Insecure Security

Lorelai entered the kitchen of the Dragonfly to find Michel and Sookie in a heated argument. She watched them face off as she helped herself to a cup of coffee, listening with a faint smile on his face.

"Do I go out there and hit buttons on your computer?" Sookie demanded.

"You wouldn't dare," Michel hissed. "That computer is—"

"I don't touch your computer, Michel, so don't come in here and touch my stove," Sookie said. "No touching the stove. The stove is off limits. That's the stove," she told him, pointing, "and you can't touch it."

Michel stared at her as she spoke, his expression somewhere between pissed and bored. He rolled his eyes. "Are you finished now?"

Sookie took a breath and gave him a filthy look. "Don't touch the stove!" she cried. "Now, get out of my kitchen."

"But I haven't eaten yet," he whined.

Lorelai sat at a stool by the center counter. "Michel, why were you touching the stove?" she asked, her voice carefully curious, but neutral.

"I was simply trying to roast a tomato," he said. He looked at Lorelai and recoiled slightly. "You are the grim specter of death. Today, you will frighten people away from this place. Stay away from my desk," he told her.

Her mouth fell open slightly and she turned to Sookie. "Can you translate? Usually I can decipher the accent, but today it's the words that are throwing me off," she said.

"I am still standing right here," Michel said.

Sookie put her hand on Lorelai's arm. "Are you feeling okay, sweetie? You look awful, just exhausted."

Lorelai sighed, slumping forward over the countertop. "I know!" she wailed, her voice muffled. She raised her head wearily and looked at them both. "Luke and I have been up all night, every night this week, trying to get everything done for Rory's room. Wait, why were you roasting a tomato?"

"For my breakfast," Michel said. "But having seen you, I have lost my appetite."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Then you should go keep the phone company," she told him. With this, he stalked out. Lorelai looked up at Sookie. "Am I really the grim specter of death?" she asked.

Sookie took her coffee cup and topped it off for her. "Oh, don't pay attention to him. You just look a little tired. Have you eaten? I'll make you some breakfast."

Lorelai groaned. "Don't bother—I'm so tired, I'm not even hungry."

"What exactly have you and Luke been doing?"

She sighed and ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "Just, you know, measuring and cutting and drilling and nailing, and that sentence suddenly became very not what I intended it to be." She rubbed her eyes. "He's so bent on getting 'everything done.' That's what he keeps saying, and I'm all, Luke, you're crazy, and he's all, I just want to get everything done, and I'm all, well, you're still crazy, and he's all, I've got to get everything done—it is a vicious cycle."

Sookie put a plate of toast in front of Lorelai and pointed. "At least eat that, it'll make me feel better. And Rory won't care if it's not completely finished. As long as her mattress isn't just sitting on the floor," she said, beginning to giggle, "or drop cloths covering all her books, and nails everywhere, lumber just leaning against the wall."

"Sookie," Lorelai said wearily, "I beg you, please stop."

She composed herself after one final, shrill giggle. "Sorry. You were saying, Luke's crazy, Rory wouldn't mind if it's not one hundred percent, continue."

"You're right: she wouldn't mind. It's the thought. And you know that, and I know that, but not even Rory herself, standing in front of him, waving a giant sign that says 'I don't care' could convince Luke of that. And he's been working so hard, and his thumb is still in the splint, so I'm trying to help him and—well, that's just ugly," she said, nodding emphatically. "We're up until all hours of the night and there's lots of pointing and grunting and 'don't touch that' and I'm about ready to hide the toolbox and put an end to the whole affair." She paused. "Wow. That was all kinds of dirty." She covered her eyes with her hands. "My brain hurts," she whimpered.

Sookie patted her arm, clucking sympathetically. "Why is it that when men try to do something sweet, they end up being backwards about it?"

"You thinking about Jackson with the baby monitor?"

"Exactly!" Sookie cried, pointing. "It's crazy!"

"I know, but try to tell them that," Lorelai said. "He means well, and he's probably just nervous about Rory coming home while we're dating, so he's doing carpentry to distract himself as some weird, manly displacement activity. But for the love of all things holy, if I could just get him to slow down. I can't say that, though, because it's a loaded term at the moment, and I don't want to add tension to tension. Because you add tension to tension and you get—"

"Jerry Springer," Sookie supplied.

