luke & lorelai

Had Taylor’s mouth always moved that way? Clutching a towel in his fist, Mitch propped himself against the counter and stared. The wiry grey hairs around it quivered like a mouse’s whiskers – although Taylor was probably more rat than mouse. He hadn’t stopped since he’d walked in ten minutes ago. Finger jabbing at the counter between the stands holding that morning’s fresh sprinkle doughnuts and the pumpkin pie that he just had to have because Fall had hit and apparently pumpkin spice was everything now. Was Thanksgiving not sacred for it anymore?

”Nope.” Taylor had shut up for a split second, long enough for him to jam his objection down his throat and watch the man choke on it.

Mitch raised his brows, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly. Taylor couldn’t have looked more like a fish out of water if he’d sprouted gills. His mouth had opened and closed a half dozen times. ”You want me to say it again, Taylor? The answer’s no. I’m not helping out this weekend. If people want something to warm them up on Saturday, they can come in. They know where the door is. I’m guessing you do too. Order or head out of it, hmm?” It was too late to restart the morning, jumping it back to before he’d had Taylor crawling up his ass almost the minute he’d opened the door. And again at lunch time. A third time right around when folks wanted that afternoon jolt of coffee.

When Taylor didn’t move, he did instead. The towel was waved in Taylor’s direction, a final dismissal, before he hustled down to the end of the counter. Taylor didn’t need encouragement to crawl back. He’d bitch about it, about folks who didn’t have an ounce of town pride, despite their long, long family history here (honestly, who was gonna go back that many generations to anchor their yay, Star’s Hollow! pride to someone they probably couldn’t have picked out of a family picture). Tomorrow morning he’d be back here for breakfast though, lip curling at the eggs on his plate – too runny, too yellow, just too much.

The diner hadn’t exactly been his goal when he’d left high school – who wanted to sling pancakes and serve pompous assholes for life? – but it’d become his in a way left his pride stinging when anything in it was picked over. He glanced over as Taylor stalked out the door, his lips curving again. The guy wouldn’t know perfectly fried eggs if they slapped him round the face, he didn’t know them when he sold them either – the last box he’d desperately picked up from his store on a busy morning had been a couple days past their best. Telling him that had brought that ugly flush of colour rushing up his face. See, wasn’t so fun when it was the other way around.

”Hey, Caesar, you got those burgers ready? People are waiting here…” Mitch gave the brim of his cap a tug as he bent down to look into the kitchen. He puffed out a breath as Caesar grunted and held his hand up, fingers spread. Five minutes, great.

Hearing the door open as he turned back, Mitch called out without looking. ”Sit anywhere,” he called out, catching a glimpse of an unfamiliar tumble of brown hair, echoed in the kid at her side.

A minute later the two plates of burgers and fries were thumped down on the pass. So much for five. ”We’re gonna work on the counting,” he grunted at Caesar, shaking his head as he took the plates over to the old couple in the corner. Mitch gave his cap another tug as he rounded the counter again and got a good look at her. Petite enough that her feet were probably swinging above the floor. Plump lips that were curving with amusement that he was sure was aimed at him and the name of the place. ”Let me guess, you were expecting someone taller,” Mitch said dryly.

Like he had with Taylor, he propped himself against the edge of the counter. Even if they weren’t looking at the menu like they hadn’t memorised everything on it years ago, he’d have pegged both of them as new in town. You didn’t spend as much time serving folks around here as he did without recognising faces and, yeah, he’d definitely have memorised hers. ”A grilled sandwich without olives…” As though he’d have done a grilled cheese dirty by fancying it up some.

The kid made it easier, not dancing around it like her mom. Mitch nodded at her. ”You want chili on the side too?” Two grilled cheeses were as easy as one, a little ham elevating one (see, that was what you did with sandwiches, you didn’t start adding olives or truffles or any of the other crazy shit). ”You got a problem with pickles or mustard too? Hey!” Scowling, Mitch swung the towel at the kid’s hand in warning. ”It’s counter service, not counter helping yourself. You want one of those?” He was already dipping a hand under the counter for a plate, not intending on letting the kid get her grubby hands on the pile – if Kirk knew someone had pawed through them he’d never eat a thing in here again (alright, maybe that’d be a bonus).

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 891

”Yep, it’s what we’re known for,” Mitch muttered dryly. If Taylor had still been in here to hear the exchange he’d have puffed and corrected him, reeling off every wonder Stars Hollow had. He’d have choked as he’d muttered something about the brunette bringing down the average height in town by a few inches all on her own under the cover of that bluster too.

Mitch studied her face as he scrawled her order down on his pad, brows hitching right back at the single one she’d lifted. For someone who’d left the choice of what she was having in his hands, she was suddenly pretty fussy – the olive thing was valid, but this adjustment had him pausing. ”Or toasted … without olives,” he muttered. He could’ve just spread the menu in front of her and ran through exactly how many sandwiches came without olives – every single damn one of them. This wasn’t New York after all.

For all the attitude she was puffing in his direction, she could’ve been related to Taylor. He pushed it aside, mentally swatting at it the same way he did everything else. Everybody else around here had learned long ago that there was no pushing him into anything he didn’t wanna do – not that it had stopped them trying.

He’d been dancing around the constraints she’d given him about her food in his head, gussying up what woulda been a plain enough sandwich when the kid had reached out for one of the cake stands. The towel flopped back down on the counter, his brows furrowing heavy beneath his cap at the mouth on the kid. ”Did that hurt?” he asked the kid after a minute, ignoring the jab about who’d pissed in his cornflakes, that jerk had gone out the door minutes before they’d come in it and he wasn’t digging through town politics as an explanation for his extra crabbiness. ”That’s all you had to do – ask. Me server, you customer.” He gestured between the two of them before he took the top off of the stand and dropped a doughnut onto the plate for her. The smile that accompanied it lasted all of a heartbeat before the scowl was back on his face.

Tearing the order off the top of the pad, Mitch slid it through to Caesar. She’d probably bitch about the toasted ham and cheese just as much as everything else. He blinked at the kid as he walked back out, snorting lightly. ”You’re in the wrong town if you’re expecting all of that,” he muttered. ”Al’s a charlatan. You want service with a smile, you head right over there, but you’d get the worst pancakes in the state.” He wasn’t one to toot his own horn, but his were a thousand times better.

Puffing out his chest over the veiled compliment, Mitch returned her grin. His eyes lingered on hers – big and green, an umbra of brown around the pupils. She’d said we, maybe including a husband in that, although a glance down at her left hand didn’t throw up any proof of that. ”It’s a solid place, good bones,” he murmured. Mrs. Weston hadn’t exactly done much to the place, but there was promise to it, especially for a family home.

The laugh rolled out before he could bite it back, his hands settling back on the edge of the counter. ”I’ve got that institutionalised look, huh?” He shook his head, maybe there was a big wide world out there, but there was nothing wrong with being happy where you were either. ”I grew up here, it’s not a curse.” Most folks in Stars Hollow were lifers too, and not many of them complained about it. ”You want anything to drink while that’s cooked up?” Mitch glanced at the kid like she’d try and help herself to that too.

Tagged: LUCKY CHRISTMAS * Word Count: 642