CHAPTER 10 - HELLO MOTO(RCYCLE)

Monday afternoon found Lorelai sitting across from Christopher at a trendy coffee bar that wasn't too far from either of their offices. Christopher had called up Lorelai a half an hour earlier, asking her to meet him because he needed a break from what he called newbies, the latest round of beta testing hires who wouldn't stop pestering him with questions. Glad for an excuse to escape the office, and along with it Colin and Finn's whining, Lorelai had agreed. Christopher had sneakily paid for Lorelai's coffee while she had been rummaging around in her purse for her wallet. He then had refused to accept any compensation and hinted that Lorelai could repay him in other ways. Lorelai had feigned shock and told him that he was no gentleman, and Christopher had responded that that was why she liked him. She hadn't been able to offer a very convincing protest to that.

At the moment, Christopher was talking, but Lorelai wasn't listening. She was too distracted by his presence to. The soft green of his shirt that made his skin glow, the way the waves in his hair lay just so, the faint traces of that cologne that always made her want to be alone with him… Individually they were formidable, but all together they were nearly crippling.

She collected herself and refocused on his words.

"…such a huge success that they're giving me next Friday off," he was saying. "I guess they thought it was cheaper than awarding a bonus check."

Lorelai nodded, but, not having listened to the first half of the sentence, she had little idea of what he was talking about. She tried to find a neutral part of him to focus on, like his hands -- but then she recalled what his hands had done when he had come over on Saturday night. That had definitely not been neutral.

She felt her face warm at the memory, and then she felt silly for blushing. How was it that she could be reacting this way to Christopher? How long had she known him? How many times had she seen him undressed? And yet she found herself behaving now, of all times, like he was a high school crush. What had happened to the cool, collected Lorelai who had set up rules and had scrupulously kept them (well, most of them…some of them…okay, there were only one or two still unbroken -- but the spirit of the rules lived on! she silently insisted) and replaced her with a giddy nitwit whose brain went wonky in Christopher's presence?

She tried to make sense of it. Nothing about him had changed. He looked the same, sounded the same, related to her the same. And yet…she felt in her gut that something between them was different.

She again reviewed the events of Saturday night. There had definitely been fireworks -- under the circumstances, how could there not have been? -- but had those fireworks been greater than usual? She guiltily noted that it had been three in the morning when Christopher had finally slipped out of bed and gotten dressed. She still had no idea how the time could have gone by so quickly; she remembered trading stories about their messed-up childhoods, but had they really lost track of time so badly? Even more guiltily she noted that she had felt a sharp pang of disappointment when Christopher had left. And she couldn't deny that despite Christopher's insistence that his relationship with Sherry Tinsdale was strictly professional, Lorelai was certain that if she never saw Sherry again, it wouldn't be soon enough. That woman was trouble, Lorelai could just feel it.

Still, it was ridiculous, everything. It was probably just one of her weird phases, like when she'd lost her mind and secretly nursed a crush on Matthew McConaughey for a few weeks. And that had been after the naked bongo drum-playing (but before all the shirtless pictures with Lance Armstrong). Maybe it's hormones, she told herself. You can always blame hormones. "Exactly," she said aloud.

Christopher paused and raised an eyebrow. "Huh?" he asked, looking confused.

Lorelai furrowed her brows. "What?"

Christopher gave her a look. "I said, 'So, what are your plans for this weekend?' and you said, 'Exactly.'"

"Oh! Sorry, I think I spaced for a second," Lorelai said quickly, covering for her daydreaming. She looked down at her coffee cup with disdain. "You're not doing your job," she scolded it.

Christopher chuckled. "You got an enormous, extra black coffee that looks like sludge and it's still not doing the trick? I don't know whether to take this as additional proof that you do indeed have a problem or to ask for my money back."

Lorelai's mouth dropped open. "I do not have a problem!"

"Lor, you have a problem."

"I do not have a problem. Problems come in flasks or are shaped like little white sticks and have a cartoon camel in their ads. Coffee, on the other hand, comes in delightful mugs and cute paper cups with adorable lids! Coffee is the furthest thing from a problem."

Christopher gave a solemn nod. "I bet you can quit any time you want, right?"

"It's not even a question."

"So if I reached out and took this cup away from you, you wouldn't have a problem with it."

"None whatsoever. Not that I want you to take it away from me right now," Lorelai added quickly as she saw Christopher's hand moving toward her cup.

Christopher grinned. "Thought so," he said with a playful smirk.

