It was one meeting and one check worth fifty-thousand of her trust fund dollars. That's it, that's all, that's what she kept telling herself. Jess deserved it, with his talent and will, he deserved every opportunity to be successful. And she was granting him that, no more no less.

That's how she was able to ignore the guilt she felt every time Logan looked at her with those eyes, eyes that showed her how much he wanted her. She accepted every touch, every kiss, every cup of morning coffee like nothing had shifted in their relationship.

That should have been weighing heavily on her mind, but instead she was focused on the fact that Jess still hadn't cashed the check. Fifty-thousand dollars. One would think you'd want access to that as soon as possible, certainly when it could jump start a career but as far as Rory knew the check was still safely tucked in the front pocket of Jess' faded blue jeans.

What's more, she should've felt some kind of guilt toward Mitchum, too. Her quest to find new talent for the HPG book division was not a major success as of yet. Oh sure, there were some writers she interviewed with entertaining manuscripts but were they going to be the next big thing? She doubted it. Or maybe her subconscious was deliberately steering her away from making decisions, avoiding being in direct competition with Jess, who, she told Mitchum, hadn't been the right fit for the company anyway. Any day now, she was expecting a memo from Mitchum asking when Rory would find the right fit as they needed to move forward with this project.

Ignoring the guilt and analyzing her poor business decisions were time consuming thoughts and always concluded with the same worry: her still missing period.

At first, it hadn't bothered her so much but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, her indifference turned to full-fledged worry. In its absence, she convinced herself that she might be pregnant, but the three negative pregnancy tests in her office bathroom's trash said otherwise.

There were no symptoms, no hint that it might be on its way. No cramps, no moodiness, no absurd urges for chocolate-like-now! Nothing. She imagined that she dried out and shriveled up. Dead on the inside. A permanent hibernation.

That thought was too depressing and the manuscript she'd been leafing through wasn't any better so she decided to pack up and go home.

"Rory? That you? "

Logan's voice sounded warm and excited to hear his wife's key in the door an hour earlier than normal. A hint of a smile played at her lips, but she couldn't help annoyance that bubbled inside her - of course it was her, who else had the key?

"Yeah. I was stuck in this manuscript so I came home earlier..." Rory explained as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. Lottie was sitting on the counter, a cookie-dough beater clutched in her chubby little hand. She waved it around like a scepter as she watched an apron wearing Logan scoop little balls of chocolate chip cookie dough onto a baking sheet.

"We are making cookies," he announced with a smile and Rory's eyebrows shot up, "I see that," she said, irritation clear in her tone.

"We wanted to surprise you with freshly made for when you get home, but since you're early..."

"No, I'm surprised all right," Rory snapped. "Why is Lottie on the counter, Logan? And eating raw dough - she can't have that..."

"A little bit of raw dough won't hurt her, Ace," Logan shrugged with a little smile, "Don't worry. She's fine."

Rory muttered something under her breath, causing Logan to cock his head. "Tough day at the office?" he asked, though it was more sarcastic than genuine.

"Good authors are not that easy to find," Rory said flatly as she tried to pry the beater out of Lottie's hand. She clutched tighter, causing Rory to pull harder. "Let it go, Lottie." Another tug. "Now." And Lottie's brow furrowed, her bottom lip began to quiver and after a moment of complete silence, she started to cry with big, dramatic breaths and thick juicy tears.

Rory dropped her head in frustration. "Lot! Let go!" but the girl wasn't giving up. She angrily thrust out the beater, inadvertently smearing cookie dough on Rory's blouse. "Oh. Great. Thank you very much, Lottie. This is satin and it was just dry cleaned! Just let the damn beater go!"

"Ace!" Logan intervened, gently pulling Lottie's hand away from Rory's. "Nessie, may Daddy have the beater?" She turned to Logan, exchanging a quick glance between him and her beater scepter. "We're done with the beater, Ness. It's cookie time," he explained gently and Lottie thoughtfully put her finger to her lip, staring at the beater. Finally, after a few minutes of intense contemplation, she released the beater.

"That's a big girl," Logan praised and used his free hand to wipe away her tears, before scooping her up from the counter and putting her in her high chair, where she immediately grabbed hold of her crayons and started coloring in her book.