"The mayor himself," Lorelai agreed. She poked the toast Sookie had given her with her index finger, wrinkling her nose. "And where is everyone? Shouldn't breakfast prep start right around twenty minutes ago?"

Sookie waved her hand dismissively. "It's all under control. We've got five minutes."

Lorelai wrinkled her brow, confused. "What time is it?"

"Quarter of eight," Sookie said cheerfully.

"What? It's—that's—that's too early! How did I not know this?" She stopped. "Did I even look at my clock when I got out of bed this morning?"

"You really are tired," Sookie said. "Promise me you won't do anything tonight, you'll just crash and rest and sleep."

"Believe me, sister, that is a promise I can keep!" Lorelai said. "Okay, I was lying before, and now I kinda want real food."

Sookie smiled and began bustling around the kitchen. "I should get started anyway. How's French toast? Double dipped, nice and crispy, little powdered sugar…"

"You talked me into it," she said, and gulped the dregs of her coffee.

Lorelai rose and walked to the coffeemaker, helping herself to another full cup. She leaned back against the counter as she drank, wishing caffeine's rejuvenating powers were equally as effective on the dull ache she'd developed at the base of her neck while helping Luke. Dear Rory, she thought, Sookie's a good friend for lying to me, but I think I really do look like a cast member of the "Thriller" video. Death probably stopped for me this morning and I didn't even notice. I'm so pale, I even feel pale. And the bags under my eyes would so have to be checked for air travel. She giggled at this, and Sookie looked up from what she was doing. Members of the kitchen crew had begun to trickle in while Lorelai was lost in her reverie.

"What's funny?" Sookie asked.

"Ah, nothing, just thinking," she replied.

Sookie began handing tasks off to her workers and wiped her hands on her apron. "So, if you don't mind my asking—"

"I hardly ever do," Lorelai said.

"—how are things going with Luke, otherwise?" she asked.

Lorelai smiled faintly. "I think things are good. Most of the time, things are good."

"And the rest of the time?"

She stared into her coffee cup, her chin to her chest. "The rest of the time I'm still three seconds away from freaking out."

Sookie closed her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, Lorelai."

"What?" she asked, her voice shrill. "What are you oh, Lorelai-ing me for?"

Sookie took up a knife and began deftly slicing strawberries, her movements so quick and agile Lorelai found herself slightly dazed, mesmerized by the action of the knife. "You know," Sookie said, "you've got a great head for business, you're one of the most confident people I know in a lot of ways, but you aren't giving yourself enough credit." She paused and pointed the knife at Lorelai. "You can do this. You can. Being three seconds away from freaking out is a security blanket, and—"

Lorelai shook her head, unsure of what she'd just heard. "Wait, stop and explain to me how freaking out can be considered a security blanket."

Her friend looked at her sidelong. "Don't take this the wrong way—remember, you know this: freaking out is what you do. Without that, all you've got is the relationship, which you've got to work at, and that in itself is scary enough. Feeling like you're about to freak out lets you out of all the hard stuff, Lorelai," Sookie said, her voice on the edge of pleading as she explained. "And all the good stuff, too. Just let it go. Because everything else you can handle together—you can deal with the tough things with Luke. That's a partnership. This fear of freaking out? That's just keeping you separate. Let it go, Lorelai," she said again.

Lorelai was silent a long moment, biting back the swell of anger that automatically, instinctively rose within her. She cradled her coffee cup to her chest, her expression sulky. "What if I don't know how?" she asked, at length.

Sookie looked at her levelly. "Then you're stuck, and you're never going to move forward."

Lorelai put the coffee cup down and hugged herself. She felt weighed down by more than her own weariness, as though Sookie's words were sitting on her shoulders, a yoke that bit into her skin. "Thanks, Sookie. I better get to work. Lots to do," she said vaguely.

"Lorelai, honey, I'm just trying to help," she replied. "Really, it wasn't meant as a criticism—I just—I want you to be happy."

Lorelai's smile was sad. "I know. And that's why you're my best friend."

"And you're mine," Sookie told her. "You still want some breakfast?"

"Nah," Lorelai said. "Maybe later?" She pointed at the door. "I'll be out there."

