Chapter Three

"Benjamin Gilmore! How many times do I have to tell you not to run in this house?!"

Rory sighed at the sound of the closing door, realizing that it was going to be the only response that she received to her objection regarding the way that he'd bounded up the stairs as soon as they'd walked through the front door. With every passing day, she was becoming more and more aware of the fact that her baby boy was gone. She was raising a child on the edge of pre-teendom. He was growing like a weed. He was constantly hungry. And he had so much energy that she oftentimes didn't know what to do with him.

She couldn't imagine what it must be like to come home at eleven o'clock at night and still feel sprightly enough to fly up the stairs like a bat out of hell. Her mother had assured her that there had once been a time when she contained just as much never ending energy, but Rory wasn't sure she believed her. She definitely didn't remember such a time. And right now, the only feeling she could relate to was exhaustion.

"Sorry…" she said, turning around to her houseguest with a remorseful smile. "Don't take that as an omen. Now that he's up there, he probably won't make too much noise."

"That's okay," said Logan with a shrug.

He hung back in the entry way for a moment as Rory crossed over to the right and deposited her purse on the dining room table. She watched him for a few moments as she did, noting how his neck was craning around the house taking everything in like a child walking through an aquarium or some small town farmer going to the big city for the first time. But then, she supposed her house would be a foreign habitat to someone like him.

It was a nice house. It was a house that she was proud of, one that she worked hard to buy and put her heart and soul into making it a home for her and her son. But still, it was a modest house. A classic Stars Hollow cottage home with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. She'd been thrilled to discover the little nook off the kitchen at the back of the house the first time she looked at it. She decided immediately to make it an office, thinking that having her own personal workspace in a house of this size was a rare luxury. But, standing here looking at the well dressed and meticulously coiffed man in front of her she remembered that nothing about her little house could be considered luxurious.

She couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. There was no way that he wasn't judging her as he looked around. After all, he was a Huntzberger, an infamous name in her industry. She didn't know much about them, but she knew that the media empire they'd crafted over generations was one of the largest in the country - definitely the largest in the Northeast, and she assumed that a great amount of money had to come along with that. The Armani suit he was wearing under his coat alone confirmed as much.

A man like him probably lived in a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side. Or a palatial estate in Oyster Bay. He probably had a summer house in the Hamptons or some private island in the Caribbean. His furniture was probably all custom and his coffee table probably cost more than her car. He could probably smell her Ikea dining table a mile away - the handmade McCowen chairs she'd bought on a trip to Amish country wouldn't throw him off the scent for a second.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, shoving her anxiety down in an effort to be a good hostess. His head snapped back to her, somewhat started to be broken out of his exploratory stupor by the sound of her voice.

"You don't happen to have a single malt whiskey back there, do you?" he asked.

He nodded his head in the direction of the doorway behind her leading into the kitchen. Rory turned around and looked herself, trying to remember what she might have sitting in the fridge... or the cabinet above it.

"Um…" she said. "I think I might have some raspberry White Claws in the fridge?"

"I think I'm good," he said before pursing his lips and nodding. The feeling of judgement came back full force.

"Can I take your coat?" she asked, holding her hand out to him.

He acquiesced silently, shrugging off the thick black garment and handing it to her. Rory stripped off her own, and she carried them through the kitchen and over to the coat rack hanging in the mudroom to the left of her back door. Logan followed her as she walked, but he hung back in the dining room, peeking in at the china in her hutch. The china her grandmother had given her passive aggressively when she moved into her house. Since she had no wedding to buy it for.

"We don't have a guest room…" she said as she walked back over in his direction. "But I can take the couch and you could sleep in my - "

"No," he said, interrupting her. "That's really not necessary. I'm fine with the couch."

"I insist," said Rory. "You're my guest."

"I'm a stranger you've invited into your house for the night," he said. "The least I can do is take the couch."

"It's really not a problem. I fall asleep on it all the time."

"So it must be comfortable then," he said with a shrug. "Sounds great for me."

"Really… Please. I in - "

"I won't sleep in a lady's bed," said Logan, firmly.

The expression on his face made it clear that he wasn't willing to argue any further. It was firm and resolute. The face of a man who was used to getting what he wanted, who was used to being in charge. Though, his uncompromising expression didn't last very long. After a few seconds, it morphed into something else entirely. Something more along the lines of a smirk.

