Disclaimer: I'm unofficial, I don't own Gilmore Girls.
Description: A fluffy, pocket-sized L&L story that takes place eventually after Raincoats and Recipes. It's sweet like Cool Whip.
To You, From Me: Be sweet, too, read and review. But above all, enjoy!
Breakfast by Emily
After a few unanswered knocks, Luke opens the front door and calls out.
"Lorelai! Are you up yet?"
Caught off-guard by the sounds of his voice and his approaching footsteps, Lorelai swallows a mouthful of her breakfast without chewing, reaches forward and sweeps her dish off the table. She turns sideways in her chair, curling over the bowl and drawing her knees up beneath it, sneaking the spoon into her mouth again as he enters the kitchen.
"'Morning!" she mumbles through her bite. Luke pauses at the doorway, suspicious, considering her curious posture.
"What's for breakfast?" he asks. Eyes on her, he makes a wide circle around the table. Her body mirrors his approach. She uses her slippered feet to rotate on the chair seat, always keeping her back to him and her eyes focused on her dish.
"Nothing; cereal," she says casually, without meeting his gaze. She holds her bowl close under her chin, still stooped away from him.
"Hmm-hmm." Luke opens one cabinet, and then another, finding blue boxes of macaroni and cheese, microwave popcorn, a jar of chunky peanut butter, cans of pasta with cartoon characters on the label and a box of taco shells. Finally, in the third cabinet, he turns up a box of Cheerios. He slides his finger under the flap and scoops out a handful, dropping them into his mouth one by one. The same way Lorelai would eat the stocked M&M's, which were hiding behind the cereal. "Cheerios?" he muses, feigning impressed disbelief.
"It's the 'unsinkable taste!'" she announces over her shoulder, her mouth full. Luke puts the box down, still crunching on cereal and opens the refrigerator. He bends down to peer inside and gives its inventory a thorough once over.
"With milk?" he tests her without standing up. He listens for a response, but, for once, she has nothing. He cocks his gaze toward her expectantly, catching her eyes just as she gives in. Caught, she unfolds herself from around her breakfast. He closes the fridge and looks down into the half-empty bowl, which she has placed on the table and pushed toward him for inspection. "Cool Whip?"
"We're out of milk," she points out, as if he hasn't already discovered. He stifles a grin with a stern expression and nods.
"I see." Searching for redemption, she gestures toward the breakfast table in general.
"There was fruit! You just missed it. It was good," she assures him with a serious nod. Her expression is somewhere between blankly informative and deceptively innocent.
Interesting maneuver; Luke wasn't expecting this story. He sits down across from her, crossing his arms and leaning back. He stretches his foot toward hers, resting his leather boot alongside her fuzzy slipper with comfortable affection. "Fruit, huh? Blueberries are in season." Nonchalantly inquisitive; no, he is feeling her out. With a well-timed stare, he apprehends her right on the brink of mischievous victory.
"Okay," Lorelai confesses, flourishing one "you got me!" hand above her shoulder as she swipes her other ring finger and pinky along the edge of her bowl. "I squeezed the filling out of a toaster strudel." She puts two fingers in her mouth and looks at him from beneath her eyelashes, half remorseful, half seductress. Luke is already smiling, but this face elicits a chuckle – and a muted blush.
"You squeezed the very life essence from a toaster strudel?" She nods remorsefully, fingers still caught between her lips. "And what became of this empty shell of a breakfast pastry?" Haughtily, she plucks her fingers from her mouth, picks up her bowl and prances to the sink.
"Rory ate it on her way out. I told her she needed to add some fiber to her diet." Luke nods again, still smiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her flounce past his chair. Under the table, his shoe waits impatiently for its furry companion to return. He listens as she rinses her dish in the sink, rolls down the top of the Cheerios package, closes the box and returns it to the cabinet. He guesses that she is secretly considering the earliest time of day appropriate for breaking out those M&M's. He anticipates her delicate footsteps returning to her seat at the table.
"Can I make you some breakfast?" he offers without looking up. He loves her; he'll put Cool Whip in her omelette if she dares to suggest it. She surprises him from behind with her arms around his neck, chin on his shoulder. When he glances sideways at her profile, he can see the silhouette of her lashes, flirting playfully. She holds out a freshly Cool Whipped index finger, offering him a taste.
"How 'bout I make you breakfast?" She punctuates her offer with a kiss on his cheek. He laughs. He accepts.
the end