Snippets of dialog in this chapter have been deliberately borrowed from the episode "That Damn Donna Reed."

It's a lovely, warm Friday night at the Inn. Caitlin Kessler's sweet-sixteen party has wound down and Lorelai and Sookie are supervising the cleanup effort. The party was held outdoors on the grounds behind the Inn and the weather couldn't have been better for it.

Lorelai is busy directing the staff as they fold up the tables and chairs and clear everything out of the party tent. She looks over at Sookie who's busy consolidating the leftover hors d'oeuvres onto a tray to be brought inside. "So that went off pretty well," she muses. "The guest of honor smiled and blushed at all the right moments, except maybe when her father caught her making out with her boyfriend behind the servers' station."

Sookie giggles. "The staff were so afraid to interrupt them that Mr. Feltenstein had to wait ten minutes to get a clean fork."

"Did you see Caitlin's father and his wife? I swear she was younger than us, she's obviously not her mother," Lorelai comments.

"Twenty-four," Sookie confirms. "I asked the uncle."

Lorelai smirks. "Can you say 'trophy wife?' She packs away the drinks pretty good, too. I know she would've had me under the table. Good thing her husband can afford an expensive rehab place for her." She helps herself to a canapé.

"That D.J. wasn't bad-looking, though," Sookie giggles and nudges Lorelai with her elbow.

Lorelai shrugs. "I guess."

"Floppy blond hair, stubble, thin, muscular body." She looks expectantly at Lorelai and then she winks. She actually winks.

Lorelai gasps. "When was Brad Pitt here? I didn't get to see him." Trying to change the subject, or at least divert it away. It probably won't work.

It doesn't. "Come on, Lorelai, I saw you talking to him," Sookie implores. "Did you give him your number?"

Lorelai throws up her hands in exasperation. "God, can't a girl ever have a conversation with a guy these days without being accused of flirting?"

It comes out of her mouth shrilly, with much more rancor than intended, and Sookie looks stricken. With wide eyes, she pivots away from Lorelai and wordlessly goes back to her work of clearing up the leftover food.

Lorelai sighs. "I have to get these lights down." She finds a stepladder, sets it up and climbs up to begin taking down the strings of lights that are still glittering around the perimeter of the party tent.

And that's how things stay between them for some minutes. Lorelai plods away at winding up strand after strand of lights, but she soon finds that the warm lights, the lovely nighttime setting, and most importantly Sookie's silence that's punishing for the very reason that it's not intended to be, warm her up into full contrition. "Sorry," she says finally, quietly. "I'm an idiot. You are hereby permitted to administer floggings at 0800 tomorrow."

Sookie looks up quizzically. "What's been up with you lately, anyway?"

Sometimes, just sometimes, having a best friend who knows her this well can get a little trying. "Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," she replies, making her umpteenth attempt at dodging the question, "but I'm part of a psychology study being done by Johns Hopkins University to see how much bitchiness a chef can take before she starts gouging eyes out with a melon baller."

Sookie ignores her words, studying her closely as she drums her fingers on the table. "No, there's definitely something bugging you." Then she gives an excited gasp and waves her hands furiously in Lorelai's direction. "Oh my God, it's a guy, isn't it? Tell me it's a guy."

"It is not a guy," Lorelai lies.

But Sookie isn't buying it. "You've been moping around here for a week, you won't tell me why, and I know you're not PMS'ing. What else could it be?"

Any number of things, really, except that it isn't. And Lorelai really doesn't want to talk about it. So far she's managed to control herself and not freak out over this, and she wants to keep it that way. "Why does it have to be a guy?" she demands. "I have better things to do with my life than to get all upset over a guy. I have a job, I have a life, I have a kid that I have to make sure is fully versed in all Cary Grant movies before she turns twelve."

Sookie holds up her hands in a defeated shrug. "OK, OK, it's not a guy."

They go back to work in silence, the only sounds those of the staff as they move about the area folding tables and chairs, picking up trash, sweeping the floor. Sookie finishes consolidating leftover hors d'oeuvres onto a tray and picks it up to bring it inside.

She pauses next to Lorelai's stepladder and looks up at her, one eyebrow raised. "It is a guy, though, isn't it?" she asks, digging the probe in deeper. "Who is he?"

"Leif Garrett," Lorelai shoots back. "I've had a thing for him since I was twelve, just can't shake it."

"Lorelai," Sookie chides. "Wow, whoever he is, you must really like him."