"At least not alone…"

In the days of her prime, Rory would have groaned out loud at the comment. She would have rolled her eyes and called him disgusting. She would have run off to call her mom and to make fun of the sleaze-bag with the terrible pick up lines. But, right now Rory was not in her prime. She wasn't a twenty-something young woman who caught the attention of men left and right any longer. She was a thirty-three year old single mom of a ten year old boy. And it had been a long time since she'd had a man in her house looking at her the way that Logan Huntzberger was looking at her right now.

She was still a red blooded woman. And while she had been annoyed with his attitude back at the inn, and she wasn't all that happy with his little comment, she couldn't deny what he was making her feel.

He was an attractive man. A very attractive man. She'd noticed it the second he'd walked into the door behind Officer Weston, and as the night went on his attractiveness hadn't faded. If anything, it had only intensified the moment he'd taken off that coat and she'd realized just how trim and toned his body must actually be under that suit.

She wasn't used to getting the attention of attractive single men much at all these days, and though she would have once been annoyed at his comment, now she was… flustered. She felt her blood rush to her cheeks. Her heart rate started to climb ever so slightly. And she found herself somewhat tongue tied.

"Okay… then. If you insist. I um…" she cleared her throat. "I'll just… go upstairs for a second and get you some... blankets."

She practically ran out of the dining room, turning to head up the stairs at a pace that rivaled Ben's. She tried to keep her cool, but she could practically feel the amusement radiating off of him as she moved, and it was only serving to make her more embarrassed.

When she reached the hallway at the top of the steps, she paused for a moment, gathering her breath and kicking herself for a moment for acting like such a stupid little girl. She hadn't felt so silly in front of a boy since she was 16 years old and stole that corn starch from Doose's after Dean kissed her for the first time. She was a far cry from that little virginal 16 year old girl, and by now she should be able to act like it.

With a deep breath she took a step forward toward the linen closet. She grabbed a spare sheet and blanket from the shelf, and then turned to her left to walk into her room for one of the extra pillows on her bed. As she walked past her nightstand, she couldn't stop her eyes from flickering down to the bottom drawer, knowing what was inside there, wondering if she might need to use it.

"Get a grip, Rory" she said to herself with a sigh and a shake of her head while she grabbed at one of the pillows. "He's an entitled jackass... Pull yourself together."

The smirk faded from Logan's lips as he watched the attractive woman practically run away from him. He stood there frozen at the bottom of the stairs for a moment as he considered what had just happened. It was a reaction that he wasn't entirely used to getting when he decided to turn on the charm, and he wasn't quite sure how to take it. It wasn't as if he was actually propositioning her. It was just a bit of harmless flirting. The kind most women would usually play into without much effort.

This woman was still proving to be a complete and utter enigma to him, and it was strangely unsettling how much he seemed to care about figuring her out.

With a shake of his head, he started drifting over to the living room. His eyes roved the room as he paced around, noting the art work on the walls, and the picture frames on the tables, shelves, and mantle. He stopped in front of the bookshelf to the right of the fireplace, his eyes landing on a picture in a black wooden frame.

It was a young red-headed little boy with a missing front tooth - no doubt Ben at about six or seven years old. Though, the boy wasn't really what had caught Logan's attention. A mom having framed photos of her kid over every surface of her house wasn't that odd or surprising. What was odd and surprising was the background.

The boy was standing in front of a fountain in the circle driveway of a grey brick home with a solid oak front door. And while the entire house wasn't in frame, Logan couldn't help but feel like he recognized it. It was almost like he'd been there before. He'd walked past that very fountain, and he'd stood in front of that door. It was the strangest feeling of deja vu, and he couldn't quite figure out where it had come from…

He put the photo down, convincing himself that he was just imagining things. It was a pretty standard looking house, after all. A driveway like that was a common sight where he came from, and he was likely just conflating the place with the house of a friend growing up or some distant family member. It wasn't worth obsessing over. Besides, he was far more interested to see what kind of books she had on her shelves.

The selection wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. A middle class, white, small town single mom…. He'd imagined her shelves to look different entirely. Maybe some Nicholas Sparks. Some Brené Brown. A battered copy of Eat, Pray, Love and maybe a couple of classics sprinkled in here and there… the standard ones. The ones you read in high school. To Kill a Mockingbird. Pride and Prejudice. The Great Gatsby.

