AN: In large, I refrain from publicly sharing personal details on the internet, but for you I (again) make an exception. This year has been such a rollercoaster for me personally. Putting COVID aside, it's been a year of so many life-changes. In the past year I've managed to score a bench-mark job, re-frame my PhD proposal, get married - and welcome my baby boy in early April. This is the reason for the delay.
To be honest, I've never imagined this fic will continue this long, nor become the monster word document it is - either. But I do intend on completing it as I said before. On to more interesting things - an update! I trust it might be tad confusing because we're jumping back and fourth, and not all is revealed, we'll come back to that. Enjoy. Reviews are always appreciated, but no pressure.
January 2015
California
"Stop pushing."
"Stop stalling."
Rory dug the back of her heels into the ground, trying to prevent herself from skidding on the marble floors as Logan's hand ushering her forward into the backyard of the house by her elbow. A gentle yet determined push.
"I'm not stalling." Rory hissed. She was. And she knew he knew that she was just to spite him.
"Ace." Logan drawled out half warningly, half pleadingly.
"Logan." She mimicked his tone defyingly. Her blue eyes were shooting icy daggers at him. If he thinks he can just steer her through this entire house by her elbow as if she was a weightless commodity without a breath of valid explanation - he was wrong. "If you think that you can just bring me here and man-handle me…"
There's so much humiliation she can take for one night.
"Now's not the time." Logan intercepts her upcoming rant.
"Now's not the time? You don't get to call the shots." She retorted back. Rory's natural submission to obey flew out of the window when they stood arguing in the driveway before. She wanted to deck him with her Cannon. She wished to wriggle his neck for blindsiding her.
Then he retrieved a dress and a pair of shoes, and all her fretting about missing an appropriate party-ware held no water. The argument crumbled like a house of cards.
"One night is all I'm asking," He said.
Something in his eyes displayed unwarranted vulnerability that broke a crack in Rory's resistance.
"I'm trying to prove a point." Logan's hand elegantly moved from her elbow to rest on her hip as his body shuffled closer into her personal space. His usual practice of disarming her by creating intimacy. "Now, if you are ever in doubt what's in the food – just follow Juilet's lead."
Rory's mind tried to keep up with the blows. Now he was kind enough to give her the heads up for this so-called party?
"Who's Juliet?" Rory asked suspiciously. How many women did she actually have to look out for?
"You'll know when you meet her." The blonde man didn't care to elaborate much. As if it was all self-explanatory. His eyes didn't meet hers, assessing the field of play.
"Any other words of advice?" Rory's tongue clicked sarcastically. He was infuriating.
"Yes. Stay away from the Brownies." Logan said without a beat, the hand on her hip prompting her assertively towards the bar set up, "Let's get you a drink."
"I don't want a fucking dri…"
"I see you've found your way eventually; I was about to send a search party." Rory's protest was suspended by the interruption of the night's hostess and her colorful drink in a martini glass. "I strongly recommend the signature drink of the night – the Chelsea. All organic ingerdients."
Rory's month went mum.
"How refreshing." Logan's quipped edgily.
Rory sized the hostess guardedly. Her displayed arrogance and her tendency to make an entrance at the most inappropriate moment was equal to… well, Logan's. She had changed her clothes, the empire waist of her dress skirt dimly glittered.
So did her rings—two diamond rings on her wedding finger.
"Nice dress. Great color. Very Ozz." Logan's ex-wife gave Rory's the once over in her emerald A-shape dress. Chelsea took a calm sip of her signature drink. "I see you've still got an eye for sizes."
Once again, the blonde seemed was set on announcing her close familiarity with Logan. That alone with unsettling.
"It's a talent." Logan kept his comebacks short.
"Huh. That-" Chelsea's eyes lingered at the Sony clenched tightly in Rory's hands, "is not allowed."
Rory tensed. Panic grabbed at her throat. Losing the camera was losing her Wonderwall. Her lifeline. Her false sense of security, her savior. Logan's thumb runs on the lacey back of her dress in what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring gesture.