Lorelai shot him a look and took another sip of her coffee.

"So, about this weekend," Christopher said, returning to his original point. "Are you free on Friday night?"

Lorelai raised an eyebrow. "Are you making plans in advance? This is new." Usually they just texted or called when the mood struck (which, admittedly, was frequently, so there was little point in making advance plans).

"Well, I would like to take up more of your time than usual," Christopher explained.

"Is that so, Marathon Man?"

"I happen to have two tickets to the classic film festival at NYU this weekend. Friday night they're showing comedies from the thirties. Lots of Clark Gable and Cary Grant. I thought it sounded right up your alley."

"I like the way you think."

"So what do you say? Are you up for some Capra magic on Friday?"

"I am."

Christopher beamed, looking very happy at her answer. "Great," he said, sounding almost relieved, "I'll, uh, I'll swing by your place at seven, and we can head on over from there."

"You're picking me up? Are we taking your skateboard?"

Christopher laughed. "I have another means of transportation in mind."

"A scooter?"

"Be patient. You'll see."

Lorelai stuck out her lip. "You know I'm no good at waiting."

"Sorry, friend."

Christopher's cell phone buzzed with an incoming text message, and Christopher frowned as he read it. "The newbies are running the asylum," he told Lorelai apologetically. "I've got to get back."

Lorelai nodded and sighed. "Yeah, I should get back, too. Colin and Finn could be coloring on the walls again."

They gathered up their things and walked to the door.

"Thanks for meeting me," Christopher said.

"Thanks for inviting me," Lorelai responded.

They smiled at each other for a second, and then Christopher bent his head to give Lorelai a quick kiss. She couldn't resist going back for another, and for the rest of the afternoon, she could feel the tingle that his lips left on hers.

************

It seemed to Rory that her love life and professional life were never on the same trajectory. When work was stressing her out, things were great with Dean. When Dean was bothering her, work was a safe haven. Right now, she was on the latter end of the spectrum.

She knew what was bugging her: her upcoming weekend trip with Dean. When she'd initially agreed to it, it had seemed more theoretical. Now, with Dean constantly mentioning how much he was looking forward to it and the date imminent, it seemed far too real.

It was the first time that they were going away together, so it made sense that she was feeling a little trepidation, she reasoned. This was a big step in their relationship. It was taking things to the next level, a place of greater trust and intimacy. It was the right direction. It made sense.

Then why did she feel as though there were lead in her stomach whenever she thought about it?

Sitting at her desk, she buried her face in her arms and groaned. Only she would have a problem like this. There must be something defective in her DNA.

Making her feel even worse, Dean had been nothing less than a prince since returning from his weekend tournament. He had called her the instant he'd arrived back, and she'd felt obligated to go over to his apartment and spend time with him. Not that she'd had a bad time: they'd watched three straight hours of BBC America and tried to talk with cockney accents for the rest of the day. But when Dean's arms stole around her waist, she'd felt as though a tiny match, not a roaring fire, had been lit.

"I hope that's not a nap you're taking. You need a promotion for that," Logan Huntzberger's voice said too closely to her ear.

With a yelp, Rory shot straight up in her chair. The back of her head smacked into something hard, and she heard a cry of pain. Rubbing the back of her head and wincing, she turned around to see Logan grimacing with his hand held to his forehead.

"Oh, God," Rory cried. Apparently, she was so coordinated that within the span of less than a week, she had not only spilled champagne all over Logan Huntzberger, she'd followed it up by splitting his head open.

Logan put a hand up. "No," he said, eyes still squeezed shut, "it's my fault, all my fault. Don't blame yourself. This'll teach me to stop thinking I'm clever." He winced. "Well, it probably won't, but it should."

Rory looked on in dismay as Logan took his hand off his forehead and blinked a few times. "Wow, you cracked me good," he quipped, raising his fingers to his forehead and touching it gently.

"Do you need ice?" Rory asked miserably. She wondered if bodily harm was the kind of thing you could get fired over. If she were Logan, she'd definitely have fired herself by now, or at least be strongly considering it.

Logan shook his head. "No." Then he blinked a few more times and grimaced. "Yes. Excuse me."

He turned on his heel and headed for the office kitchenette, and Rory rushed to follow him. She didn't know how she could help him, but at least she could show him how sorry she was by being there. That is, unless he didn't want to see her as a painful reminder of his, er, pain. She weighed her options for a split second. Better to risk it.