Her shelf looked nothing like that. There were some classics. Pride and Prejudice was even there. But so was Persuasion. And Sense and Sensibility. There was a surprising swatch of Russian novels, everything from Anna Karenina to The Master and Margarita. There was Borges. Allende. Proust. A particularly beautiful leather bound copy of Swan's Way to be exact.

But, as impressive as the fiction collection spread across her shelves were, it wasn't nearly as interesting as her non-fiction collection. Her non-fiction collection was...well he wasn't quite sure how to describe what it was. All the President's Men. The Journalist and The Murderer. Newspaper Titan: The Infamous Life and Monumental Times of Cissy Patterson. The Best American Newspaper Narratives. And…

Logan's eyes froze on a familiar sight. It was a puffy black sleeve wrapped around a hardbound cover. A black and white photograph was curving around the bottom of the spine, and he could make out the image of a black haired young man being boosted over a locked gate by a massive crowd. White embossed letters spelled out the title and byline of the book - a title and byline that he'd memorized years ago. Trapped in Tehran: A First Hand Account of The Iranian Hostage Crisis, by Mitchum Huntzberger.

"The blanket is pretty thin."

The voice of his hostess startled him as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding a pillow covered by a white sheet and a light blue knit blanket on top of it. He turned around, tearing himself away from the books on the shelf and looking over at her as she made her way to the couch and placed the linens down on top of it.

"But the fireplace is gas," she continued before picking up a small black remote on the coffee table and showing it to him. "So you can turn it on if you get cold."

"Thanks," he replied.

"I'm sorry about the uh…" she looked around the room for a moment and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "...the mess."

Logan looked around as well, noting the large Christmas tree in the corner by the bay window and the presents overflowing underneath it. Rolls of wrapping paper and spools of ribbon were thrown on the floor between the couch and the french doors leading onto her patio, and miscellaneous shopping bags were piled up on the armchair next to the fireplace. It was a house overtaken by Christmas preparation, and it was a side of the holiday that he wasn't all that used to seeing. The staging.

"That's alright," he said. The room was a bit of a mess admittedly, but it was hardly the messiest conditions Logan had ever slept in. During his college days, his friends probably would have considered this clean.

"You can watch TV too if you want," she continued, gesturing to the Roku remote next to the fireplace remote. "Just… this is an old house and sound carries so… keep the volume low."

"Sure thing…" said Logan.

As tired as he was, he had a feeling he'd be turning it on as soon as she went knew that he wasn't exactly going to have an easy time falling asleep tonight. The couch was bad enough, but there was also the fact that he was in a strange house in a strange town worried about the state of his car and the state of his office. Which reminded him…

"Um… do you have a wifi password?" he asked. "I just… I really need to send off an email to my office, and my reception's been pretty spotty."

"Yeah, Stars Hollow isn't exactly known for its stellar cell service," she said with an understanding nod. "Here."

She held a hand out for his phone, and he handed it to her. He watched as she entered a string of random numbers and letters into his settings and handed it back to him. The little wifi signal on the top left hand corner was full, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks," he said.

She nodded in reply and started rocking uncomfortably on her heels as they stood there awkwardly. The whole situation was awkward.

"The bathroom is upstairs. First door on the right," she said. "It's Ben's. So… it might be… messy. Sorry in advance…"

"It's fine."

"Right," she said. "Well… I guess I'll head upstairs. I'm the second door on the left if you need anything."

"I'll try not to need anything," Logan replied with a smile, one that he meant to be friendly but for some reason only prompted her to look down at her feet in discomfort.

"Okay. Well…goodnight."

She pivoted on her heel and started making her way back over to the stairs at the center of the house. However, the moment that her hand landed on the white railing, he called out her name, stopping her in her tracks.

"Rory…" he said, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd at least remembered what it was.

"Yeah?" she said, turning around to look at him again.

"Thank you," he said, pointedly. "For letting me stay here… I don't know what I would have -"

"You're welcome," she said with a soft smile of her own. "Good will toward men and all that…"

"Right…"

Another short moment of silence settled between them before Rory turned around and started heading back up the stairs. Logan was left standing there alone, pondering the words she'd just said - along with the words she'd said to her son before they'd left the inn.

Christmas.