Clearly she's not going to give up, and Lorelai knows she means well. She gives a defeated sigh. "I don't know if I really like him," she confesses finally. "And there's no point in even talking about it since I'm never going to find out. He's taken."

Sookie bobs her head about gleefully. "Well, you never know," she says, motioning towards her with her elbow in a nudging sort of gesture. "People break up all the time…"

Lorelai shakes her head and turns back up to the lights she's taking down. "They have a kid together," she says flatly.

Sookie's face falls precipitously, like a bowling ball off a cliff. Even out of the corner of her eye, Lorelai sees it so clearly. "Oh."

"Oh," Lorelai echoes, swallowing hard. "I have no interest in being a homewrecker, so I'm going cold turkey and not seeing him any more."

Sookie is looking up at her pityingly and Lorelai is thankful that she's up on the stepladder or else she knows Sookie would be trying to give her a hug. It's something she just can't take right now. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry," she says sympathetically. "But if it helps at all, I think you're doing the right thing,"

"That's my mantra," Lorelai replies. "Just call me Spike Lee."

A half hour later, all the food has been cleared, and Sookie has gone back into the Inn to finish cleaning up in there. The D.J. has finished packing up the sound equipment and Lorelai has just returned to taking down the lights when she spots a figure walking towards her from the Inn.

Luke.

Her heart pounding, she climbs down from the stepladder to greet him.

"Hey," he says. It's hard to read his expression in the dark; she thinks there's a flash of piercing blue asking unformed questions, but then it's gone and he's all flannel and nonchalance again.

"Hey," she replies. Her voice sounds a bit breathy, which is better than shaky, she supposes.

He rubs a hand on his cheek. "I just finished closing up the diner," he explains, "and Anna asked me to drop this off. I was going to leave it at the front desk but they said you were back here." He tugs at the brim of his cap behind his head, looks at her and away again, and something does seem a little off with him; he's not quite uncomfortable, but he does seem unsure about something. Lorelai wonders if the town gossip has reached his ears.

Despite his words, he gives no indication of what 'this' is that he claims to be dropping off. Lorelai gestures expectantly.

"Oh, the seating chart," he says. He reaches around into his back pocket, retrieves a piece of paper and hands it to her.

"Oh, thanks," Lorelai replies. "We can get some nice place cards made up now." She unfolds it and makes a show of looking it over, though her brain hardly registers anything on it. Yet she keeps her face buried in that paper because it's less uncomfortable than looking at him, especially since he's still silent and the silence is growing, morphing into a mountain of awkwardness.

Inwardly she's aghast that this is what she's been reduced to. Normally she's never lost for words; who is this man who's done this to her?

Finally, thankfully, Luke speaks. "So I haven't seen you at the diner in a while."

The attempt at casual conversation is a relief, except that she can't exactly give him an honest answer without making things awkward again. "Oh, yeah," Lorelai replies vaguely. "I've just been really busy lately. Insanely busy. My right and left brains are learning to function independently. I'm thinking of having a catheter permanently installed so I don't have to take time out for bathroom breaks." She gives a laugh. It sounds nervous, even to herself.

Luke nods and extends his arm to her and that's when she sees that he's carrying a paper bag. "Well, anyway, I thought you might like this, and since you haven't been by I just figured I'd bring it over. I was going to tell the guy at the front desk to stick it in the fridge for you, but since you're here…"

Lorelai feels herself flush bright red and she's silently thankful for the dim moonlight. "What is it?" She opens the bag and peers in.

"The first official Luke's Diner burritos."

She feels a smile spread across her face and right there, the tension is broken. "You actually took my suggestion?" she asks in surprise.

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, it wasn't quite as crazy as some of your other ideas, and I ran it by a few other customers and they seemed to like it, so…" He trails off. Pokes at a stone on the ground with his toe. "Anyway, I thought you'd like to do a taste test, so here they are."

"Thanks." She gives a sniff. It smells delicious.

He gestures vaguely at it. "Yeah, so there's some sour cream and salsa in there if you want it, so you can just try them out and let me know what you think." He steps back and turns to leave.

"Oh, no you don't," she hears herself blurt out.

He stops and turns back to face her, slowly, almost cautiously.

She points a finger at him emphatically. "I am not eating these alone, like some pathetic jilted prom date, and I am definitely not letting them sit all night to get soggy. Have a seat," she orders, indicating one of the tables that hasn't been broken down yet. "I'll be right back." A niggling voice whispers in the back of her mind but it's too late now; she's committed.