Rory shot him an unimpressed look. "She should not have had that beater in the first place."

"It's chocolate chip cookies, Ace," Logan waved Rory's concerns away, "It's not a big deal."

"It's not a big deal? There's egg in the batter..."

"...a tiny bite won't kill her."

"Since when do you get to make that decision?" Rory asked in an annoyed huff.

"There wasn't a decision to make! It's cookies! And I'm not the one fighting with a two year old over a beater!"

Rory was offended by his obvious dig. "She wouldn't let the fucking thing go." Logan was surprised by his wife's outburst. "She was playing with it... she wasn't doing anyone harm."

"She ruined my blouse!"

"So, we'll get you a new blouse," Logan suggested calmly.

"Yeah!" Rory shouted, throwing her arms up in the air, " 'cause it's just a three hundred dollar blouse. It's no big deal!"

"Then we'll get it dry cleaned," Logan rolled his eyes. "It's really not a big deal, Ace. Lot's a kid, kids make things dirty."

"I don't want her growing up thinking it's normal to just toss three hundred dollar blouses, Logan!"

"What?" Logan frowned, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Honestly, Rory didn't know what she was getting at. The blouse could be dry cleaned and she could by a new one – even a twenty dollar one from Old Navy. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a big deal. But still, it irked her. Lottie on the counter, with a beater, Logan a Jamie Oliver Martha Stewart hybrid, fawning over Lottie, making cookies. And she had no place in that domestic scene.

"Nothing," she swallowed hard and averted her eyes at Logan's inquisitive gaze. "Rory?"

"Just…never mind, okay?" she sighed, "I'm sorry. I wasn't… I didn't. It was just crazy at the office today and I still don't have a writer. So…" she blinked her eyes and swallowed again, pushing the tears away.

"Okay," Logan said softly and after a moment of silence, he spoke again, louder this time. "Okay. I was going to make spaghetti for dinner, but maybe you want to take a walk down to Chi-Lings and get us some spring rolls and beef-and-broccoli or something? I'll put Lottie down and then we can talk about it."

Rory nodded slowly. The look Logan was giving her meant that she really didn't have a choice and she almost felt like she was being punished, like getting Chinese takeout was the grown-up version of a time-out. And even though she could tell he was upset with her, she knew he really wanted to discuss this and help her.

"Yeah, that sounds good," she said, tightening the belt of her trench, "and your cookies are burning."

Her phone vibrated, but she picked up before her ringtone kicked in.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

Rory squeezed her phone a little tighter and an involuntary smile appeared on her face as she imagined that crooked grin of his. Maybe he was sitting in some office, legs propped up on the corner of a messy desk, but she heard honking and shouting so he was probably walking on some city street, quick paced, phone positioned between shoulder and ear.

"Hey," she said breathlessly. "What's up?"

"Guess where I just came from?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Rory said, "NYC? A new bookshop? Poetry slam? Art gallery? Coffee shop?"

"You've got me pigeonholed, Gilmore," Jess chuckled, before sighing deeply. "Actually, I stood in line at the bank for forty-five minutes. To cash a check."

Rory's grin grew. "You know what they say: if you can't do the time, don't stand in line."

Clearly, he was amused. "They say that, do they?"

"They do," Rory confirmed with a nod.

"And what do you say?" Jess wanted to know.

I say... congratulations. It's about damn time."

Jess let out a hearty laugh. "I know, I know. But...I just wanted to make sure."

Rory nodded, "Yeah. I figured. Thanks for calling me, Jess. That's the best news I got all day."

"Really?"

Rory's pace slowed to a stop as she waited with a handful of people to cross the street.

"I read twenty-two manuscripts this week…."

"….and they are all shit?"

"You have no idea," Rory shouted, "It's like everyone thinks they are either the next Mark Twain or the next Helen Fielding!"

Jess snorted, "And all she did was read an abnormal amount of Jane Austen."

"Exactly!" Rory agreed with such fervor, a few people turned to look at her.

"So what are you going to do?" Jess asked.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"Hm.." It was almost as if she could hear Jess run a list of solutions through his mind, "how long do you have?"

Rory shrugged, "Couple weeks at the most."

"That's…not good."