Logan threw open the freezer door and rummaged through it, shoving aside various outdated freezer bags whose contents were unidentifiable. Finally, he found a bag of frozen peas, which he pressed to his forehead. He shuffled over to the round table and sank into a chair.

Rory pulled out another chair and sat down next to him. From under the bag of peas, he eyed her. "You didn't have to follow me," he said, sounding slightly amused.

"I'm so sorry, Logan."

"Don't be. Stuff happens. Life goes on."

"Between the art exhibit and today, I guess I really know how to make an impression."

Logan cracked a small grin. "Believe me, your impression was already made long before either of those incidents."

Rory's eyes widened. "It was?"

"It was." Logan switched to his other hand to hold up the peas. "When I first came here, you were the only person who didn't look at me like I had no business being here, much less be in the position I'm in."

"Oh." Rory thought back to those early days. Tongues had definitely been wagging, and not a few out of spite and jealousy. It was a little surprising to hear Logan make an admission like that; for some reason, she had always imagined him impervious to the chatter of others. And he noticed you, her mind whispered, sending a little shiver up her spine.

"So the way I see it, a little champagne and a knock to the skull are nothing. It meant a lot to me in those early days that there was at least one person who didn't think I was a colossal joke. Of course," Logan added wryly, "it only made me feel even more undeserving when I realized how talented you were."

Rory looked down at her hands to hide the flush that was rapidly working its way up her face. "Thank you."

Logan smiled. "You're a little intimidating, you know that?"

"Me?" Rory wondered if the surprising revelations would never end.

"You're not like most of the girls -- most of the people I know. You seem like you actually give a damn. For someone like me, that's kind of scary." Seeing her expression, he quickly added, "But it's good to be scared sometimes. God knows I need it."

Rory sat silently, trying to make sense of everything Logan had just said. How could this moment be happening? Moments like this didn't happen to her. She wasn't the kind of girl that people, much less Logan Huntzberger, said these things to. All this time she had thought she was barely a blip on his radar…why was he making this confession now? She must have hit him harder than she'd thought, she concluded, as his actions over the past months started to take on a different light -- a light she wasn't quite sure she was prepared to see.

Logan switched hands again, and the peas rattled around inside the plastic bag. He looked at her, his eyes searching hers as though trying to discern whether he'd spilled too much. "You look kind of shocked," he said wryly.

Rory realized her jaw was hanging slackly and quickly closed it. "Well, you caught me off guard," she hastily responded. "I wasn't expecting you to say, um, most of what you said."

"You want me to take it back? I don't normally rescind compliments, but I can make an exception in your case."

"No!" Rory exclaimed, feeling her face flush again at her eagerness. "No, no, it's fine. I just didn't think…." She realized where her sentence was going, and quickly stopped.

Logan studied her eyes, as though looking for something in them. "You didn't think what?"

Rory took a breath. "I'm just a junior copywriter, and you, well, you're…."

"Oh, I see. You think I'm too important to notice you? Is that what you think?"

"No -- maybe -- it's just…"

"Rory, I'm not my father," Logan said gently, but underneath his words was a trace of bitterness. "I notice it when people make me look good. And you always make me look good. I mean it when I say you're talented."

"Well, I try to do my best."

"You're talented."

"Logan…"

"Don't make me say it again, or I'll think you're fishing for compliments."

"You're talented, too," Rory heard herself saying. "You are, I've seen it, I saw you help Colin and Finn in the restaurant that night. You're good at this, too."

Logan flashed a wry grin. "Are we a mutual admiration society now?"

"I…." Rory wondered how it was possible that he could make her so tongue-tied so often.

Logan removed the peas from his forehead. "It's okay, I think it's a good thing. Going into the lion's den every day, it's good to have an angel at your side."

His words only made more heat flow to Rory's face, but Logan didn't seem to notice. He was silent for a moment, his fingers playing with the bag of peas now lying on the table top. "Actually," he said at length, "since we're on the subject of your talent, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"There's a something?"

"There's a something." Logan looked Rory in the eyes. "How would you feel about taking on a side project? You'd have wide discretion on the direction you wanted to take it in and all the resources you wanted. Just so you know, it would also require some overtime, most likely."

Rory furrowed her brows. "What kind of project is this?"

"A few days ago I met an old college buddy for lunch because he was in the city on a business trip. It turns out he's got major connections to one of the hottest up-and-coming tech gadget companies around, and he told me they're looking to freshen their image as they prepare to roll out their new phone that apparently can do everything except brush your teeth."

"Wow."