Not that it helped.
"Camera stays." Logan's retaliation was surprising.
Rory failed to disguise her baffled tick at his words. Logan's hatred for her beloved toy was notorious. He would have loved to see it gone too.
So did Chelsea, "It's the rules, Logan. You know the rules."
Rory clinched her camera tighter, sucking confidence off the cool metal and plastic under her fingers. The warmth of the previous encounter between Logan and his ex-wife has been replaced with frosty stares.
"Since when you care about the rules?"
"Meet the new me. Mr. don't-take-my-picture." Chelsea's tongue clicked as she swayed, "Typical. You always cared for the rules when they benefited you."
"Excuse us a moment. Be right back." The chill that accompanied the removal of his hand off her hip burnt her skin.
Logan yanked the hostess aside, leaving her standing there on the edge of the patio.
xx
Rory Gilmore wanted to run.
Sprint towards the Hollywood hills faster than the wind in the most un-Gilmore fashion. She did promise her mother a snap of those big white letters.
But she didn't.
Not that she knew why.
Maybe it was her shoes. The sparkling pair she had bought in New York is pretty but very unpractical. She won't get very far. Rory was never going to pack them for an outdoor event. The heel was anything but sensible for unsmooth surfaces. If they were red - all she'd have to do is tap twice, and they'd take her home.
Rory was not in Kansas anymore, that's for sure.
Perhaps it was her curiosity.
Fairy lights and warming lamps decorated the yard illuminating the night softly. A bare circus tent structure dominated the backyard; countless colorful umbrellas substituted its cover. Underneath, an outdoor casino was playing out. Roulette, poker tables, blackjack provided the entertainment. A bright spotlight shone over the trapeze hanged over the pool.
The strange combination of a member's only cocktail party meeting a circus casino was mind-blowing. Odd, so over the top and begging to be documented. So were the people in attendance: Men in fashionably cut suits. Women in cocktail dresses. Waitresses in little golden numbers. Jugglers and other performing art were bursting into random little acts for guests' amusement.
Rory found herself standing alone, gawping at the wires over the pool.
"You're breaking the rules," Colin cleared his throat behind her.
Rory quickly tacked the SONY behind her back.
"What are you? the Stasi?" Rory ballsy tutted. Her nerves were wearing thin.
"You don't look like you're having fun. And you have no drink in your hands." Colin trusts a glass containing a clear liquid and ice into her hand, knowingly. "Logan sent it. You look like you need it."
"He sent you to compensate my camera too?" Rory muttered skeptically, peering Logan's way. He was too engrossed in a heated discussion with his ex-wife to send drinks her way.
The clear-colored drink he and shoved towards his former lover near the bar - matched the same as Colin trusted into her hand.
"It does interfere with the integrity of the event, but no. We let you keep your transition object." Colin clinked their glasses together. "I take it you're pissed at him."
"Gee, you think?" Rory filled her mouth with a large sip of her drink.
Water.
Typical. Logan just couldn't kick the habit of being literal.
"Just a wild guess," Colin said casually. The lawyer hogged a tray full of Chelsea drinks of one of the skimpily dressed waitresses who passed them by, dismissing her by saying he's got it covered. "I can tell water when I see them. Have a Chelsea!"
Rory eyed the tray full of drinks as if it was a collection of daggers. Her eyes drifted back to the pair in question.
"He's serving her a piece of his mind. It's never pretty when they get at it. Nor the aftermath." Colin followed her line of vision, offering an off-handed explanation. "My guess this is the last sobriety party for a while."
Rory looked at Colin cryptically, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't. "Can we skip the part where you give me riddles and puzzles?"
"What's the fun in that? Let loose. Drink up. Ace." He dared, pushing one of the martini glasses towards her using Logan's moniker for her.
Rory squinted her eyes at the lawyer. Logan's friends were a weird bunch. She quickly knocked back one and hurriedly downed another to prove… something. The sweetness of the fruity drink delayed the burn of the booze.