"Nope. I should've taken the job at ProJo," Rory said with a hallow laugh.

"When was that?"

She'd reached the door of Chi-Lings, but she didn't go in. "A lifetime ago."

"So, too late to go back, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, leaning against the brick wall.

"You'll figure it out, Rory." His voice suddenly sounded so familiar, so trusted, and so full of hope that she believed him.

"You think?"

"I know," Jess assured her. "And besides, you like reading those manuscripts. Don't lie."

"Well," Rory drew out, "Where else would've I've read about the relationship woes of Audrey and Benajamin?"

"Let me know if someone submits a sequel!" Jess laughed and Rory laughed with him. Finally, the laughter ebbed away and Rory spoke. "Thank you, Jess. I needed that."

"Any time, Rory. Any time."

"All right, Lorelai. Thanks."

Rory caught the tail end of Logan's conversation. To her mother apparently. "I'm back," she said tightly as she placed the bag of greasy Chinese food on the kitchen counter.

"Hi," Logan smiled and leaned in to kiss her, but Rory pulled away. "Was that my mom?"

Logan looked down at his phone. "Yeah. I just called to see if she had any tips on how to removed cookie dough. In addition to your blouse, Lottie got some on one of her stuffed animals."

Rory's resisted the urge to say I told you so and also ignored the mild irritation she felt over Logan calling her mom.

"What did she say?"

"She said cookie dough never lasted long enough in your house to stain any stuffed animals…" His gaze dropped to her shirt, eyes lingering on her bust, "or blouses."

There was something about that look that made everything melt away. Work stress, the terrible twos, anxiety over her missing period. There, in that moment, they were just there. A husband and wife standing across from each other in a penthouse kitchen above the hustle and bustle of the city and life.

He reached out to wipe dried up dough away, but Rory grabbed his hand, and their fingers intertwined immediately.

"That sounds about right." She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, his index finger tracing little circles on the back of her hand. "We can wash Lottie's stuffed animals…" Rory leaned forward, letting her head rest on his chest, inhaling his scent. Sweet, musky, masculine. "…and my shirt." She leaned back, left eyebrow raised suggestively.

"You know what," he suggested causally; sexily. "We should. Right now."

Logan's expert fingers weaved up her blouse, pushing the little pearl beads through their designated holes as he went, ultimately exposing her lavender lace bra.

"That's better," his husky breath tickled her neck and she cocked her head up to meet his kiss.

The Chinese food was cold by the time they were ready for it, but Logan microwaved two bowls. Idle conversation about the food and the benefits of Chinese takeout versus Thai followed and they both offered commentary on the state of the cakes the teams on Ultimate Cake Off were making, all in a mutual effort to avoid the topics they should be discussing. Rory, especially, did her best to steer clear of business, the state of her trust fund and her menstrual health. Logan did not want to pry – after all, Rory's little walk around the block seemed to have done her a world of good and Logan didn't exactly want to ruin his quiet night (and he needed a quiet night, what with dealing with the terrible twos all day).

"I know I left HPG," Logan said finally when Ultimate Cake Off faded into a commercial, "but you know that if Mitchum is giving you a hard time, you can come to me about it. You can always come to me - we'll figure it out."

Rory needed a moment to process Logan's words, before speaking. "I know. And he's not. I just need to find a writer. A good one, you know."

"Yeah, but you'll find someone, I'm sure you'll find someone."

He meant it and he believed it and she wanted to believe him, but she didn't. For a brief moment, she considered telling him about the awful manuscripts. The Helen Fielding-Jane Austen wannabes. The poor grammar, the bad spelling, the warped plots. But the fondant just ripped on a stack of cakes and the butter cream was melting. Rory called it from the beginning as the foundation of the cake was not good and now the whole thing was about to fall apart. Lazily, she rested her head on Logan's shoulder, as he turned up the volume on the TV.

I know I am losing this updating game. My computer crashed and I lost my notes but that was months ago, so I can't even really use that as an excuse. I'm sorry.

The next chapter (for which I've got notes, don't worry) will be longer and feature a true Logan and Rory confrontation. I just kept this one brief (I wrote it today. In the park. In the sun. It's spring!) to get back in the writing game. I hope it's not entirely terrible.