrender with pencil and pad. "So, mashed potatoes?"

"Please."

"With?"

"A spoon."

He smiled, flipping the list-pad forward onto the surface from a height. "Coming up."

Her smile back, tight with the wait. Waiting, listening for the sounds of clattering.

Cantilevered behind by both arms now - though Luke had eyeballed him before turning for the kitchen - Jess started tapping something unrhythmic on the underside of the table edge.

"So, I'm right to feel weird about it, aren't I?" she said leaning forward again over her coffee.

"Yeah, most people use a fork."

"Ha ha," she retorted, unamused. "About that." Flapping vaguely at the window.

The pretence of looking round. "About what?" A different frown.

She shrunk round the mug, making her eyes loud to mouth at minimal volume, "Dean. Getting married."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Why would I -?"

"Huh."

"So I give up." The spiked fingers hinged to reclasp.

"Because you feel weird," he said blandly.

"Yes."

One finger rubbed down his nose. "About him getting married."

"Yes. No. About him making such a big deal of ... I don't even know. Of telling me." She shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Huh."

"At a funeral, you know? It's ... off. Or just ...- -It's weird."

He nodded slightly. "No argument."

"Okay. Good. I shouldn't feel bad then." She took a sip. "I tried, it didn't work. It's not my fault."

Setting the coffee pot back down, she sighed. "Maybe it's my fault. But I didn't know what to say, and he got so mad so quickly -"

"He got mad at you?"

"It's not like I told him getting married at eighteen is stupid. And I -"

"You didn't?"

"Jess."

"Sorry. Carry on."

"Anyway, it's done. Maybe you can't always be friends. And I tried."

He aborted the hampered stretch and felt his shoulder for a second. Went back to tapping and glanced out to the group assembling in front of the church. Downing her mouthful, she followed his eyeline. Dropped her chin in a cupped hand.

"So," he said, "you guys aren't friends anymore?"

"Am I a terrible person? I'm a terrible person. Maybe he meant it as a nice thing. Like, he has news. The kind of news you tell your friends. And we were sort of friends, so ..."

He shrugged.

"I mean, I did tell him congratulations," she said, rocking the mug around its edge. "It's just ... everything. What happened the other night, the funeral ... I don't know."

"Hey, you tried, right?"

"Yeah," she exhaled.

"So forget it."

"Okay. I should. You're right. And it made me feel weird. I still feel weird. The word 'weird' sounds weird."

"So stop."

"Okay. I will. I have."

He pulled out the chair opposite her. Distorted mirror-image of her posture when he lifted his chin off the heel of his hand and said, "Guess I gotta go card shopping then."

Her laugh made him smile then bite it.

"I missed you last night," she told him as he set down fresh coffee with a second mug and sat.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Your face," she said, holding a hand up to screen it. "Stop it."

"Can't. Sorry."

"Try."

"Nope."

"Okay, you can get back to work now." The screen became a wave. "Bye."

"Maybe you can have Luke put up a sign, huh?"

"Yes, perfect: No Faces for Jess."

"So, when'd you get back? You didn't call but I figured -"

"This morning."

"What?" A new frown. "How come?"

"It's a long story," she said lifting the pot. Turned the handle towards him when she'd finished.

He took it, filling his mug.

"I got time."

"You've read Carver's 'Cathedral', yes? With the -"

"Jealous husband and the blind guy? Yeah, why?"

"And worse," she said later, "I got sent to bed at maybe four minutes past ten."

"Because you were bad or something? What was it, elbows on the table? Did you curse? Tell me you said 'ass', come on."

"You're so weird." Not quite sniggering.

"You were naughty, admit it."

"Shut up, you ass. I wasn't bad, I looked like I was sick. And I think I fell asleep around two. I couldn't even study or -"

He looked up from his mug. "Are you sick?"

"No. Probably just the whole fight-with-Mom stuff." Minutely re-paralleled the mug handle. "And Fran."

"Right. I guess. You ... okay? Your mom and all that -"

"Uh-huh," she nodded through the yawn, knuckling her eye. "I miss her. Fran. And with Mom ... I mean, it's not fixed or anything. I'm still mad that she's made it so weird - -God, my vocabulary has officially contracted to a single word, I hate that."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

Right to the bottom, she was empty. No matter how long she looked.

"Dictionary?" he said, unvising the lip.

"Yeah, that's not going to help, I think."

"Thesaurus then."

Not quite a laugh, but close enough. She reached for the coffee. Her first new sip and after it another of her rare silences.

"Could've called, you know," he said. "If you wanted."

"At two a.m?"

"Sure," he shrugged. Straightfaced. "Why not."

"Because Luke."

"Because Luke ...?"