He raises a suspicious eyebrow, but he also grins and does as he's told.

Lorelai retrieves some dishes and cutlery from the servers' station, returns and sets the table in front of him. "OK, just one more thing we need."

"I'm not wearing a sombrero," he deadpans, though really, for her, the idea isn't so far-fetched. Now she wishes she'd thought of it first.

"Oh, we'll get you in one eventually," she assures him, "but one step at a time. Right now I just meant that we need something to drink." She give him a devilish smile. "I think we have some leftover margaritas from the party. You can't have burritos without them."

"You're going to have to at the diner," he informs her, as he opens the bag and begins unwrapping the food onto the plates. "I don't have a liquor license."

"Hey about that," Lorelai says, "Can I make a suggestion?"

He rolls his eyes.

Lorelai licks sour cream off her fingers as she polishes off her last bite of burrito. "OK, I think I can officially give these my highly-revered and sought-after blessing," she says approvingly. "And I hope you'll be sure to consult with me on all menu changes in the future."

"Don't count on being consulted very often," he replies between swallows of his drink. "This is the first time I've ever changed it."

She feels her eyes widen. "You've never changed it before? How long have you had the diner?"

"Five years," he says, helping himself to a tortilla chip. "Since my dad died."

"How come you opened a diner, anyway? Why didn't you keep it a hardware store?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, I didn't love the hardware business the way my dad did, and you know, I knew how to cook, so I just thought a diner would be more…fun." He gestures aimlessly with a hand as he says it, like that's not quite the right word but he can't think of anything better.

"That's a hard word for you to say," Lorelai laughs.

He chuckles along with her. Meets her gaze with a warmth that she feels down to her toes. "Yeah, I just always wanted to work there, just where Dad did."

"What about your mom?" she asks, swallowing the last bit of the drink in her cup. She takes the pitcher, pours herself some more and tops off Luke's drink as well.

"She died when I was a kid." He says it matter-of-factly, but also a little quietly. It happened years ago; it's hardly news but still she senses he doesn't discuss the subject often.

"That must be so hard," she says softly. "How old were you?"

"Eight."

"Do you remember her?"

He picks up a spoon and pokes it into the sour cream. "Just bits & pieces. There was this one time," he sits forward and gives a laugh, "I had gotten into trouble at school, I don't remember what I did, but whatever it was, I was hoping she wouldn't find out. But then I got home and she already knew; obviously my teacher or somebody must've called her, but at the time I had no idea how she could've found out. So I asked her how she knew, and she told me she had a crystal ball."

Lorelai smiles. "Mom sees all."

"I spent the rest of that day tearing the house apart, looking for that crystal ball." He chuckles at the memory, cherished from so long ago, but when he meets her gaze his eyes aren't clouded over, caught in the past; they're clear and focused on the here and now. On her.

Lorelai's heart thumps in her chest. "It must've been hard on your dad, losing her."

"Yeah, he took it pretty hard." Luke takes a sip of his drink, sets down the glass and leans back, his hands folded behind his head. "He never slept in their bed again. It was the couch from that day on. He didn't like to talk about her much either. The only time, really, was every St. Patrick's Day. Every year we would get together to watch The Quiet Man. You know it?"

Lorelai nods. "Oh, yeah. John Wayne gets in touch with his feminine side after accidentally killing a man, and Maureen O'Hara won't have him for a husband until he's willing to pummel her brother."

He gives a wry grin at her description. "That's the one," he confirms. "Dad always said that Mom looked like Maureen O'Hara."

"She must've been beautiful," she says gently. "It sounds like they really loved each other."

"Yeah," Luke replies with a sigh. "We should all be so lucky."

"You still miss them." It's more of an observation than a question, but Luke nods. "God, that's nice," she says, a little mournfully, shaking her head. It's been five months since she last spoke with her parents and honestly, she doesn't miss them a bit. It's a different situation, of course, but still. "I mean, not the fact that they're gone," she clarifies, "but to be so…I don't know – connected. I would've loved that."

"Well you've got that with Rory," he says with a nod.

"I guess so," she agrees hopefully. Rory is only nine, after all. They get along now, but there's no telling how things will pan out when she hits the teenage years and beyond.

A gentle splash sounds from a frog over in the pond, waking Lorelai up to the fact that all other activity around them has ceased. All the food and dishes from the party have been cleared and the tables broken down except for the one they're sitting at. Everyone else has gone, and everything around them has become so quiet that they can hear the crickets chirping.