"That's what I said. So I told him that we could prepare a pitch and see if he liked it. The only thing is, now I've got to come up with a pitch. That's where you come in."

The idea sounded very tempting, and Rory felt acceptance creeping closer to her lips until a question stopped her. "But why a side project? Isn't this something for a team?"

"Normally it would be. But the problem is that my grandfather and the dad of the owner of this company have a feud going back to their Yale days, which means that my dad and the owner have to keep up the feud, which means that bringing up the idea to my dad to pitch to this company would get rejected flat out. But this company is the future of tech gadgets, all the tech magazines are saying it, and if my father knew how much money we could make, he would be singing a different tune. There's nothing like a few greenbacks to make my father see things differently.

"So basically, I want to keep this project low profile until we've definitely got it, and in order to do that, I need to keep as few people involved as possible."

"So you're turning to me. Just me."

"I think you're up to the challenge. Are you?"

Rory bit her lower lip thoughtfully. What Logan was proposing sounded like a lot of extra work. Extra research, more responsibility, more time, and she already felt like her plate was pretty full. But at the same time, the idea of having so much creative control was incredibly tempting. When did junior copywriters ever have that kind of latitude? Under a normal promotion scenario, she would have to wait at least three or four more years to get even a taste of that degree of creative control. Yet here was Logan, handing it to her on a platter.

It's now or never, her mind told her. Take a risk, see what happens.

You'll never know unless you try.

"Yes," she said, "I am."

A wide grin spread across Logan's face, and Rory once again felt the power of his golden charisma. "I love it when I make an offer someone can't refuse. You won't regret it, I promise," he said.

He leaned closer to her. "We're going to get this job, Rory. With you and me working together, there's no way we can lose."

************

"It's a secret project?" Dean asked, giving Rory a skeptical look as he twirled spaghetti around his fork.

"Well, I guess technically it's a secret," Rory admitted, sitting across from him at their favorite little Italian hole-in-the-wall, "but the work is totally legit. Logan gave me all these binders with the company profile in them. Would you believe they've only been around since 2001?"

At the mention of Logan's name, Dean bristled. "Yeah, that's amazing," he said, sounding less than amused.

"It is," Rory said, trying to hide her irritation at Dean's change of mood. "The company is young, ambitious, and the technology they're coming up with just blows my mind. Logan was right when he said that this new do-hickey can do everything but brush your teeth."

"It sounds like Logan is really on top of things."

Rory nodded. "He is. It's impressive, really. I know it sounds hard to believe, given everything we know about him, but I think there's actually a future CEO inside of him. I guess it must have been dormant all this time, but for some reason it's come to life. It's like he's a plant, and he just needed the right combination of water and sunlight to start growing."

"Let me guess: you're the sunlight."

Rory was taken aback by the sarcasm in Dean's voice. "I'm not anything," she said.

Dean set his fork down. "You really think you're nothing to this guy?"

"I think I'm his employee. I think I'm doing something good for my career. Is that okay with you?"

"I just don't see why you have to be working so closely with him."

"Dean, what am I supposed to do? He's my boss. He's in charge of this project."

"Perfect setup, isn't it?"

"Could you please tell me what you're talking about?"

Dean shook his head. "I just don't get how you don't see it," he said.

"Don't see what?"

"He's after you, Rory. He wants to make you another notch on his belt, and the fact that you have a boyfriend probably just makes it all the more exciting for him. You told me yourself that he goes through women like Kleenex and that he's slept with half the support staff."

Rory felt a rush of fresh anger at his insinuation. "Dean, you know that I would never cross that line."

"I never said you would."

"You might as well have said it. Even though there's no proof that he's after me, even though he has made exactly zero sexual or romantic overtures to me, even if he were, do you think I'm that brainless and that disloyal? Why are you so jealous?"

"Rory, if you were a man, you'd see what I've seen from the very beginning with this guy."

"Well, I'm short a Y chromosome, so why don't you explain it?"

"I think I've made my self pretty clear."

"Oh, sure, crystal."

"Do you want me to write out a script for you? You've read a lot of books, Rory. You should know how this story is going to go."

They glared at each other, eyes blazing, until finally the fire faded from Dean's eyes. He pressed his fingers to his brow and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding weary. "I don't want to fight with you. We're going away this weekend. I want it to be a good time."

Rory sighed. "Me, too," she said quietly.

Dean drew a long breath. "If it's good for your career and it's what you want to do, then I'm happy for you. I'm behind you. I am. One hundred percent."

"I know."

They picked up their forks again, and for a few moments, the only sound was the clinking of metal against ceramic plates.

