Her less-than-serious musings were interrupted by her cell phone. She glanced at the display, and her heart seized. Rory.

"Hi."

"Hi."

A pause.

"I want it on the record you called me."

"So, how are things at the Dragonfly?"

"We've expanded to forty-five rooms and added a floorshow since the last time I talked to you."

"Mom, I know—"

"I'm serious. We're thinking of getting Celine to perform, but I don't know if we can support that swooping-in contraption."

"How long are you going to be this way?"

"Be what way?"

"This way. This—weird passive-aggressive making jokes and not talking way."

"I am talking, I'm mocking Celine Dion and you're not joining in."

"I tried to call and talk."

"Then talk."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Work like what?"

"You can't just order…" Rory sighed in frustration. "Nevermind."

"Tell me what I can't order. Extra onion rings? Fries? Kirk to keep his clothes on?"

"I asked you about the Dragonfly."

"It's almost open."

"I know." It was little more than a mumble.

"It opens tomorrow night."

"I know." More mumbling.

"Are you going to be here?"

Silence.

"Guess that's my answer."

"Mom, it's not because of you, it's because of Dean."

"Have you talked to him?"

Rory was still silent. Finally: "No." She took an audible breath. "And I don't want to come to the Dragonfly and meet him there."

"Rory, this isn't like reality television. You can't just ignore it and hope it will go away."

"I know that, okay, I know, and I don't need you talking to me like I'm thirteen."

"Well, you haven't been handling this situatio—"

"Don't tell me how I have been handling this situation, because you don't know." Rory's voice was beginning to rise.

"Have you been handling it some other way than running off to Boston and not facing anything?"

"I didn't call to fight with you!"

"I'm not trying to start a fight, Rory, I'm trying to figure out what is going on with you."

"So am I." Rory was at a near-yell by this point, and Lorelai didn't answer immediately, the line quiet as they both caught their breath. After a moment, Rory plunged ahead: "I'm trying to figure out what to do and how to deal with this and how to do that on my own, and that's why I left. I know you want to try and fix everything and tell me what to do, but I did this, I made this decision, and I'm going to handle it."

Lorelai's voice was quiet, and serious, and deceptively calm. "Rory, that doesn't mean you have to stay away from the people who love you."

Rory made a soft sniffling sound. "Have you heard from him?"

"Him who?"

"You know who."

"He quit."

"He what?"

"He quit working at the inn."

"When?"

"Monday."

"Oh."

Another pause. Lorelai heard indistinct noises from the background.

Rory sounded rushed and a bit relieved. "It sounds like Gigi is getting into stuff again, so I'd better go. Bye, Mom."

Lorelai clenched her jaw. "Rory—" she broke off. "Bye."

Lorelai woke Friday morning with a strange sensation in her chest. She rolled over, hit the alarm clock a little too hard, and waited a minute for whatever it was to sink in.

The Dragonfly. Today. Her very own inn.

She jumped out of bed (ok, it was more like a faster-than-usual-roll) and ran for the shower. Her inn. Today. Her inn!

She could feel the other thing gnawing at her, too, the voices that said Rory's not here and everything's not ready and it might not be okay, but for the moment she could drown them out. The Dragonfly. Her dream. And it was finally here.

The day passed in a whirl of activity. The guests began to arrive at noon, and Lorelai stood with the entire staff on the porch to greet them. Sookie was practically bouncing in place, and even Michel seemed to be in a good mood. (Lorelai briefly considered marking this on some sort of calendar.) The four new kitchen staff (they were working their way up) were working overtime to prepare a special lunch (just for today, on the house) with an afternoon snack (Lorelai refused to call it tea) to follow later.

The day wasn't without its glitches: Lorelai could still see little flaws everywhere: a low tire on a golf cart, a paint touch-up she missed, one room still missing an over-the-door coathook.

But it went well. Better than well, it was fantastic. Her business travelers were thrilled with the wireless internet Michel had insisted she install; the young couple loved the long trail winding over the bridge and back to town square, and everyone loved Cletus and Desdemona. Lorelai spent the day checking on the staff, talking with guests, making corrections and touch-ups here and there, and calming Sookie whenever she got the chance.