"Do you need a time machine?"
She wished. A time machine wouldn't be too bad.
"I think IKEA sold out," Rory answered snippily.
Colin chuckled. "I like you; you're a funny little thing."
"And here I thought the night couldn't get worse. How condescending of you." Rory twirled the colored drink of her third glass. From the corner of her eye, she was still discreetly watching the unfolding interaction of the blonde pair.
Chelsea was talking back. Rory wished she had the spank to talk back and not surrender. She wiped the wetness the drink left on her lips with the back of her hand.
"You have nothing to worry about." Rory's eyes snapped to the lawyer at his comment- That had struck a chord. "Some arrangements are right for their time. Trust me; I just got out of one."
"I'm not worried." She denied.
"Do you know what makes me a good family law attorney?"
"Ruthlessness? Greed?"
"I can tell when people lie." Colin sipped his drink calmly.
Fine. She was worried.
Rory took another large gulp of her drink. She's going to live to regret it; it was too sugary, probably in an attempt to play down the amount of alcohol in it. An aftertaste sourness lingered on her tongue as she voiced her thoughts back. "They complement each other. Perfect composition."
There are pictures to prove their fit in Rory's camera. It was staring back at her in the numerous picture frames that Logan hastily knocked down as he dragged her through this house.
The camera can't capture what isn't there - It's the one thing Rory always trusted.
"Sure they do. Like orange juice and toothpaste." Colin mused poetically, "Both recommended to consume in the morning, but the combination just leaves a bad taste in your mouth."
"Poetic." Rory was starting to suspect he was drunker than she thought. Logan's friend looked sad.
"Do you know who else likes you? That guy. A lot." He nodded at the blonde she was furious at, "Though I imagine making him say it would be like pulling a tooth out. Logan likes to leave things ambiguous."
Rory stopped drinking mid-sip, "He hadn't said it right."
"Aw, you broke him." Colin flashes her a Cheshire cat smile.
"When you tell someone you love them; It doesn't count when you casually say it and breeze through to the next topic." The drinks are quickly vanishing from the glasses in front of her. "It's not a by the way kind of thing."
It doesn't count when he says it in the throes of passion in front of an open-fire lodge outside Portland, either.
Or during a wrinkle in time under a canopy of Redwood rainforest.
Logan's new habit of verbally expressing his feelings – at times when she's so underprepared - throws her off. But Rory chooses to keep it to herself.
Colin smirked, amused, "Such a Logan thing to do."
Rory scowled at him. She knows it was such a Logan thing to do.
"What is it that you're upset about? Are you mad at him because of his crappy delivery or of this grand gesture?" Colin waved his hand around amorphously.
That was a fair point. What was she mad at? The way he just made this big confession at the most inappropriate time and brushed it off? The fact that he gave her no clear heads up about what 'loose ties' in California were? Or Logan's unexpected change of heart about the baby?
"Everything." She breathed the truth in frustration.
"Logan likes to control the narrative." Colin chimed.
"Tell me something I don't know." Rory's tongue lashed out cynically. The dam has surrendered to the flood. "He didn't say a word. Deliberately. He brings me here - to celebrate his ex-wife's life achievement! And she throws herself at him. Kissing him like he still belongs to her."
Oh, the cat's out of the bag.
"Well… In Chelsea's mind, he is always going to be hers. Who doesn't love the thought of being unforgettable? Unreplaceable? Logan fed that monster for years." Colin snorted as a matter of fact, "And if I may be honest, Chelsea was never good with facing reality. Her sobriety flew out the window the moment he told her you were coming. You make her nervous."
Rory didn't want to feel sorry for her. She wasn't the one blindsided and trusted into this mad, tense atmosphere without so much of a warning.
She knew?
"I make her nervous?"
"She knows you have something she never had. It's why she came out with all her guns blazing."
"What's that?"