"And I'll be here!" Sookie said, smiling. "Lorelai? If it helps? You can do it—Luke wouldn't be around if he didn't know that."

Lorelai nodded and waved. She went straight to her office, threw herself in her chair, and laid her cheek on her desk. She closed her eyes. After a moment, she took a breath, sat up, and squared her shoulders. She smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, using the hair tie she'd looped around her wrist while getting ready for work. A little sleepiness never killed anyone, she thought, get over it, get to work, and get a grip. She rose and went about doing her job, spending her day squabbling with Michel, talking on the phone to contractors about meetings for estimates for Winky's house, chatting with guests, and drinking cup after cup of coffee. At four o'clock, she said goodbye to Sookie, giving her a hug before she went.

"Remember," Sookie said, "rest. Sleep."

"Sleep? What is this thing of which you speak?" Lorelai replied, but she nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She drove home, thinking only of a cool shower, cool sheets, and getting off her feet. She was confused to find her front door unlocked, sighing when she let herself in and heard voices coming from the back of the house. She tramped down the hall. What she saw caused her to lean against Rory's doorframe for support. There, in Rory's room, bellowing at each other, were Luke, Kirk, and her father.

Luke was on one side of the ladder, an electric drill in his hand. Kirk balanced precariously on the other, holding up the opposite end of the shelf Luke was in the process of hanging on the wall. Richard stood a few feet away from them, gesturing with his hands.

"I am telling you, man, you must move it to the left," he said.

"I made the measurements myself," Luke said. "I've got them marked on the wall. Trust me, this is where it has to go." Lorelai could hear the irritation in his voice, hard as he was trying to hold it back.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold this up," Kirk said.

"To the left," Richard said.

"This is where it needs to go," Luke replied.

"I think it would be better if you just hung it sideways," Lorelai said from her place in the doorway.

They all swiveled to look at her, looking caught. Luke gave her a pained smile and her father patted himself absently on the chest, as though he were about to search his jacket pockets for the best-phrased explanation. Kirk's expression was typically flat as he said, "Big Daddy over here paid me thirty bucks."

"Lorelai," Richard said. "How nice to see you. I was just—"

"He came by the diner," Luke said abruptly. "Looking for you."

She nodded, her eyes narrowed. "Sure. And you just ended up here, all together."

"Well, we got to talking," Luke said. Lorelai stood up straight at this.

"Luke told me about your project," Richard continued. "And with his evident injury, I thought perhaps I could be of service."

"And I never turn down money," Kirk said.

Luke gestured broadly with his hands. "I just thought, this was the biggest part, a little help…"

She crossed her arms over her chest, grinning. "Guys, guys, I'm not mad, I'm just—well, saying I'm surprised to see you all together is an understatement. You are a motley crew that puts Tommy Lee to shame. Keep going: if I don't have to do it, so much the better. I," she said, turning, "am going to hie me to the living room and get out of the way."

Forty-five minutes later, Lorelai was engrossed in a rerun of Inside the Actor's Studio on Bravo with Kate Winslet, eating licorice she'd discovered in her purse. Kirk sauntered down the hallway, hitching his pants up. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Yep, we're all done in there," he told her. "Big Daddy and I, we got those shelves up in no time."

Lorelai folded her arms on the back of the couch and looked up at him. "Kirk, you know I was just joking about that nickname."

He hesitated. "Of course. I just find that a nickname engenders—"

"Don't say engenders, Kirk," Luke said, coming to stand at the end of the hall.

"Right. Okay. I guess I'll be going now," Kirk said. "Unless, of course, you need further assistance—"

"I'm all set, Kirk," Luke said. "But thanks. Really appreciate your helping out today."

"Well," he said, abashed, "it is for Rory."

Lorelai smirked at Luke as the door closed behind Kirk. "Dear Diary," she said, her voice high, "today, Luke told me he really appreciated my helping him out. I think he's finally noticed me. This is the best day of my life!"

"Very funny," he drawled. He braced his hands on the back of the sofa and leaned over Lorelai. "Sorry to spring that on you. I thought we'd be done by the time you got home, and you'd come in and it would all be finished, and—"

"Luke," she said, putting her hand on his. "I so don't care. I'm too tired to care. It's nice that you had people to help you who weren't threatening to use your own tools against you." She looked over his shoulder. "Uh, where's my dad?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "He's in Rory's room, inspecting the alignment."