"So, how about those Yankees?" Dean asked.

"What sport is that again?"

Gradually, normal conversation returned, and they were able to start a discussion about Christian Bale's Batman voice. On the surface it felt normal, cordial, but Rory sensed a coolness between them that hadn't been there before, and she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it would have been better to let their fight reach its peak. By agreeing to be civil, had they merely postponed the inevitable? She and Logan were going to be spending time together, a lot more time together than in the past, and she'd be lying to herself if she said the idea didn't excite her. There was something fascinating, something vital about him that charged the air around him.

She looked at Dean, who was nattering on about Heath Ledger, and her heart melted slightly. He did care about her a lot.

This weekend will put things back in order, her rational side reassured her.

She would find a way. She had to.

************

On Friday night, the theater lobby at NYU was bustling with people when Lorelai and Christopher arrived. Or, rather, it was bustling with couples. As Lorelai looked around, all she could see were pairs holding hands or with their arms around each other. Some couples looked relaxed and comfortable with each other, like old gloves, while others looked nervous and tentative -- victims of first-date jitters. Lorelai sympathized with them as she overheard snippets of awkward small talk between girls who were self-consciously overdressed and guys wearing too much cologne.

She cast a glance at Christopher, who was showing the attendant their tickets, and smiled. He looked casual and relaxed, and Lorelai was glad that he had asked her to come with him. He'd already made her night by picking her up on a motorcycle -- his motorcycle, he'd informed her, that had been in storage in California until a few days ago. Lorelai hadn't been able to keep the grin off her face as they'd weaved through the Manhattan traffic, easily bypassing stalled cars in the sluggish traffic. Trinity and the Keymaker had nothing on them.

They entered the auditorium, and Lorelai's heart skipped a beat as she felt Christopher's hand press gently against the small of her back.

"What do you think, do we go left or right?" Christopher asked.

Lorelai scanned the crowd. Despite their arriving reasonably early, most of the middle was already taken up. A few seconds later, she was able to spot two seats on the side. "Follow me," she said, and her heart skipped another beat as Christopher's hand stayed pressed to her back as they made their way down the aisle. It was funny how it was often the smallest touches that made her the most aware.

They settled into their seats, and Christopher grinned as Lorelai situated herself, twisting and wriggling until she had found the ultimate position.

"What?" she asked, noticing his gaze.

"I've never seen anyone that dedicated to comfort."

His words reminded Lorelai that they had never been out to the movies together, so this was his first time seeing her in this setting. Somehow it seemed impossible that this was the case; up until now, it had felt like they'd been doing this their entire lives.

"Chris, I'm a professional moviegoer. Years of experience have taught me that my viewing will be enhanced tenfold if I am properly aligned."

"I've never heard anyone call it 'alignment,' either."

"Well, don't come crying to me when you're in the middle of a Dances With Wolves-Braveheart marathon, and you peter out before Kevin Costner can utter the word tatonka."

Christopher reached inside his jacket and produced a box of Red Vines from one pocket and a box of Junior Mints from the other. "I didn't know what you liked better, so I got both."

"Oh, Chris, you didn't have to," Lorelai protested, nevertheless reaching for the Red Vines.

"I wanted to. Plus, I'm a big fan of Junior Mints, so I'm glad you took the Red Vines."

"We're yin and yang."

"I was going to say chocolate and peanut butter."

Lorelai found herself caught in Christopher's gaze, and something in his expression made her have to glance away. "I can't believe how packed it is," she commented, feeling a tiny wave of relief, though she wasn't sure why. "The movie doesn't start for another twenty minutes, and people are already having to take the crappy seats up front."

"Believe it or not, I heard this rumor that not everybody wants to spend thirty bucks to eat overpriced popcorn and watch giant robots beat the crap out of each other."

"A likely story. I bet the next thing you'll try to tell me is that not everybody likes music that's been pulverized with the Auto-Tuner. Good luck with that."

Christopher chuckled, then turned more serious. "I'm glad you came tonight, Lor. I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be here. I commend you on your excellent taste."

"Did I tell you how great you look tonight?"

"I noticed the drool in the corner of your mouth."

"Did I tell you I really like spending time with you?"

Lorelai felt a flutter in her stomach. "Well, you spend time very well," she said coyly.