"Sleeps. You know, upstairs." The exaggerated pointing got a smirk. "About fourteen feet from you."

"Oh, that Luke."

"So."

"So." Another shrug. "Earlier then. If you wanted."

"I thought about it," she said, watching as he tilted the cup on its axis with a fingertip inside the rim to make it pivot. "But it was late by then and, I don't know ..."

"And Luke."

"Yeah." Mouth screwed to one side.

"How late is late, anyway?"

"Why?"

"Just trying to figure out how long it takes to start missing me."

"Oh, there is so going to be a sign, I mean it."

"Can't wait."

"And after this, it'll probably take a lot longer to miss you."

"So first you're banning my face and now -"

"Also," she appended, "my Mom's always been very clear that Grandma has this super-sensitive hearing that kicks in after lights out."

"She'd know, I guess."

"Uh-huh. And she said pillowing the door's less effective than you'd think."

He grimaced. "Okay, now you're just creeping me out."

"Good. You deserve it." Sharp with mirth. "And I wanted to call, okay? So take back that fake wounded thing, right now."

The table rang under her jabbing finger.

"I have no idea what you're -"

"And maybe pick up once in a while?" she added. "So I don't always get Luke."

"Oh, come on -"

"Always," she drew out.

He rolled his eyes but conceded. "Fine."

Topping up her mug, she said, "Lane would've recommended the wardrobe," looking thoughtful, "I wonder ..."

"See," he interrupted, "You are bad. I knew it."

"Shh-ut up, or I'm going to Sharpie it right on the wall, and then-"

"Yeah, no one pays attention to signs," he said, elbow up to rest his temple on two fingers. "Still, next time your loony family shanghai you someplace -"

"I'll call, I promise. That is, if I get stupid and start missing you."

"Never not cruel."

"Not that I want to get shanghaied or stranded or whatever -"

"Put in a convent."

"- -Anytime soon though. And stop it."

"Not until you make the sign."

"I will," she said. The threat was carried by the way she pointed at him, but undercut by what trying not to laugh did to her face. "Convents don't have phones either."

"Then we need to get you a cell."

"In case I'm immured in one," she said matter-of-factly.

"So you're queen of puns now?"

"I'll settle for princess."

"Yeah, I hate to tell you, but alliteration?" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Not hilarious. At all."

"Motion denied. So, did you miss me?"

Lacing fingers at his neck, he settled back against the rungs of the chair and said, "You really want to know?"

"You are -"

"Mashed potatoes and spoon," Luke announced at the doorway.

"Thanks Luke," she managed, but not in any voice she recognised. Straightened the spoon with her forefinger, looking down.

"D'you ever hear," said Jess, ignoring Luke towering behind her with fists on his hips, "that thing about Billie Holiday?"

"Jess," Luke interrupted, "anytime you feel like doing a little work, just go right ahead, okay? Don't let me stop you."

"You mean all these customers," he took the diner in with a sweep, "aren't gonna serve themselves?"

"Luke, blame me," she said. "It's my -"

"Yeah, blame her, Luke. She's distracting the hell out of me. How am I -"

"Jess, for the love of - -Don't leave stuff like this," - Luke brandished the rag off a table - "lying around, jeez." He shook his head, muttering something like "I don't know ..." which trailed off as he got further away.

"Look," said Jess, "if it makes you feel better, I blame you."

"And to think, I tried to save you." The spoonful of potato menaced him. "And the answer's yes, but you can't put me off mashed potatoes, so -"

"About Lady Day, or missing you?"

Her mouth was full and he went on, "Sounds like a dare too. Is it a dare?"

"Mmn-nm," and the shake of her head told him No, until she swallowed and said, "FYI, you need to get one too."

"One what?"

"Cell."

"Yeah, I think they frown on guys in convents generally."

"Pflt- -I bet it's worse than frown."

"Define worse," he said, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

"So," Luke said, "he's getting married?"

The bell still ringing and Jess's hand not yet off the steel closing plate.

"Jeez!" The flinch disappeared in the blur, the noise of Rory's chair going under. His own.

"Sor-Ry," was sliced into two with equal taunting emphasis. "I forget you get so absorbed in your work."

"Whatever," said Jess, hooking their empty mugs. "And when'd you join the knitting circle, anyway?"

"Jess -"

"'Cos if you're trying to scoop Patty -"

Luke's arm gibbetted. "Go wash Rory's dishes, alright?"

"- she's got a mean left hook," Jess finished as he passed into the kitchen.

A/N: Thanks for sticking around and reading. Especially because we're not even at the end of Sunday. Still, it won't be another month away, at least:

"... I get that we're not officially at the peace treaty signing stage of this thing yet, but can we call, like, a truce or something just for -"

"Yes."

If you've got a second to review, I'd really appreciate it.