"Mitchum's stamp of approval." Colin stated obviously, making Rory wonder yet again, what the hell does he mean. "And I assumed that… you know. But then you drank nearly a whole pitcher of these things. So it's safe to assume you're not."
Obviously, she wasn't.
"Let's talk about your relationship." Rory steered the conversation away. It was always better to deflect someone else's heartbreak other than yours.
"I'm no longer in a 'relationship.'"
"Why?"
"Because I slept with my paralegal." Rory tried to conceal her astonishment at his bluntness. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look particularly guilty or heartbroken either. "Look, Rory, every relationship has an expiry date. Some realize it sooner than others."
"That's sad." Rory sent Colin a sympathetic look.
"It's the gospel truth." The shallow layer of whiskey in his tumbler shook. "God, I hate these stupid incestuous parties! It's the same people over and over."
"Who's as drunk as I am?" Finn's arm slung around Colin's bent shoulders. Her mother's business partner had always known to make a colorful entrance.
"No one since Spencer Tracy died. Finn, are there any interesting women here at all?"
"Have you tried Josie?" Finn drunkenly suggested.
"Josie's a lesbian," Colin murmured unhappily. He had already tried that lead.
"Really? This house must give vibes or something…" Finn speculated to no one and everyone. The Australian's tipsy rested on Rory next, noticing the electronic item beside the empty drinks, "Oh, love, you're breaking the rules."
Rory sneaked a jaded glance at Colin, hoping he'd jump in, but the lawyer was too busy drowning his sorrows in the bottom of his glass to volunteer.
Xx
"Drink," Logan ordered, shoving the glass of chilled water in Chelsea's direction.
A different glass, yet consuming the same liquid, was sent away with strict orders to Colin, who was unfortunate enough to pass by. From the corner of his eyes, Logan kept tabs on his friend approaching his girlfriend.
Chelsea tutted, "You don't get to tell me what to do in my house; you're not my husband anymore."
"Our house." Logan automatically corrected.
"It's not yours anymore." Chelsea snorted, "You left. I bought you out. Your daddy dearest's lawyers made sure of it."
"Your dad bought me out." Logan hotly reminded her. The circumstance of his leaving goes without saying. It's something that neither of them denies.
"Yes! But of course he did! There's nothing my dad wouldn't do for you." Chelsea slurred out the words venomously.
"What did you take?" Logan jumped straight to the heart of it. Chelsea was high, or drunk, or both. The combination didn't really matter – the potential damage was massive either way.
"Why? Do you want some?" She countered back, avoiding an answer. "She's pretty, Logan. Real pretty. Your little Annie Leibovitz. I thought blonde and leggy was more your type."
"I don't have a type." Logan ignored her little dig at Bobbi, forcing the glass of water into her hand. He needed her on her best behavior; a high Chelsea was too high maintenance. It would mess up everything. "You need to sober up. Fast."
"Or what? What you're gonna do? Tell on me?" She challenged him, "Did he asked you to check on me? God, the two of you are just something. I don't even get the benefit of the doubt."
"He didn't ask me anything. That's not my problem anymore."
A pained flicker pass through her blue eyes. Logan recognizes it - the shock of the shake-off. She had the same look at Finn's wedding when he first dared to tell her he doesn't love her anymore. He was lying through his teeth then, but they both know he's serious now.
"Is that what I have been reduced to? A problem?" She woundedly questions, "Why are you here, Logan? Ben had to physically drag you by your ear the last time you set foot in California. You have made it perfectly clear that you don't do things for me out of the goodness of your heart anymore."
"It's not your business," Logan said guardedly, refusing to supply her an answer. "The camera stays."
"Fine. She can keep the camera, on one condition." A familiar daring glint shone in her eyes, so is her satisfaction of thinking quick on her feet. Chelsea tilted her chin towards the trapeze, "You go up there with me. One last hurrah."
Logan assessed the high-story structure that surpassed the roof.
"It's high."
"We've been higher." A smile flirted on her face, searching the smallest crack of a smile on his face. It never appeared. His stance never wavered.