And with that, he entered the room, scratching his head. "It's the darndest thing," he said, "but I do believe you were correct."

"Measure twice, act once," Lorelai intoned. "That's the mantra, Dad. No mistakes can ever be made if one measures twice."

He looked at her blankly a moment. "Yes, well. Luke," he said, extending his hand, "a pleasure working with you this afternoon. I must say I admire your craftsmanship. Those are some quite fine bookshelves, and the headboard is impressive as well."

Lorelai had to bite back a giggle, seeing Luke blush as he thanked her father. "So, Dad," she said, "you were looking for me today?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps we might try another dinner together at the house," he said. "I believe that if you and I can reach an accord here and now and swear to be on our best behavior, it might go quite well this time."

"Are we rehearsing for a performance or eating a meal?" Lorelai asked.

"Lorelai," her father said, his tone a warning.

She sighed and looked up at him, her face petulant. Luke hung back, dragging his toe across the floorboards behind the couch. "I don't know if it's such a good idea, Dad," she said.

"Oh, nonsense, Lorelai. I think for an evening we can converse civilly, leave the past in the past, and enjoy a fine meal together. We have done it before."

Lorelai struggled not to make a face as she muttered, "for the most part." She could feel Luke watching her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Rory telling her it was the right, nice thing to do. And when, I'd like to know, did my life cease to be my own? she thought. "Fine, Dad. Whatever. I'm free tomorrow."

"Excellent," Richard said, smiling. "Luke, you must come as well."

"Ah, I don't know," he said, his head snapping up. "I—ah, well, you know—I—" He sighed. "Thanks. I'll be there."

"Splendid!" Richard cried, clapping his hands once and rubbing his palms together. "And now I take my leave of you. I shall see you tomorrow at seven."

"Indeed you shall," Lorelai said with affected pomposity, giggling slightly. She looked apologetically at Luke as her father made his way out. "It can't be as bad as last time," she told him. She rose and crossed to the other side of the sofa, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Hi," she said.

"Hi." He smiled. They stood, leaning against each other a moment, sharing a sympathetic silence. He took her hand and led her down the hall. "Tell me what you think," he said. They stood in Rory's doorway, surveying the walls.

"They look amazing," Lorelai told him. She looked at him, her face alight with a smile.

The shelves were thick planks of oak, two and a half feet each, with curved stops at either end, serving as bookends. Luke had carved the bookends himself to match the curved top of the headboard he'd almost finished. He had bracketed the shelves to the wall in vertical rows of three going across the room, so that each wall had several groups of shelving, like free-floating bookcases. He'd left space for the headboard, the armoire, and the desk he planned on building against the wall in the same manner as the shelves. He'd left the wood its natural color, sealing it with polyurethane. Lorelai thought there might be enough room there for at least the majority of Rory's books, if not all.

"She's going to love it," she said. "Really, Luke. It's perfect."

Luke shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

"How's your hand?"

He held it up to show her. "It feels fine."

"It looks gross," she said.

"That means it's healing."

Lorelai tipped her head back and stared at the empty shelves, the newly painted walls so far devoid of decoration. The bare room suddenly depressed her, and she pushed herself closer to Luke, wrapping her arms around him. She wrinkled her nose. "No offense, Luke, but you stink," she said.

"It was hot. There was heavy lifting. I'm a man. I sweat," Luke said.

"C'mon," she said. "I'm feeling less than fresh myself. We'll shower, we'll eat, we'll—let's do something. Anything." She pulled his arms around her waist, twining her own about his neck and resting her forehead against his. "We need to get out of this house," she said. "We're simultaneously going to turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining and you'll be taking an axe to the door and I'll be hallucinating women in the kitchen, and we'll both end up dead. Which would be a shame," she added.

He exhaled a little, giving her a rueful smile. "Yes, being dead would be a shame, Lorelai," he said wearily.

