Chapter Text
How the hell he pulled this whole thing off, Jess didn’t know. Rory, thank the stars up above, believed him when he explained the lock needed replaced. The whole week leading up to this moment was full of anxiety and diligent work. Every day he went to work, praying Rory wouldn’t take the hinges off just to put the stuff away. Then every night after she went to sleep he worked on his grand surprise all the while praying she didn’t notice the aroma of whitewashing paint wafting from under the doorframe.
He was exhausted, but thrilled with the room. The walls and floor were whitewashed, crisp and bright. New lace curtains billowed with the light, evening breeze coming through the cracked window. An antique writing desk, looking preteen thanks to a fresh coat of eggshell-white paint, stood there as if ready to be the foundation for brilliant thoughts. Covering the ceiling were strings of white lights that made the surrounds glow ethereally. More of those same lights, along with more lace curtains, canopied a futon platform laden with white pillows and white comforter. Underneath was the perfect built in bookshelf filled with Rory favorite novels. His toes curled sand grasped the circular rug chosen to keep her warm when she paced. It too was white and trimmed in crocheted lace.
Everything was perfect although he hoped that the lilies weren’t too much. He’d put crystal vases of them everywhere – on the shelves, the top of the desk, and on the floor. It was too late to toss those. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old red velvet ring box. The perfect sentiment, he prayed. Opening it, Jess stared at the ring. It was petite and glamorous. It was Rory. At least he thought so.
He knew he couldn’t just present it to her. That was lame. That wasn’t them. Instead, he flipped open an old copy of ‘The Fountainhead’ and nestled the heart-shaped ring box where the two pages diverged. He’d chosen at random, but the quote highlighted by the glittering lights fit the moment perfectly.
“Love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for dirty sores. But they don't know it. Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones who've never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compassion, contempt and general indifference, and they call it love. Once you've felt what it means to love as you and I know it - total passion for the total height - you're incapable of anything less,” he read to himself.
Few people could claim to love her job more than Rory Gilmore did, and yet she had to admit that she wasn’t especially fond of some parts of it, like the weeks when everything got utterly and completely chaotic. It was true that generally her work as a journalist here wasn’t particularly stressing (perks of not working for the NY Times) but deadlines were deadlines and this week she had been tasked with covering an important article.
He turned and left the room. His bare feet patted against the wood. Closing the door, he went downstairs. “Hey, Rory. I finally fixed the door. Want to take the stuff and put it away?” Jess asked, entering the kitchen and kissing Rory on the top of the head as she read something.
Jess loved watching Rory work and could have stayed there watching her all day. She got so into her writing that half the time he wondered if she realized there was anything but words and typing and paper and ink. He was okay with that. He was more than okay with that. How could she be any other way? It was unimaginable. He hated to disrupt her train of thought or working process, but sometimes it had to be done. This was one of those times.
Thankfully the worst was over, and this Sunday was quite peaceful if compared with the rest of her week; she was giving the last touches to her work in order to be able to have it ready for tomorrow. A familiar voice broke her concentration, a smile appearing on her lips, which widened when she felt his lips against the top of her head. The brunette saved the document and turned around, pressing her lips briefly against his after thanking him for fixing the door lock.
When Rory entered in the room, she almost dropped the books that she was carrying because of the sight that greeted her. Blue eyes opened wide as she entered to look at everything more closely, the scent of lilies filling the air (her favorite flower, of course that he’d remember). It was perfect, especially since she had wanted a more secluded place to work pretty much since she had moved to Storybrooke. The youngest Gilmore turned around until she noticed something on the desk, a book with a box on it. It couldn’t be…. Couldn’t it?
Rory approached slowly, this felt like a dream in a way. She had seen many types of rings but none of them felt as especial as this one, laying on top of a book that she had almost memorized; of course, The Fountainhead. What other book he could have used? Her eyes were wide as she tried to process everything.
She was breathless. Even if they were together, Rory had never discussed the idea of marriage with him. In fact, she had not even known if Jess was the marrying type. She had assumed that if he wanted he’d propose in the future and if he didn’t she would have accepted it. Not even in her wildest dreams she could have imagined him proposing now. She picked the small box and turned around, the thought hitting her full force.
He was proposing.
“I have to say that this is more original than getting on one knee to ask,” she said, her voice choked with emotions and her eyes glistening a little with unshed tears of emotions.