"That's not what I meant."
There was a time Logan wouldn't even hesitate. He vividly remembers the thrill of the fall, the wind in his ears. The boosted rush of adrenaline when touching the ground or rising above the water. Yet, the sedated promise he made to his father in London about steering clear of highs and water itches the back of his mind.
"Chicken." She taunted, playing his weakness, "You used to be fun, Husband."
'One day, Logan,' Mitchum spat into his son's nineteen years old face in yet another chew out, 'your inability to refuse a dare was going to come around and bite him in the ass.'
His father was right. And Logan hates the most the moments when Mitchum's prophecies from his adolescence come true.
"You used to be endearing." He returned in a beat, "I'm not your husband anymore. Sober up - or I'll make you."
~W~
May 2017
New York
"Oh sh-." Rory censored herself last minute.
"What now?" Logan sigh expended.
Rory wasn't sure if the dismay laced in his tone was due to her near language slip or the forthcoming delay. They were at last at the final stages of leaving the house.
"I forgot my passport." Rory pushed her bag into Logan's already loaded arms and quickly retreated into the house. "I'll be super quick!"
Logan didn't believe her for a minute.
"It's in the safe!" Logan called after her, balancing the extra weight along with the child in his arms. "We are waiting in the car!"
Rory tore the home office door ajar, rushing her steps towards the safe hidden in the wall. She moved the photography books Logan placed on the shelf in the front of the safe's door and punched Aiden's birthday date backward.
Logan's passwords lacked originality these days.
She quickly located the blue booklet with the golden seal on it, flipping it open to double-check it was hers and not Logan's. It's been nearly two years since she last used it out of North America. The feel of the formal pages sent shivers of excitement down her spine.
Rory Gilmore missed traveling.
Twenty-one days of filming in Croatia were coming up. Rory couldn't believe her luck when Vinnie landed her this particular project—filming on location, big outdoors production. If it comes through, she'll be well connected; there might be more work continuity. Plus, it was an excellent opportunity to travel, see a new place. Her mind was bustling with the flatter of adventure.
Rory was about to close the safe door when her eye fell on a small square box. Her heart skipped a beat for a moment.
"What the…" Without thinking, her hand reached to the box, forcing the lid open. Her eyes widened at the round, plain, golden object set in a white cushion. She edged the fine metal, turning it in its place, examining the details.
The inner engravement jumped at her, June 21.
Rory draws back her hand quickly as if burnt. Hurriedly she shut the lid close and slammed the safe door. The affirming beep of lock followed.
"Found it?" Logan asked as she closed the passenger door of the running car.
Rory snapped out of her daze, looking at him confused. "What?"
"Your passport." His brown eyes questioned.
"Yeah. Yeah." She held up the blue booklet for proof distractedly. "I'm good to go."
"Are you okay?" His left hand was resting on the stirring wheel. His eyes squinted at her quizzingly.
"Give me your wallet."
"What? why?" Logan asked, pulling it out of his pocket anyway.
"Just give it." Rory snatched the leather item out of his hand, her sight set on the change pocket. Logan never carried change, but Rory knew he carried the hated ring. Or she thought he did.
Empty.
"It's in the safe." Rory's brain was like mash potatoes.
"Yes," Logan said slowly. "It's been there for months. I told you that it was? I thought it was what you wanted?"
Their last fight about the mere existence of the ring was the worst. She couldn't shake it off. He stubbornly insisted it meant nothing. Both were left feeling misunderstood.
"I…" Rory cast a hurried glance at the back of the car. Aiden was safely buckled up in the back seat, engrossed with a random toy. Oblivious to the tension building in the front seats of the car.
"You…?" Logan probed with caution.
Her swift, unexpected launch towards him left him a little dazzled when they pulled apart from the bruising kiss Rory left on his lips. His brown eyes remained closed. His palm still gripped the gear stick tightly, as if it was the only thing keeping his composure.
When he finally opened them, Rory Gilmore flashed a confident smile his way, "This is going to be a great weekend!"