They're left sitting by themselves under the party tent, surrounded by thousands of sparkling lights that cast a glow over one side of Luke's face, illuminating it delicately, leaving the other side hidden in the clean, cool darkness. They're both quiet as they sip their drinks and it's a comfortable silence, full and peaceful between them.

She sets down her drink, looks up and finds his gaze on her, casually, not with any great intensity, but still focused like a camera, or maybe a window, except that she's the one looking in from the outside, her face pressed up against the glass, peering into a place of warmth and wonder.

And that's when she remembers who he is and who she is and how she's supposed to be avoiding him because…

She gets to her feet abruptly. "Sorry," she says, her voice just a little brusque. "I need to get these lights down." She's not asking him to leave – that would be rude and odd, at this point, and really, she doesn't want him to, but at least this will put some distance between them. She climbs back up onto the stepladder and starts winding up strands of lights again, pondering as she works.

Finally, she breaks the silence. "You know, you're right. Rory really is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't just mean that in the way that every mother means it. If it hadn't been for her, I never would've had the courage to leave the whole Stepford life I grew up in. I was facing the prospect of raising her in that guilt-ridden world of my parents', where everything is based on obligation and any real feelings are to be suppressed and hidden. I just couldn't do it. I had to get out."

"Took a lot of guts," he comments with what can only be described as admiration.

Undeserved admiration, perhaps. "Try desperation," she corrects. "And now we're living paycheck to paycheck, I'm scrimping every penny I can get my hands on, hoping that we can buy a house…someday before I'm eighty, but sometimes I think I've got a better shot at an Olympic Gold in Luge." She yanks at a stubborn wire and gets rewarded with a faceful of lights. "I don't know if it's ever going to happen," she sputters in frustration.

"It'll happen."

He says it with such certainty that she looks down at him from the top of the stepladder, surprised, and just for a moment when she meets his gaze, she believes him absolutely. It's like she's seeing herself through his eyes and suddenly she feels that that there's nothing she can't do if she tries. "How do you know?" she asks.

"I know."

Still clutching a jumble of wires, her hands fall to her sides as her eyes widen and she stares at him with one part disbelief and two parts curiosity. He's slouched in the chair casually, absently fingering the condensation on his glass as he looks up at her with a soft expression that makes her heart pound and her stomach go flip-flop. He's all flannel and dark hair hidden under the baseball cap, just a regular guy except that really he's nothing of the sort. In her world, the guys she grew up with were all self-centered, arrogant and spoiled types like Christopher, who have had everything come so easily and have nothing to give in return.

Luke is something else – hard-working, decent and strong. And he believes in her and that belief makes her stronger too.

There's no denying it any more – she's falling for him; she's falling hard and fast. There's a voice somewhere in the back of her mind trying to tell her that there's something not right here, but she doesn't listen, she can't listen because all she can see, hear or feel is – just him.

"Luke," she says, a little breathless as she speaks his name, one syllable loaded with a world of questions. Then she feels herself take a step down and then another and then she pauses, self-conscious suddenly because he's still seated and she's not quite sure what she's doing. She takes a deep breath as her brain searches wildly for a pretext, but then she sees him make a move towards getting up too, so she takes the last step onto the ground. Steps towards him and that's when her foot catches on a string of lights and she stumbles, falling down onto her knees.

The only thing she can possibly do is laugh, so she starts with a nervous giggle that quickly evolves into a full belly laugh as she moves towards getting up, but before she can, she feels a hand on her waist, another on her arm, firm and yet gentle as he helps her to her feet.

"Are you OK?" he asks a little huskily, facing her now, his hand still on her arm. Her laughter quickly dies away. She wants to brush herself off but then he'd have to release his grip on her arm, so instead she takes a step closer as she nods, wide-eyed, into his shadowed gaze.

There's a tug on her arm and then his hand slides down to twine his fingers with hers as he draws her in closer. His other hand circles her waist as she reaches up to put a hand on his shoulder and then his face is in hers. Heart pounding, she wets her lips with a flick of the tongue, her eyes slide shut and she can feel his breath, warm and moist, mixing with hers.

He draws back.

He does it with a sharp intake of breath and then he stiffens and pushes her away roughly. "Sorry," he murmurs, his head bowed, fists clenched. She takes a step towards him and he backs away abruptly, like she's diseased or something.

And then he turns and strides back towards the Inn, pausing only to kick fiercely at a box in his path.

Helpless, she can only watch him go as she swallows hard against the lump in her throat.

tbc