Christopher gave a small, almost sheepish laugh. "I…Thanks, but I kind of meant something else…" he began, as though the words gave him some difficulty. "Not that what we do isn't -- what we've done…" He took a breath. "Lor, I think I'm…"

Before Christopher had a chance to finish his sentence, the lights went down. The audience began to applaud enthusiastically, and Lorelai squeezed Christopher's arm excitedly. "Hold that thought," she said. A second later, the screen lit up with the opening credits of It Happened One Night.

As the classic music blared over the speakers, Lorelai found herself quickly caught up in a world of stunning heiresses and dashing reporters capable of volleying snappy, vibrant dialogue without breaking a sweat. They don't make them like this anymore, she thought wistfully.

She had almost completely forgotten Christopher sitting beside her until she felt a large, warm hand envelop hers. Her heart stopped for a second, and she glanced at Christopher, who was looking straight ahead at the screen. She looked down in her lap, her heart rate resumed at a thousand times its regular speed, as Christopher's hand grasped hers with more pressure.

A hundred different thoughts raced through Lorelai's mind as every nerve in her hand (and some elsewhere) responded to Christopher's touch. The quivers in her stomach, the clamminess of her palm, the jackrabbit beat of her heart...she shouldn't have been feeling those things, yet there they were. His thumb rubbed back and forth over her knuckles, and she started to feel hot and cold at the same time. She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to refocus on the movie, but her concentration was shot.

He was holding her hand. Why was he holding her hand? They didn't hold hands. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? Why was she shaking on the inside? Did he know that he was making her crazy? Did she want to be crazy? She felt awful. She felt ecstatic. It was distracting and invasive and amazing and --

"I'll be right back," she whispered to him, pulling her hand away and standing up.

He gave her a surprised look, but she slid by him and zoomed up the aisle, out to the foyer.

************

The bright lights of the foyer made Lorelai squint as her eyes adjusted to the light. She located a sign for the ladies' room and headed in there.

After emerging from a stall, she went to the sink to wash her hands and examine her hair. Under the sallow, unromantic glow of the fluorescent lights, Lorelai felt her heart rate return to normal.

What had happened back in the theater? It was almost as if she'd had a mini-panic attack, and all from Christopher's hand on hers.

He had never held her hand before, not like that. But that was because they weren't romantic…were they? Of course they weren't romantic. That wasn't why they were together.

She'd overreacted, and she wished she hadn't. It was Christopher. They were friends…who had sex…and were friends. Maybe hand-holding was a part of it; how was she supposed to know? She just hadn't been prepared for it, that was all. She'd mistakenly interpreted it as far more intimate than it probably was. That had to be the reason. Or maybe it was a side effect of all the strange feelings she'd been dealing with lately where Christopher was concerned.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was too difficult to try to explain things, she decided. Things will eventually go back to normal. That's all I want.

Lorelai finished smoothing her hair and headed back to the foyer.

A lone couple stood at the concession stand, pointing at an item at the menu. They were either extremely late to the movie, or they must really have wanted overpriced popcorn, Lorelai found herself thinking, when the man happened to look up and make eye contact with her. His eyes widened in recognition, and he said something to the woman he was with before walking briskly in Lorelai's direction.

"Lorelai Gilmore," he said in wonderment as he neared her, and Lorelai realized that he was Rory's old professor, Max Medina. She felt a twinge of guilt as she remembered that she had tossed his business card in the small mountain of papers on her desk and never given it a second thought.

"Max," Lorelai said, pasting on a bright smile. "We meet again."

Max took a moment to drink Lorelai in with his eyes. "My God, how is it possible that you're even more gorgeous than I remember?"

Lorelai laughed in spite of the obvious flattery. "Uh, you probably didn't take your ginko biloba that day," she suggested.

"Hey, Max, I'm going in," Max's date called, now clutching a large tub of popcorn.

"Okay, I'll look for you," Max replied, waving her on.

Lorelai gave Max a strange look. "Call me crazy, but shouldn't you be getting back to your date?"

Max laughed. "She's my sister," he said. "Visiting from Ohio this week."

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "A likely story."

Max held up a hand. "Scout's honor. You can go ask her if you want."

"No, I believe you. Mostly."

Max laughed again. "I can live with that." He gave Lorelai another once-over. "My God," he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

He was appealing shamelessly to her vanity, and Lorelai knew it, but she still couldn't help but feel flattered by his compliments. He was a handsome man, something that seemed more obvious here in the foyer than at that crowded bookstore where they had first met, and Lorelai had always had a weakness for compliments from handsome men. Men in general, really, but all the better if they were good-looking.