"Well, we're practically halfway there," she said. "You know, I love you for doing this and working so hard—it's above and beyond all the way, I mean it. Thank you." She kissed him, pulling him tightly against her. She broke the kiss after a long moment and looked at him. She put a hand to his cheek and held his eyes with her own a long moment. "But. We both look like shit. We're tired, we're cranky, we're not having any fun doing this anymore. And yes, it's for Rory and it's important and I want to do this for her, but holy Jane Austen, Luke, we have to give ourselves a break."

He kissed her lightly and took her by the hand, leading her upstairs. "Right," he said. "Shower first."

She grinned, hanging on his arm as they went up the stairs. "Oh, I just love it when you get all take-charge."

When they reached the bathroom, however, an awkward silence fell between them. Luke stood by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the tile. Lorelai tied her hair in a high, messy knot, and leaned behind the shower curtain to turn on the taps. She turned back to Luke and looked at his left shoulder, chewing her lower lip.

"It suddenly occurs to me that even though you've seen me naked and I've seen you naked, we've only ever seen each other naked when engaged in, shall we say, another activity." Luke said nothing and slightly nodded his head. "So this is a little weird, huh?" she said. "And fairly ridiculous, too. I mean, what are we going to do, just strip down to our birthday suits right in front of each other like we're two five-year-olds playing 'show me yours and I'll show you mine?'"

He cleared his throat and swallowed thickly. "You're not really helping the situation, here," he said.

She stood, her hands on her hips, and shook her head vehemently. "Okay, this is friggin' ridiculous. Come here," she said.

"What?"

"Come. Here," she said, reaching out and grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging him into a fierce kiss. After a moment, she pulled back and caught her breath, pushing his flannel shirt off his shoulders. "Okay, we're just gonna—I'll do you," she said, punctuating her words with a kiss, "and you do me."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Dirty," he said.

Lorelai laughed. "Baby's first dirty!" she cried. "Such a gimme, though." She put her hand on the back of his neck and drew him into another kiss, working his shirt up over his middle with her free hand. After a moment of creeping her hand slowly up his chest, he broke from her and pulled the tee shirt off himself, knocking his baseball hat off in the process. "Good thing the toilet lid was down," she giggled, but was silenced immediately as he kissed her again, his hands searching for the zip on her skirt, sliding it down slowly once he discovered it. The skirt puddled around her feet and she stepped forward into him, kicking it aside. He pulled back and she stumbled slightly. "What?" she said breathlessly.

"I just—your shirt, I—" he stuttered, tipping his head to the side, studying her, his expression puzzled.

"Oh, it ties in the back," she said, reaching back to undo the knot. He took her wrists firmly in his hands and held them against his chest as he kissed the tender spot behind her ear. She turned her head away from him, closing her eyes, letting him trail kisses down her neck as he untied the knot. She cradled his head in her hands, holding her breath slightly. He ran his hands down her arms, pushing her shirt off as he did. She reached for his belt buckle and her eyes flew open. "Luke," she said, surprised to find her voice slightly hoarse. He pulled back, confused. "Your shoes," she said, pointing.

He toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks. He stood before her, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. For a moment, he only looked at her. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he told her.

Lorelai blushed. "I bet you say that to all the girls you shower with," she told him.

"Just you," he said.

She helped him out of his jeans. He ran his hands down her spine, reached down and, placing his hands firmly on the back of her thighs, lifted her up. She swung her legs out and around him, locking her feet behind his back, balancing her weight carefully on his middle. She looked at him. "I like kissing you from up here," she said. He inched them both towards the shower, she reaching back to draw the curtain aside. "Wait," she said.

Luke tipped his head back slightly to meet her eyes. "What?"

"We're still—with the boxers and the undies and the bra, and—" she stopped as he lifted his hand and easily unhooked her bra. She narrowed her eyes. "You're very adept at that," she said, smirking.

"And you really want to talk about that now?" he said.

"Uh-uh," she said.

Once in the shower, under the water, they suddenly became awkward and stiff again, wary of looking at each other. The space was cramped and the floor of the tub slick. After a few moments of uncomfortable negotiation for room, for water, for footing, Lorelai groaned and leaned her forehead into Luke's shoulder, frustrated. He put his arms around her, squeezed the back of her neck reassuringly. They stood under the falling water a few moments, holding each other. Lorelai pushed away from him slightly and reached for one of the several bottles of body wash that were crammed in the caddy hanging from the shower head.

