Author: Sunday Rain

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for the second season.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters you recognise from the show. Based on a story by Sophie Kinsella called Changing People, and ASP and the people who own Gilmore Girls own GG.

Summary: Lane decorates people's hearts as she decorates their houses.

Changing Rooms

Matchmaker, matchmaker

"Absolutely, no!" I jumped off the sofa, nearly spilling stir-fried chicken all over the oriental silk print. As an added measure, in case the person I was screaming at was deaf, I screamed again, "No!"

"Awww…come on, Rory," my friend Lane pleaded. She scooted over nearer to me and put on her puppy-dog face, something that at the age of sixteen I could never say no to but now at the ago of twenty-six have learnt to ignore. "It'll be fun, I promise. Besides, who's it gonna hurt anyway?"

I choked on rice. Coughing, I stared at my friend incredulously. "Who's it gonna hurt?" I repeated, after swallowing a couple of gulps of red wine. "Lane, this has got to stop. Every single time you get a 'hot' male bachelor client, you always 'nudge nudge wink wink' me and him together. And it hasn't worked so far!"

"But this guy could be the guy," Lane said.

I groaned.

It all started years ago, when my crazy best friend Lane decided to change her college major from something along the lines of government into something more along the lines of her mother's business (to her mother's chagrin, of course)—interior decorating. (OK, so it was more upper-class than her mother's furniture store but…). Don't get me wrong, Lane now has her own boutique/studio/successful and lucrative business, but…somehow she always seems to include matchmaking as an added "bonus" to her work. Bonus for the people she matched up successfully, which, at latest count was two (a sixty year old stockbroker with a b-movie actress—surprised they're still together); but it was definitely no bonus for me, because I was the person she always wanted to match up with someone.

And as of now, obviously, no matchmaking scheme had worked, considering I'm still living in this little dump of a flat (ok, maybe it's a pretty fancy schmancy dump of a flat—thanks to Lane's career—but it still costs an outrageous amount for the fanciness of it) with Lane.

I don't even know how I manage to get sucked in to her little ideas. It was easy for her, I'm not really a matchmaker kind of girl, plus my job didn't really require me to get in contact with any hot bachelor guys to set up with her. Sometimes being a journalist sucked. Old guys, married guys, workaholic guys, nerds. None of them for me. And so I got stuck being set up by my best friend with rich asses who had nothing to do with their time (or their hands, might I add, after being on dates with a few) or their money than to look for fresh chicks.

"Arrrgh!"

"Please?"

"Not a word of this to my mother, Lane," I warned her. God, what Lorelai would say. Well, knowing my mom she would just laugh and laugh and laugh and not stop laughing unless she ran out of coffee. "You know what happened to the last guy…"

"Brian?" Lane asked. Then, she leaned over secretively, "Oh, speaking of which, did you hear? He's … well, he's… a Boy George fan."

I threw a pillow at her. "See? Your matchmaking-Rory-with-guy-of-her-dreams has so far been very unsuccessful!" I sighed, "Just…try to at least make it worth my while this time, yeah?"

Lane giggled with glee. "So you're game?" I shrugged wearily. "Right on sister!" She rubbed her hands excitedly. "OK, so…this guy—he is hot!"

"Mrrrf," I plopped a pillow into my face and briefly considered death by pillow.

Anything to get out of this.