Max offered her a hopeful smile. "Please tell me I have the incredibly good luck to find you here alone. It would do a lot to mitigate the loneliness I felt these past weeks when you never called me," he added with a teasing note in his voice.

For the first time since Lorelai had spotted Max, she remembered Christopher. "Oh, I'm sorry," she offered apologetically. "I'm here with someone."

"A date?"

"A --" What was Christopher? In a split second, Lorelai thought of the warmth of his hand on hers, the feeling she got in her stomach when he looked at her a certain way, the motorcycle ride to the theater, the way his lips felt on her neck. "A friend," she answered.

"Just a friend?"

"I'm -- I'm trying to figure that out," Lorelai said, surprised at the admission.

"Ah," Max said, sounding a little disappointed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clip. He removed a business card and pressed it into her palm. "It didn't work the last time, but I am an optimist. Hope springs eternal." He looked into her eyes. "My original offer still stands."

He turned and headed into the auditorium. Lorelai watched him, then turned over the card in her hand with a sigh.

************

Christopher moved his legs aside to let Lorelai back into her seat. "Hey, are you okay?" he whispered, gently touching her arm.

"I'm fine," Lorelai whispered back.

"You were gone a long time."

"I ran into someone in the lobby."

"Oh."

"Just someone I met a while back, nothing major." Lorelai paused. "It was that guy from the bookstore, Rory's professor."

"Oh…okay."

Lorelai glanced at the movie screen. "Did I miss anything?"

"I think there's a bigger show in front of us than up there," Christopher said, nodding in the direction of the row in front of them.

Two people were voraciously making out, complete with loud smacking sounds. At least, Lorelai assumed it was two people; otherwise, it was a new species that had a lot of hair, no face, and apparently no need for oxygen.

She turned back to Christopher. "That is impressive."

"I think they may have gills."

"Or they could be Snorks."

Christopher raised his hand to his mouth and coughed loudly.

Lorelai giggled silently as Christopher waited for the couple to notice. They didn't.

Christopher gave another loud cough, this time even more obviously.

The couple still refused to notice, and Lorelai began wondering how they could survive for so long with so little oxygen.

Christopher coughed again and kicked the seat in front of him with his foot.

Immediately, the guy in front of them whipped around and hissed, "Hey, man, I'm trying to watch the movie!"

"Yeah, we're trying to watch the movie!" his date added.

"Babe, people are so rude," Lorelai heard the guy mutter before they went right back to making out.

Lorelai clapped her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. She glanced at Christopher and found him doing the same.

"Hold on, I've got an idea," he said when he got his breath back.

Lorelai watched him lean forward and tap the guy on the shoulder. The guy's reaction was hostile at first, but within a couple of seconds, he was nodding.

"You mean it?" the guy asked, sounding incredulous.

"I mean it," Christopher replied, giving him a manly slap on the shoulder.

"Thanks, man," the guy said.

To Lorelai's great surprise, the guy and the girl got up and left, and the theater felt eerily still in their absence.

"What did you say to him?" she asked Christopher.

"I'll tell you later."

"Come on, really. What did you say?"

"You doubt my skills as a negotiator?"

"Chris."

"Well, it's not so much what I said to him as what Benjamin Franklin said to him," Christopher finally confessed.

For a moment, Lorelai didn't get it, and then her eyes widened as the truth dawned on her. "You paid that guy off?"

"It was for the greater good."

"You paid that guy off."

"I wanted to enjoy the rest of the movie with you, Lor."

Something in his tone made her quiet and the butterflies return. "Superhero," she whispered.

He touched her cheek, and then his lips were on hers. She responded to his kiss as an intoxicating warmth flowed through her. How was it, her mind distantly wondered, that a kiss could instantly settle all of her confusion?

She leaned her head on his shoulder and let herself be reabsorbed into the film. As the rapid-fire romance played out, Christopher's arm curled gently around her, his fingertips softly rubbing against her skin.

************

Rory sat on the couch, her eyes focused at a blank spot on the wall. It was silent in the apartment; Lorelai was away on her not-date with Christopher, and Rory had found herself wanting silence rather than the chatter of the television as background noise. Only the occasional sounds of neighbors in the hallway interrupted the peace. A few feet away, her weekend bag sat packed and ready to go by the door.

Dean had already texted her that he was on his way, so she knew that it would only be a few minutes before he arrived. Each minute, however, seemed to weigh on her like a heavy stone.

You're going, she reminded herself silently. You're going, and you're going to have fun.