It wasn't until late that night that the ache set in, after dinner, when the guests began, one by one, to drift off to bed. The Dragonfly seemed suddenly large, and quiet, and imposing. Most of the staff had gone home; Jackson was waiting in the dining room for Sookie, who insisted on seeing that every last ladle was shined and every last knife was sharpened before she went home. She gave Lorelai a quick squeeze and an excited laugh and returned home to Davey, walking out the door with Jackson, hand in hand. Lorelai sank down into a chair, taking in the silence.

She knew what she needed.

Coffee.

And possibly a friend.

Luke glanced up in surprise when she pushed open the door.

"Didn't think I'd see you tonight."

"You'll have to speak more slowly. I've gone twelve hours without caffeine. "

"Impossible."

"Believe it, my friend. Stranger things have happened."

"Not with Kirk out of the room."

She smiled as he poured a cup.

"I can't believe Sookie doesn't keep you supplied over there."

"Yes, but her coffee is not Luke's coffee, and if you ever repeat that I'll have to kill you."

"I think she'll take care of that first."

"Hmm, good point." Lorelai took a long sip.

"How'd the opening go?"

She let her eyes fall to countertop, studying the formica and her own hands, drawing idle lines. "Rory didn't come."

She heard his intake of breath. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "But I really can't."

"Lorelai, whatever it is—"

"It's Rory's thing to tell." She looked up and met his gaze, eyes level and serious. He nodded.

"Pie?"

"It's like you're a mind-reader."

"You've already used that one once this week."

"I'm tired and the guests ate all the cake."

"And you let them stay?"

"If it weren't for that whole paying-the-bills thing." She gave him a tight smile, then reached over and covered his hand with hers. "Thank you."

"Anytime." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then slowly pulled his own away. "Pie it is."

Lorelai ate her pie in relative silence, merely listening as Luke finished wiping down the counter and stacking all the chairs. After he finished, he crossed back to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot, ready to pour her a second cup. She clamped a hand over the mug.

Luke looked alarmed.

"You really are upset."

"Actually, I'd like a to-go cup. I want to go home and get some sleep."

"The coffee's gonna help with that."

"Never question my caffeine tolerance."

He pulled out a to-go cup, extra large, and filled it to the brim. Lorelai grinned.

She stood up to leave, but lingered near the counter instead. She was standing, not speaking, not certain what to say. He watched her; she could see his mind working, the questions behind his eyes.

Finally, she said, quietly: "Walk me back?"

She guessed he didn't know what this was about, or why, but he didn't question, simply flipped the light switch and followed her to the door. Outside, she took in a deep breath, inhaling the cool late-spring air. "It really is beautiful."

He nodded, hands jammed in his pockets. "So how did the opening go?"

"Great," she said softly, and added, with a touch of bitterness: "It was perfect."

"She'll come home soon."

"You don't know that."

"I know Rory."

"Maybe not as well as you think."

He shot her a quizzical glance, and she merely shook her head. "Thanks, though. For trying."

He nodded, eyes still fixed mostly on the ground, with the occasional glance over at her.

When they finally reached her front porch, she set the coffee down on the railing, turned to Luke, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her tightly, hands rubbing light circles across her back.

"Thank you," she whispered against his skin.

He simply nodded.

Lorelai took a deep breath, feeling the press of his arms and the warmth of his skin. He was present, and real, and tangible, and he was there for her. No questions asked.

She knew then: what she needed.

Without warning, Lorelai pulled back sharply, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up the steps and across to the far side of the porch.

"Lorelai, what are you doing?"

She stepped closer, reaching up to take his face in both her hands. "Babette's window is right over there, and I don't want her to see me do this." She pulled his face down to meet hers, kissing him firmly, without doubt or reservation. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. They remained locked in place for a moment, moving slowly, neither one willing to pull away.

Lorelai went rigid at the sound of a squeaking hinge and a porcelain mug, bouncing on the wooden porch.

"Mom?"

Rory stood, openmouthed, in the doorway.