~W~
Martha's Vineyard
"That's a mole crab. It can't swim and can't walk sidewise, but it can dig itself into the sand in under a minute." Phoebe said knowledgeably, bending over the sandy spot, "Take its picture."
Rory adjusted the zoom better to capture a clear view of the small creature moving. Little waves hit at their feet, the seawater beginning to rise.
"Hurry up before the water comes and wash him."
At nine years old, Phoebe's dream was to be a Marine Biologist.
"Yeah, I think we got it." Rory nodded in response. She was just about to squeeze the shot to cement the moment in the frame when a slump of wet sand covered the digging crab.
"Aiden! No! What are you doing?!" Phoebe exclaimed, stumping her foot in agony. The crab's clumps buried under the additional layer of sand.
The toddler's laugher stopped midway, bubbling out of his throat at the disapproving look of his cousin. For a moment, he looked unsure, his eyes drifting towards his mother. His cheeky dimple was sticking out. His wet sandy hands are touching her thighs, seeking reassurance.
"That's not nice." Rory rubs her free hand over his back, "The crab will dig itself out, Pheebs, don't worry."
"He buried it." Nature enthusiastic blamed.
"He's just playing. He's still little." Rory rationalized her son's actions to his niece before offering gentle parental guidance, "We don't throw sand on the crabs, okay?"
Aiden had the decency to look sheepish. So much like his father when scolded over something he deemed extremely funny.
"Did you at least catch it digging backward?" Phoebe inquired.
Three years ago, the notion of Logan's niece seeking her company would have been something out of science fiction books. Rory couldn't quite place her finger when the Logan Huntzberger fan club president deemed her worthy. But she also reminded herself that Huntzbergers are opportunists. The trait doesn't skip generations. Now at the age of seven, Phoebe was more than willing to utilize Rory's photography skills for the sake of her nature project at school.
"I don't know. We can look at the pictures later. Let's go see how's the sandcastle coming along?" Rory suggested raising to her feet and grabbing Aiden's wet hand. "Aiden can help."
"Aiden ruins them." The nine years old still hadn't completely moved on from sulking. "And he follows me everywhere. It's annoying. Why can't he follow Amelia or Issac instead?"
"Because you're the coolest." Rory waited as Aiden picked up a broken shell off the sand. "Come on, let's go decorate the sandcastle with shells."
Pheobe grumbled following her heels, "Shells aren't decorations - they are part of organisms."
"Let's just make an exception just this weekend."
xx
"What's going on over there?" Logan looked over the three figures close to the water edge.
Phoebe looked upset. Aiden was leaning onto Rory, the way he always did when stricken with uncertainty.
"My guess is that your son is eliminating biodiversity." Honor popped a grape into her mouth. "Pheobe is obsessed with Crabs. She told dad there's no way she's eating lobster for dinner because she's vegan, and cooking them alive is murder."
"How does she know what vegan is?" Logan laughed. He could imagine his father's bemused expression at his granddaughter's passionate beliefs. He could also imagine the cynical comeback he might have fired her way.
Mitchum's mouth was watering at the prospect of lobster dinner for his birthday for days.
"I blame T.V."
Aiden stopped his wobbly run a few steps from Honor's two other kids, who were busily building a sandcastle down the shore. Ameilia was bossing her brother, the dutiful carrier of buckets of sand. Aiden hesitated to jump into the action.
"He hesitates when he's around older kids." Honor observed.
"Strangers too," Logan said softly, watching Amelia offering his boy a toy shovel. Aiden edged closer, accepting the item but nothing else happened. He waited for his mother. "He gets that from Rory."
"Of course he does. You were never like that." Honor added an overdramatic eye roll, "God, I hated that about you. Somehow you always managed to weasel your way into my group of friends and their panties seamlessly."
"The panties were dropped willingly." Logan chuckled but didn't pursue the topic further or protest. That was ancient history.