Exhaling a soft sigh, she glanced at the pile of folders lying on the coffee table -- folders of the data and notes she'd collected so far for Logan's secret project.

The few days since Logan had recruited her to help him had flown by at a breakneck pace. If the hours had merely been longer, that would have been one thing, but Rory barely had enough free space in her brain to remember her own name. And yet, despite the chaos that had descended on her usually meticulous time management, she had never found herself feeling more engaged by work. Ideas bloomed in her head as she sat at her desk, even when she was working on her regular assignments (like the really boring fiber-enriched wheat crackers that needed to be targeted to senior citizens).

Logan…

Her mind slipped back to him more often than she wished, even though she now had a legitimate reason for it. He had begun to stop by her cubicle each day, ostensibly to talk about their project in veiled terms, but she had also found herself captivated by his unpredictable off-hand remarks. He had a dry, subtle wit that revealed a mind far sharper and more seasoned than his reputation suggested. She'd suspected this for a while, but the firsthand evidence of it was extremely gratifying.

She pushed away her thoughts about him once again. She needed to focus on the project, not on the person running it. The path of daydreaming was not nearly so shrouded in fog that she couldn't see where it led to -- and that was a destination she could not afford to reach. But reining in those impulses was much easier said than done, as evidenced by the way she had repeatedly found herself watching for the top of his blond head nearing her cubicle….

There was a loud knock on the door, and Rory shook herself from her thoughts.

"Dean," she said, opening the door.

He stepped inside, his hands shoved into his pockets. For someone who had been so excited about going away, he seemed oddly subdued.

"Hey," Rory said, pasting on a smile, "why the Droopy Dog face? I thought you had a countdown for this."

Dean managed a weak smile. "Rory, can we talk?"

Rory frowned. "Okay."

They walked over to the couch and sat down. For a long moment, Dean said nothing, and Rory started to become concerned. It wasn't like Dean to be so quiet.

At last he spoke. "I double-parked out front," he said, his voice strangely flat. "I wanted to be close to the door so I could just throw your bag in the back seat and we could take off as fast as possible. It's a good drive, lots of trees, some lakes. Peaceful, really peaceful. The roads kind of wind around and there are only two lanes in a lot of spots.

"I wanted to take you there, Rory. It's a gorgeous area. I know you can't stand being outdoors, but you would have liked it. I know you would have."

Rory blinked at Dean. "Would have? Dean, what are you talking about?"

Dean's eyes were wry as he turned his head. "Rory, you never wanted to go. I don't want to make you go."

"Hey, I never said I didn't want to! I packed for it, I planned for it. My bag's right over there, see it? What matters is that we're going to be together."

Dean looked at Rory, his eyes searching her face. "Rory, when was the last time we talked on the phone?"

Rory blanched. Her mind raced rapidly, trying to retrace the phone calls she'd taken over the past few days. She'd been so busy, she hadn't even realized that she and Dean hadn't spoken in days.

"Well, I've been really busy," she offered, her tone openly acknowledging the lameness of her excuse. "You know I've been busy."

"Yeah," Dean said, and Rory could hear the acid in his voice. "I know."

"I should have called."

"No, I think it's been good," Dean said. "It gave me a chance to think. I've been thinking a lot these past few days."

"And what have you been thinking?" Rory asked, not sure if she really wanted to know.

"Rory, you're the most important thing in my life. Am I the most important thing in yours?"

And there it was. "Dean, that's such a question," she said, trying to hedge. "I -- you know you're important to me."

Dean gave a wry little laugh. "Let me put it this way: if you had to choose me or your job, which one would you pick? I won't say you-know-who's name because I don't want to be accused of prejudice," he added sarcastically.

Rory felt her heart plummet. "Don't, Dean. Please don't."

He laughed again. "I know, not exactly Sophie's choice, is it? See, for a long time, I thought, I'm running behind this girl, but I can catch up. I thought that eventually, you'd see me, and we could run side-by-side. But lately, Rory, lately…when we were out the other night, and we argued…and I saw the fire you had in your eyes…I knew I would always be chasing you."

Rory felt frozen to her seat. "Dean…what are you saying?"

Dean took one of her hands in his. "I'm saying, I'm not going to chase you anymore. I want to run with you, Rory, I want to sprint with you and feel the wind in our hair, but I can't eat your dust anymore, either."

He stood up, and for the first time, Rory noticed how tall he was, how sinewy his long arms and legs were.

"I'm sorry, I need to go," he said. "I'm double-parked."

Wordlessly, she watched him leave, and then the apartment was truly silent.