"This does not have to be a complete loss," she said, taking her loofah in hand and liberally covering it with soap. "Turn around."

"Come again?"

She bit back the dirty reply that immediately came to mind and pushed him, turning him around. Gingerly, she began to run the loofah over his shoulders. "I'll do you," she said, "and you do me."

After, they dried off together silently. Lorelai wrapped her towel tightly around her and turned to the tub. She scowled at it a moment. "I have to get one of those thingies for the bottom with the little grippers that make you not slide around." She looked at Luke over her shoulder. "Shouldn't showering together be, I don't know, sexier than that? Less like work and more like sex?"

He put his hand out and motioned for her to come closer. He put his arms around her, drew her close, rested his chin on the top of her head as he held her. After a few seconds, she realized he was shaking with suppressed laughter. She shoved him away, rolling her eyes.

"Fine, fine. Laugh if you will, I'm going to go get dressed," she told him.

He put his clothes back on in the bathroom, calling to her across the hall. "Hey, I have to stop at my place and change. These clothes—"

"They reek," she hollered. "That's fine, I don't have any food anyway. We can grab something in town."

When she emerged from her room, clad in a simple cotton sundress, he was still standing in the bathroom. He stared up at the shower head, his hands on his hips. "You have really bad water pressure," he told her. "I can fix it."

Lorelai grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him towards the living room. "Just don't break anything this time," she said.

They walked hand in hand towards the center of town, not talking. Both were more tired than they were willing to admit. Luke squeezed Lorelai's hand, absently running his thumb over hers. She started slightly at this, feeling the familiar flutter in her ribcage, the slight constriction in her throat. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, overwhelmed by the surge of feeling within her, feeling tinged with sadness. Sookie's statement from early that morning had been rattling in the back of her mind all day, needling at her. She shook her head slightly, as though she could displace the guilt and confusion through the sheer force of will. She returned the pressure on his hand, and he smiled slightly at her.

Luke paused in the diner to see how things were going before he went upstairs to change. Lorelai sat at a stool by the counter, her chin in her hand. Thinking idly about what food she was in the mood for, she had a sudden brainstorm. "Caesar," she said, waving him over from the other end of the counter. "Hey, when Luke comes down, just tell him to meet me at the gazebo. And tell him to bring a blanket. And no food." He nodded silently and walked away again. "You're a peach," she muttered, and slid off the stool, left the diner.

Ten minutes later, she hurried her steps towards the square, lugging a large paper bag with both hands, holding it away from her dress slightly. She smiled to herself as she walked. She squinted against the setting sun as she approached the gazebo. Luke was waiting for her, leaning against a pillar, facing away from her, his hands in his pockets. Lorelai called out to him and he turned, immediately descending to take the bag from her hands. She stood still a moment after he did, watching him walk back up the gazebo stairs. Instead of his usual uniform, he wore a white oxford with his jeans, the shirt open at the collar and untucked. The baseball hat was absent altogether.

"Luke, I am speechless," she said. "Look at you."

He averted his eyes. "It's too hot for flannel today." He put the paper bag on a bench and looked at her expectantly. He had laid the blanket on the gazebo floor, and she gestured to him to sit, smirking as she did.

"You dressed up for a date, didn't you?" she asked. He shrugged. "Seriously, Luke, you're a total woman sometimes," she told him, but her tone was affectionate, teasing.

He ignored her and jerked his chin at the paper bag. "Whatta ya got there?" he asked, pulling it down and placing it between them.

Lorelai arranged herself on the blanket, tucking her legs up under her. She opened the bag and peered inside, bringing out containers as she spoke. "You've got your kung pow, your szchezuan, your General Tso's, your lo mein, your hunaan—it's a veritable cornucopia of delicious treats."

"Chinese food," he said darkly. He picked up a pair of chopsticks and considered them warily. "You're kidding."

"The way I figure it is that the more food I eat with preservatives and weird things that I can't pronounce, the longer I will stay youthful and stunning," she told him. "Pick one," she said, taking the kung pow chicken for herself. Reluctantly, he reached for the szchezuan beef.

Luke split the chopsticks apart from each other and stared at them a moment. "How are you supposed to eat with these things?" he asked her.

