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It was a cold, November morning. The wind chill was brutal enough to bite down to the bone, making it feel like it was below freezing. Rory Gilmore was bundled up in a long sleeve, a sweater, a winter coat, gloves and a handknit scarf wrapped around her neck and nose.
“Here, Sugar, this ought to keep you warm in the winter!” Babette had said.
It was less of an offer, and more of a demand that she take the scarf with her to Yale. Any time one of the town elders like Babette or Miss Patty ‘offered’ something, it wasn’t exactly a request. They had every intention of making sure their recipient would be leaving with whatever it was they had to offer. Honestly, she was grateful that the older woman was always looking out for her and Lorelai. There was nothing worse than nearly running late for class and having to run across campus whilst having your lungs do their best impression of icicles. It felt worse to stop for a moment to catch her breath, because then her shivers would finally catch up to her.
“I have got to steal a heavier jacket from Mom,” she muttered to herself.
Rory wasn’t alone in the misery. No, she was surrounded by her fellow classmates and scholars who were also freezing to death in attempts to get to their respective classes. But in this weather, no one was stopping for chit-chat. She was grateful for this, but she needed something to make her feel human again before stepping into Russian Literature 101.
Coffee. A girl’s best friend.
She couldn’t see the coffee cart from where she was standing, but the smell of freshly brewed java practically carried her in its direction. She felt as if the warm, caffeinated beverage could make her drift towards its scent like a cartoon character floating towards a fresh pie on a window sill. She rounded various corners and shuffled through crowded atriums to get to the coffee stand that kept her alive through most semesters.
As she approached the cart, she was half-expecting to see the petite girl that usually ran the mobile coffee station. She never caught her name, but she felt some sort of bonding with the girl and her excellent coffee-making skills.
Perhaps it was more of a Stockholm Syndrome relationship, Rory thought to herself.
To her surprise, there was a slender, lean figure standing at the cart, with their back towards her. She couldn’t see their face, but a tuft of dark, coarse hair stuck out from underneath a knitted beanie. The new barista was clad in a pair of dark jeans, a zip-up hoodie, a puffer vest and a pair of fingerless gloves. Whoever they were, they were definitely someone new.
The Yale student was now close enough to the cart for it to be socially acceptable to exchange in verbal communication, preferably to order a warm drink. To her surprise, a warm pair of oaky brown eyes cut through the chilling temperatures to offer her a small smile.
“What can I get you?” He asked.
Feeling a bit stunned in the boy’s gaze, she found herself momentarily unable to speak. He looked to be about her age, maybe a year or two older. She’d never seen him around before, so she was sure he wasn’t a student. It wasn’t necessarily a requirement for those who worked on campus to be students, but it was often an opportunity offered to them out of convenience.
“U-um, can I get…,” she tried, urging her vocal cords to cooperate with her. “Just a large, black coffee, please.”
The barista nodded, picking up an electric kettle that seemed to have her desired elixir in it. He paused, looking to meet her eyes once more.
“And you wanted that iced, right?”
Rory huffed out a small laugh.
“Oh yeah, in this weather? I’m practically burning up.” She replied sarcastically, letting a smile spread across her lips.
The dark-haired boy returned the gesture.
“Man, I’ve been killing with that line this morning.”
She took another moment to observe his appearance as he poured her coffee. He looked tired, but no more than a young person usually would. If she had to guess, he was likely staying up late and having to get up early - likely for this job. His lack of warm layers shocked her, though.
“How are you not freezing? I’ve got on three layers and I still feel like I’m about to turn into an ice sculpture if I don’t move quickly enough.” She asked.
The boy shrugged, almost as if the icy cold winds didn’t phase him like they did everyone else. He added a plastic lid to the to-go cup, handing her the warm beverage with an insulated lining. She took it gracefully, taking a small sip and letting the caffeine race through her veins.
“Doesn’t seem to bother me much,” he replied casually.
Honestly, she thought he was crazy for braving the cold like that, but maybe the coffee cart had a generator or some sort of gadget that produced enough heat to keep him warm. If such a thing existed, she was rather jealous, though the hot coffee in her hands was doing a good enough job of warming her up.
“That’s insane,” Rory teased.
“What’s insane is,” the boy started, stopping to check the watch strapped to his wrist. “Being up practically before the sun for a class. It’s just before 8 o’clock, and you’ve probably got some course like History of Number 2 Pencils or something.”
She giggled at his comment, empathizing with the fact that some specific college classes did have obscure names. Still, she was proud of the courses she was taking. She was matching her grandfather’s courseload when he was a student at Yale, taking on five classes this semester. Richard Gilmore was actually her inspiration for taking most of her obscure literature classes. Ever since she was a little girl, he would elaborate on ‘the greats’ of literature, no matter which culture they came from.
“Actually, it’s Russian Lit,” she beamed. “We just started reviewing Tolstoy, and I’m hanging onto every word.”
When Rory got caught up in talking about whichever author she was obsessed with at the time, she would gush about them like a teenage girl with a celebrity crush. And truth be told, her author-of-interest changed like the weather.
“Ah, aren’t we hooked on phonics,” the barista laughed. She returned his smile. “So, what’s your name, bookworm?”
“I’m Rory,” she answered, with a slight twinkle in her eye.
He nodded as the smirk on his lips turned into a grin at her positive response. For as many high IQs that surrounded him at Yale, it was difficult to find good conversation with another intelligent lifeform.
“Jess,” he said, briefly introducing himself.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jess,” she said.
If it weren’t so cold, she might’ve tried to shake his hand, but in this weather, both gloved hands stayed on the warm caffeine in her possession. She was thoroughly enjoying their brief conversation and banter, but eventually, she’d have to depart and get to her class on time. As one could imagine, any professor that teaches Russian Literature was not one to mess with regarding tardies.
“Likewise. You’ll have to tell me more about Tolstoy sometime, preferably somewhere warmer,” he offered.
“I’d like that,” the brunette said, convincing herself that the light blush on her cheeks was from the windchill, and not the barista flirting with her.
Little did she know, Jess was having the same internal conflict. He didn’t know much about Rory yet, but so far, he liked the way her brain worked. Her responses were quick and witty - just enough to keep him on his toes.
“Well, I should probably get going. My professor might make me stand outside if I’m late to her class.”
“Yeah, that’s probably for the best. Besides, the sooner all of you brainiac Yale students get to your classes, the sooner I can go inside to warm up for a minute.” Jess teased.
Rory tilted her head, questioning his contradicting statement. The dark-haired boy’s fingers were reddish in color, likely from the harshness of the weather. When people weren’t looking, he would lightly press them to the electric kettle for a bit of relief. He also determined that if he stood still for too long, a shiver or two would course through his body. To keep himself busy and allow a little bit of movement, he would organize and re-organize the contents of the coffee cart.
The small amount of movement helped keep blood flowing throughout his body as a weak heat source, but truly, it was his best attempt at distracting himself from the cold.
“I thought you said this kind of cold didn’t bother you much,” she interrogated.
Again, Jess shrugged with a nonchalant smile on his features.
“Well, what is much?” He asked rhetorically.
She let out a chuckle at his antics, spinning on her heel and starting to head toward her class, letting him get back to organizing the items on the coffee cart. As she turned, she looked over her shoulder one last time at the boy who made her coffee, only to find that he was already looking back at her with a small smile on his face.