He leaned back on his wrists, enjoying the peaceful beach scenery and the opportunity to watch Rory's interaction with their son. With the camera pushed over her back, she encouraged him to fill a bucket with sand using the shovel.
He wondered whether Aiden could feel Rory's upcoming department.
Honor sucked the juice of the grape slowly, staring down at her pensive brother. The longing looks her brother graced the woman he shared a child with throughout the weekend, worried her. "Logan, is everything alright?"
She had seen it before, aimed at another woman. Years ago.
"Do you think he senses that she's leaving?"
"Yes. Kids feel these things." Honor pried off a couple more grapes off the cluster. Indulging him by skirting around the topic, "Europe this time?"
"I don't know if Europeans consider Croatia Europe." Logan cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, "It was hard last time. This trip is longer."
"On him or you?" Honor questioned.
"Aiden can't tell time. It's just one big stretch for him." Logan answer uncommittedly.
Honor decided she had been gracious enough until now to refrain from picking in his wounds.
"How's the Russian space program coming along? Any progress on that front?"
"A successful prototype. The mothership is not interested in pursuing future endeavors currently. She has other priorities at the moment." Logan summarized, wishing not to dwell much on the topic.
"Are you cool with that?"
It didn't come as a total surprise to get shut down when he broached the topic a few weeks back. Rory loved their lives the way they were. So she said. But it hurt. Now regretted cluing in his sister about it.
"For now," Logan answered finally after a timid stretch of silence. "The change of a fluke is less than 1 to 100. Google says IUD is 99% effective."
Aiden was against all odds. There was hope.
"You're not seriously going down that route." Honor scolded her brother.
Logan grabbed a fistful of sand, not meeting his sister's hot eyes. "I'm hoping for a change of mind. It's a conversation."
He wasn't waiting in bated breath for it. In the meantime, he was tackling the issue more creatively. Rory had praised the wonders of sex without worries. Logan's planned to wear her down slowly by sexually exhausting her.
Rory has stepped away from the group of kids and was fast approaching the pair. As if she could sense they were talking about her.
"We're good. Don't you dare say anything!" The younger sibling warned his sister, quickly shutting down any further inquiry or meddling.
"It's going to be a nine-bedroom, fifteen-bathroom castle," Rory informed the two siblings before claiming a seat between Logan's bent-up knees, her back hitting his chest, the back of her head nestling on the sink in his shoulder. The camera raised to cement the sandcastle building team in action.
Logan's fingers were quick to seek access to her milky patch of skin where Rory's t-shirt met her shorts, drawing circles discreetly.
Honor averted her eyes from staring at his intimate gesture. It wasn't the first time her brother's love life was too baffling to swallow. The Huntzberger firstborn deliberately stuck to the neutral topic. "It's nice, isn't it? Them playing together. It doesn't happen as often as it should."
"Yeah. We should do it more." Logan agreed pensively.
Shira Huntzberger Martha's Vineyard was the place to be seen vacationing. In his teens, Logan always thought of the family home on the Island as the place where phone reception goes to die. The boring Island where old privileged people got their kicks out of comparing boat's speed.
This time, oddly – It felt nice.
Rory's announcement in the car has materialized. It was a great weekend.
Lazy mornings cuddles, his kid floating in the pool in oyster floaties Rory ordered from E-bay on his arm. Evening jogs on the sandy beach. Late nights lovemaking under stary night that he couldn't see in New York. He had her twice just last night on the balcony.
Who knew family vacations could be almost like… Seattle.
Rory shifts closer to his body. Her camera was finally resting in her lap.
"He's getting tired," Rory said, calling his attention to their son. Aiden rubbed the balls of his wrists over his eyes but prevailed - the fear of missing out on the action taking over.
"A nap is a great idea," Logan murmured lowly, his voice draping with the promise for sex. Rory squirmed under his touch, her breath faintly hitched as his fingers kept absentmindedly sinking lower.
All the things he could do if only given an hour.
"Ahem." Honor cleared her throat. "Sister and kids on the premise - get a room."