"You use a fork," she said, handing him a plastic one in a baggie. She traded him the chop sticks and began jabbing at the container she held, her tongue between her teeth, her brow set in concentration.

He watched her, bemused. "You know how to use those things?"

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Please. If Uma can do it, I can totally do it." It took her a few moments to get the hang of it, and even when she did, she ate with the take-out carton immediately beneath her chin. "Here," she said after a while, "switch."

"What?"

"It's Chinese food, Luke, it's communal. You can't dominate one entrée, it's against the laws of the universe."

When she'd had her fill, Lorelai rose and stretched. Luke piled the leftovers back in the paper bag and soon followed suit, getting slowly to his feet. Lorelai rested her chin on her shoulder and studied him, a smile playing on her lips.

"My goodness but you're a handsome man, Luke Danes," she said.

"Right," he said dryly.

"I mean it!" she said. "You're really wearing that shirt." She sat on the bench and crossed her legs, patting the place just beside her. He sat and put his arm around her shoulders. "I've always liked the whole white shirt with jeans look. It should be the handsome man uniform. There is not a handsome man alive that cannot pull off the white shirt with jeans."

"I'll remember that." He fidgeted where he sat, unable to keep his feet still.

Lorelai put her hand on his knee. "Hey," she said softly. "We have a few days yet, okay? Don't worry about it."

He nodded. "I know."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

He passed his hand over his face, sighing. "It's nothing."

Lorelai took her hand back and sat up a little straighter. "Translation," she said. "It's Lorelai."

"It's not," he said. "I'm just—I'm tired, is all."

"Okay, sure," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "We should go; we're both exhausted."

"Lorelai, don't, okay? I'm fine."

Once again, they found themselves under the weight of another oppressive and uncomfortable silence. Lorelai wondered if, unable to read him, she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion and in doing so only reminded him of the thing that was constantly just under the surface. Pouting, she indulged in a brief moment of intense self-pity commingled with self-disgust. She looked over her shoulder. It was movie night at the library, and people began to trickle past, falling into a line in front of the building.

"Quite a crowd tonight," she murmured. "Hey," she said, quickly turning to Luke. "Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me. Right now. And I'm not talking about some half-assed kiss, I mean, full-out—"

He cut her off, taking her face in his hands. When he kissed her, Lorelai felt shots of electricity in her fingertips, her palms, her spine. Her middle tightened and she leaned into him, resting her hands in the crooks of his elbows. She lost herself, forgetting everything but the way he tasted, the way he felt, the pressure of his lips, the scratch of his stubble. She felt heady, drunk. His kisses were always strong, always full of feeling, but as he kissed her now she felt everything she had when he'd kissed her the first time, when everything was laden with uncertainty and expectation and the knowledge that when he drew her to him, they couldn't go back.

"Get a room!"

Luke broke the kiss, startled by the cry that came from a passerby on the street. Lorelai gripped his arms, her eyes locked on his face. "Not yet," she said, kissing him again.

"Now, really, you two, is that appropriate behavior to display in public? On a town landmark, no less? There are people over at the library, watching you. People with children." Taylor stood on the grass below them, his arms crossed over his chest. "If you do not cease and desist at this moment, I will be forced to place you under citizen's arrest for indecency."

Lorelai pressed her cheek to Luke's. "Take me home," she whispered.

He took her by the hand and rose, drawing her to her feet, pulling her slightly behind him as he stepped down the stairs. "Shove it, Taylor," he said.

"You can't just leave your things there like that, Luke," Taylor declared, pointing.

Luke said nothing, walking briskly down Main Street, Lorelai trailing slightly behind him. When they cleared the center of town, he slowed. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"What was that about?" he asked. "You know I don't usually enjoy an audience for those sorts of things, but I thought I'd go along with it. Seemed important."

She wrapped her arms around him as they walked, pushing her cheek into his shoulder. "I was," she said slowly, "embracing the fear."

He was quiet a few paces, mulling it over. "And?"

She tilted her face up to him. "It was scary. It was good." She took a deep breath. "I'm good," she said. She kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Lorelai thought his eyes were slightly watery as he replied. "I know you do. I love you."

She smiled broadly. "God help you, Luke Danes."

Luke kissed her lightly and they continued home in the falling dusk.