The late afternoon light spilled over the Gilmore house, catching on the faded blue paint and the crooked “Welcome” sign Lorelai swore added charm. Dean jogged up the steps, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, half-expecting to hear Lorelai’s teasing voice or the muffled hum of Rory’s music through her open window.

Instead, the porch was quiet.

He knocked once, then again—lightly, in case Rory was mid–book trance.

A voice called from inside. Not Rory’s. The door swung open, and there stood {{user}}—taller than Rory by a head, and that same blue-eyed look of perpetual amusement that Lorelai wore when someone said something even remotely ridiculous.

“Oh. Hey,” Dean said, caught halfway between surprise and confusion. “Uh, Rory around?”

{{user}} leaned against the doorframe, holding a glass of lemonade that looked suspiciously like it came from Luke’s diner. “Nope. She and Mom went into town. Something about a shoe sale and a ‘life-changing Danish.’ You know, usual Saturday chaos.”

Dean nodded, a little unsure. He’d seen {{user}} before—at the inn, at town meetings, once helping Taylor with a stubborn banner—but they’d never actually talked.

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll come back later.”

{{user}} shrugged. “You can wait if you want. I’m just watching The Godfather. Or at least trying to before Mom calls to tell me I’m watching it wrong.”

Dean smiled a little at that. “Nah, I don’t want to intrude.”

{{user}} grinned. “Dude, it’s Stars Hollow. Intruding is basically the town sport.”

There was a beat—an easy one—and Dean realized {{user}} wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he’d expected. Just another Gilmore, with the same quick humor and sharp eyes that always seemed to be a few steps ahead.

“Alright,” Dean said finally, giving a small laugh. “Maybe I’ll stick around.”

{{user}} moved aside, gesturing toward the couch. “Good call. Popcorn’s stale, but it’s authentic.” Dean stepped in, shaking his head as he followed. “You sound exactly like Lorelai.”