The reason why he was going to spend the night sleeping in a home and not in a holding cell at the Stars Hollow Police Department was because it was Christmas. He supposed he should be thankful for the spirit of the season - the good tidings and cheer and the warm fuzziness of all of it. And in a way he was.

He was thankful that this happened to happen to him right at this time. He was thankful that he hadn't driven his car off the road in January or February where all the jolly happy feelings of Christmas faded away and people remembered the world sucked and they were all tired of winter. He should be thankful that this Rory Gilmore bought into the fairy tale of it all, that the "magic" left her feeling particularly generous. And he was thankful.

But not thankful enough to keep him from unplugging the lights on the Christmas tree the moment he started settling in for the night.

"You know I'm gonna really enjoy this. You just remember that you did this, Jack. Okay? You brought this on yourself…. Merry Christmas."

Logan woke with a start.

A gasp escaped from his lips and he shot up slightly at the sound of a loud thump coming from the other room. He let out a groan, and his memory took a moment to catch up with his surroundings.

Stars Hollow. He was in Stars Hollow. He'd crashed his Mercedes into a tree and he was sleeping on the couch in some inn receptionist's house. Rory. Her name was Rory. Rory...Gilbert?

He furrowed his brow as he sat up. His neck twinged, and he let out a wince as he lifted his hand to rub at the unfortunate crick that had developed overnight, no doubt the consequence of sleeping with his head against the stiff arm rest. No matter of foam in the pillow he'd been provided could adequately cushion against it.

He wiped a hand over his face as he swung his legs over the side of the couch and thoroughly took in his surroundings. His ruined Prada oxfords were sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. On top of the coffee table were four empty cans of raspberry White Claw, one of them knocked over on its side. The television was still on, and he realized that he must have eventually fallen asleep with it on. Though, considering the volume was lowered to practically a whisper, he doubted the thump that had roused him from his sleep had come from speakers.

He heard another noise, this time something more akin to a screech. And, this time, he was cognizant enough to realize that it was coming from the kitchen.

He reached for the remote on the table and pointed it up at the television, causing the image of Nicolas Cage pulling off his shirt on his way to his bed to disappear from the screen. He stood up, grabbing his somewhat wrinkled pants from the floor and pulling them on over his trunks, followed by the white undershirt lying in a crumpled pile next to them. He then started padding his way over to the kitchen barefoot, his confusion growing with every subsequent clank and clatter. When he arrived in the doorway, however, everything suddenly made sense.

"Don't tell my mom."

The kid was looking at him like he'd been caught with hand in the cookie jar. And he had been, really. Or rather… the box of Lucky Charms.

He was standing on a chair that he'd dragged in from the dining room, leaning over the refrigerator to get access to the high cabinets above it. He was mid way through pulling the box from the cabinet, but he'd frozen with a panicked look on his face as soon as he saw Logan standing there in the doorway.

"Too late," a feminine voice sounded behind him.

The next thing he knew, the mother in question was walking right past him into the kitchen and toward her son. Her brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was dressed in a pair of heather grey drawstring pajama pants, a light blue Shins concert tee shirt, and a dusty pink robe that cut off right below her hips. Her face was entirely bare. And Logan had to take a moment to seriously consider whether or not a woman had ever let him see her so casual in his life. He wasn't sure anyone ever had - anyone other than his sister that is.

"I was just…" Ben said in a pathetic attempt to explain away his behavior. Behavior that was apparently frowned upon. Though, why, Logan had no idea.

"You were just what?" said Rory before holding out her hand and opening and closing her fingers in a gesture for him to give the box to her. "Uh huh. Hand over the contraband please."

Ben let out a dejected sigh. He jumped down from the chair he'd been standing on and handed the bright red box over to his mother dejectedly.

"We're going to Pop's this morning anyway, so why don't you go upstairs and get ready?"

"Really?" he asked, enthusiastically, almost as if he'd entirely forgotten the devastating disappointment he'd gone through just two seconds ago.

"Yes, really. I just got off the phone with Grams," said Rory. "So go on up and take a shower. Brush your teeth. We're gonna meet her in about a half an hour."

"Okay!" the boy hollered before taking off out of the kitchen like a lightning bolt and bounding up the stairs much in the same way he'd done the night before.

"Don't run in the... house..." his mother called, starting off strong but then ending with a sigh of resignation.

