AN: So far, I've avoided giving this a timeline, but I've got to do it. Recent (and soon-to-be) developments on the show are making this fic difficult to write. So we'll assume this is taking place in May of Rory's sophomore year at Yale. The Dragonfly is open, and Jason and Nicole are long gone.
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After you start something, you have to figure out what to do with it. Lorelai has never been particularly good with this.
(Take Luke, for example: friend, investor, coffee-supplier, excellent kisser. What, precisely, is she supposed to do with him?)
She has decided that the trick to avoiding embarrassing, friendship-ruining revelations is to act completely normal.
Completely.
Which is why she sat quietly (well, sat) on the porch, head still resting on Luke's shoulder, and waited until he made some excuse about the diner and extra work and being late and picked up his toolbox and hurried away. Which is why she slept in the next morning and then showed up at the diner, chattering on about any and everything non-kiss-related and sounding completely normal doing so. Which is why she has seen Luke precisely twice a day this week and has never once brought up a tough subject or let things get out of hand or been alone with him or done anything else that might have prompted another Moment.
And things could not be worse.
Lorelai says: Hey, Luke, I need some coffee. Actually, I need it to go – have to get to the Inn, make sure nothing burns down. Okay, bad choice of words. But I do have to get to the Inn, and the staff doesn't want to deal with me uncaffeinated. Oooh, is it Danish day?
Lorelai thinks: I've been replaced by a pod person. I open my mouth, and Pod Lorelai starts talking. I'm like Bewitched, and there's a new Darrin.
The worst part of it? She still has to borrow Luke's truck this weekend. The weekend she didn't ask him out on a date. She's going to take his truck and use it all day – after he told her it was only for the morning – and he's going to pretend to be mad over how long she's kept it and they'll bicker some more and in the end he'll let her go and not really care how long it takes. And she's going to feel like dirt.
Because he kissed her. She didn't ask him out, and he kissed her, and then she was transformed into a pod person. She's fine with her life being a B-movie, but never really expected science fiction.
But the important part, she tells herself, is that it doesn't matter. Rory's coming home.
On Saturday, Rory's coming home, and she's already rented out the entire college-movie genre; they're going to start with The Freshman and work their way straight through to The Graduate and St. Elmo's Fire. She's made the preliminary stockpile in the kitchen: malamars, jelly beans, reese's, oreos, cheez-its, extra-buttery movie-style popcorn with a side of butter. She'll head back to Doose's on Friday for the perishables: Ben & Jerry's and frozen Dove bars. One phone call for pizza, and the night is set.
With Rory. With Rory. Because Rory survived another year at college, and Lorelai survived her being gone. It calls for celebration.
And perhaps, perhaps, with Rory around, Pod Lorelai will disappear, and the real Lorelai will find something to say.
******
Luke was already in the parking lot, glowering, when she pulled up in his truck. She left the keys in the ignition and hopped out, flashing her brightest grin.
"Look at that! And a mere…" she checked her wrist, "seven hours after promised!"
"I'll have a trophy made."
She held out her wrist, encircled with something that looked suspiciously like a Sanrio product. "Got that watch thing, too. And you thought I never listened."
"Still do. Here." He thrust a large, white paper bag at her.
"What is it?"
With more than a little exasperation. "Open it and see."
"But it's more fun if you tell me. Oooh, or I can guess. Bookends. A pony. Early Monet lithograph. Am I warm?"
"You have seen normal people, right?"
"Not around here." She peered into the bag. "Cheese fries, burgers," she began moving things around with her free hand, "looks like brownies, some kind of pie, and…do I see to-go cups? Coffee." She clasped her free hand to her chest. "You know the way to a girl's heart."
He was still giving her that look. "It's for Rory. Tell her welcome home."
"That's very sweet. Don't worry; if anyone asks, I'll say I had to beat you up for it."
And she kissed him.
She kissed him. She put her free arm around his neck and kissed him, scrunching the food bag between them and letting the grease-splatters seep through onto her shirt. She had no idea what had just possessed her. True, it was more of a hi-honey-I'm-home kiss than a front-hook-or-back-hook? kiss or even a thanks-for-the-second-date kiss, but it was a kiss, and that wasn't even the biggest problem.
This was:
It felt completely natural. It fit. Luke gave her the truck, and they argued, and he did something nice, and they kissed. It should feel strange or unsettling or at least unfamiliar, but it didn't. It felt comfortable. Like sitting on a porch step with her head on his shoulder. Like coming home at the end of a long day. Like falling asleep in her own bed, after a long time away.
Like it was something they did every day.
Luke looked at her after the kiss, as if he wasn't certain what she' just done, or (more likely) why she'd done it.
So she said the only thing there was to say, ("Thanks for the food; Rory will love it. Goodnight.") and did the only thing there was to do (pulled away, and took the greasy paper bag with her), and left without looking back.
******