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She strengthened her hands around his neck, breathing in his scent. He smells good—of old books and ink and aftershave, of sandalwood and leather.
"She would want the best for you, to see you happy. This book makes you happy, so sooner or later, she will relent," he eyed his uncle and Lorelai, now closer than ever, whispering things in each other's ears. He'd rather not know what those words are.
She nods, and after a while, he continues. "Me too, you know,"
She looks up at him, her eyes sincere. "I know," she smiles.