She lifted a hand to her forehead, holding it there for a moment while she took a deep breath and blew another dramatic sigh out of her mouth. Logan was getting the distinct feeling that the woman wasn't a morning person, and his suspicions were confirmed when the first thing she did was slam the box of cereal down on the counter right next to an espresso machine and reached desperately for a canister marked with the word 'beans' over the black slate in the center.

"Coffee?" she asked, throwing a look back in his direction. Logan took it as a covert invitation, and he took a step forward out of the doorway and into the kitchen.

"Sure," he said, watching as she scooped some of the beans into a grinder. "That's a nice machine you got there."

"Huh?" she asked, throwing some glances between him and the yellow La Marzocco on the counter as she gathered her thoughts. "Oh! Yeah… it was uh…. It was a birthday present from my dad a few years ago. My mom and I we're… well we're kind of addicts I guess."

"Pricey…" he added. Pricey enough that he'd almost blinked at the tag when he was looking at espresso machines for his own place. Not that he couldn't afford it. It just surprised him…

"Yeah. Well… My Dad is - "

Her explanation was cut off by the sound of yet another crash sounding through the house. Though, this time it had come from upstairs. Logan scratched at his head. The timing couldn't have been worse. He'd been wanting her to finish that sentence. Her dad was what? Her dad was rich? Her dad was… someone important? What were the chances that Logan knew her dad? After all, they weren't that far from Hartford. And if her Dad did have money… why was she working at an inn and living in such a modest house in such a small town?

Why did he care so much about figuring out this woman's deal?

"Benjamin!" she called, leaning through the doorway to yell up the stairs. "What is going on up there!?"

"Nothing!"

The boy's dismissal was followed by the slamming of a door and the running of some water. Rory just sighed and shook her head before returning her attention to the espresso.

"Are all ten year old boys like this? Or is it just mine?" she asked, throwing a glance in his direction.

Logan looked at her like the deer caught in his headlights just the night before. He wasn't sure why she was asking him. He didn't have that much experience with kids, and he didn't exactly give off the aura of someone who did. He had his niece and nephew, but he didn't see them all that much and they were younger. And he definitely didn't have kids of his own.

"Oh… I…"

"I mean, were you like this?" she asked. "Running around and wreaking havoc at every opportunity? Doing God knows what?"

Logan let out a short laugh. He leaned against the counter on the other side of the room and considered her question for a second. He hadn't thought of what it was like to be a ten year old boy in a long time. A very long time. In truth, he'd almost forgotten. But, now that he was looking back, he wasn't very sure she would like his answer.

"Worse," he said, thinking back on all of the ways he used to keep himself occupied in his adolescence. Ways including things like bottle rockets and eggs and matches and questionable "scientific" experiments.

"Great," she replied, unenthusiastically. "That inspires confidence."

"Maybe it should," he said with a shrug. "I'm a very successful man."

Rory finished attaching the newly packed portafilter to the machine in front of her before turning around and looking at him with a smirk. She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest in scrutiny. And, strangely enough, Logan actually found himself feeling self-conscious under her clearly judgmental gaze .

"Anyway…" he said, cleaning his throat and deciding that a change in conversation was best for all of them. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind telling me where to find Ginny."

Rory's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Ginny?" she asked. She turned around and started working on their coffee once more.

"Uh… yeah…" he said. "Dark hair. Weird accent. Fixes cars…"

"Oh!" Rory said before letting out an amused laugh. "Gypsy."

"Gypsy. Right," he replied.

"I can take you to Gypsy's," said Rory with a nod. "It's actually on the way to my step-dad's diner. So… if you want we can swing by before we grab breakfast."

Logan was momentarily taken aback. He had assumed that 'going to Pop's' implied getting breakfast somewhere, but he hadn't assumed that he was invited to join them. He was almost tempted to turn her down, to tell her that he'd butt into her life enough. But then… he wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do while he waited on his car.

"Uh… sure. That sounds good," he said. "Breakfast would be nice."

TBC...

AN: I realized that I messed something up in one of my previous ANs that might have caused some confusion. I said that this was an AU after season four. What I meant to say was this was a AU FROM season four onward. That probably gives away exactly what's different. But oh well. Lol. As you can see Rory is still a bit of an enigma to our dear Logan... and to us. Lol. But there will be some answers in the next chapter. Lol.

Thanks! Don't forget to review.