For the TWOP ficathon Holiday Challenge
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Labor Day weekend and Luke is feeling pressure.
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"Who said anything about our getting married?!" she barked in exasperation.
"Well, it sure as hell wasn't me!" he snapped back.
"No kidding!" she returned.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"You just don't have such a great commitment record, that's all," she told him.
"Well, look who's talking!"
"Hey! I have tried. I have really tried," she told him softly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down a moment— what the hell's going on here?
He eyed her in silent anger.
"Luke, I don't understand where all this is coming from," she finally looked up to say.
He looked away.
"Has something happened? Why are you angry and yelling at me about marriage?!"
No response.
"Luke, answer me, please."
He couldn't.
"Gah!" she cried in exasperation. "You know what? I'm sure the running joke with everyone is how high maintenance I must be. But getting you to talk, Mister, to explain what's going on inside that baseball-hatted-head... Sometimes, I just... Augh! Luke, honestly, sometimes it's just more work than I have in me."
He could only grip the screwdriver he was holding more tightly.
She waited one moment.
Nothing.
"So you're gonna stay mum?" she double checked. "Okay, Luke. Well, that's fine. Just... fine... Um, listen... I appreciate you're helping out here today, I really do. I don't know why the hell you're angry with me, but clearly you're not going to share. If you ever are interested in cluing me in, I'd appreciate it. But I'd just as soon not play 'Twenty Unanswered Questions' any more with you right now."
Still nothing.
"So, I've got to go back in and finish getting ready for Emily's event," she finally let out with a sigh.
And with that she turned away to walk back into the Inn.
No wonder he's over forty and as yet to really commit! No wonder women leave him in frustration! No-fucking-wonder! He's like a big, huge, impenetrable... monolithic... unopening.... silent.. thing! It's like trying to get blood from a stone... What the hell is going on with him? And then: Is this how it's gonna be?
She steamed and mulled this as she climbed the porch steps and headed for the kitchen. And then stopped cold mid-step as a sudden surprising wave of sympathy for both Rachel and Nicole washed over her.
"Gah!" she yelled at no one then.
Women, he thought with a snort, when he could finally form a coherent thought of his own.
Then: No, you ass, not women---Lorelai....
Ah, Shit.
Earlier that morning....
He folded the newspaper and put it under the counter. It was too depressing to think on, the news. Though he knew it would stay in the back of his head for the rest of the day.
He tried to shake it off. Go back to work.
The thing about Labor Day weekend and the diner business is that you just never know how it's gonna go. Some years everyone got out of town for one last hurrah in a cooler clime, other years folks stayed home and barbecued, but once in awhile, with no warning, people too lazy to cook came in droves. And he'd never been able to break the code and figure out how to predict what the diner attendance was going to be. It was a pain in the ass. He could have too much ground beef on hand and too little help, or vice versa. At least if it rained, he understood what the odds were, but with The Gilmore Event going on this weekend, and no rain forecast, it was a crap- shoot.
The fact that it was already hot as hades outside at six a.m. wasn't helping matters any either. He'd had to put on the cotton plaid instead of the flannel.
He turned over the last chair then and sat it on the floor with a sigh.
Then looked up to see her tapping on the door. He walked toward her unable to ignore the flipping in his stomach at the unexpected sight of her. After a summer of dating, it was getting harder (yes, in the Dirty way) to see her without certain unbidden thoughts moving from the darkened back of his brain to the brightly lit forefront. These thoughts were mostly images really, images that invoked.... certain feelings. Images of them. Of her. Of them together. Of him watching her. Touching her...
He snapped the lock back then to let her in, trying to banish the thoughts back down. Cool off, old man, he told himself for the millionth time. When the time is right, it will be right. We aren't frickin' teenagers... Geez.
"Hey," she said as she walked in and leaned over to kiss him softly.
"Hey yourself," he said with a smile.
"You okay? You looked a million miles away."
"I'm fine," he said and walked behind the counter. She followed and slid onto a stool in front of him. "How come you're in so early? I'm sure you have a million things to do for tonight."
"A million and one," she assured him, "and I think you know why I'm here."
"Coffee?" he asked reaching for a mug.
"Luke!" she scolded dramatically, "How can you accuse me of such selfish motives when you know how I pine for you when we are separated? How do you know I didn't just miss you so much that I couldn't be away from you a minute longer?"
"So, it's the coffee?" he asked.
"Yep," she said and dove into a big gulp.
He shook his head and smiled. Almost.
"Get this," she said when she came back up for air, "I have to get to the Inn in fifteen minutes to meet with the ice sculpture guy."
Luke looked up from the doughnut box he'd turned to unpack. "Ice sculpture?"
"Yeah, 'Two Cooing Bluebirds'," she told him with a laugh. "And, by the way, the look on your face right now?—Priceless."
"Why the hell would anyone want a sculpture made out of ice?" he asked "Sounds like a waste of money and water."
"Oh Luke, I know you are a forty-something lone wolf, but you must know that women dream of having crap like that at their weddings their whole lives," she laughed again.
"But it isn't a wedding, they're just renewing their vows," he explained.
"Your point?" she raised a brow, smiled, and took another sip.
Luke was at a loss to understand such things. "Your mother is sixty. She is still dreaming of ice sculptures?"
"Luke, she never got to do the daughter-wedding of her dreams, so she's doing another for herself. And I gotta say, despite the fact that it's still a pain in my ass, that I prefer it this way."
"Oh," he said in confusion. Huh. Emily would probably want some kind of fancy event for Lorelai, he reflected then. Of course she would. After only a brief summer of occasional dining with the Gilmores, he'd come to realize that everything had to be fancy with them. And expensive.
"Oh hey," she interrupted him, "I almost forgot: Do you know anything about fountains?"
"Fountains?" he asked dumbly still caught up in his thoughts about Lorelai's parents and what kind of... expectations... they might have. Or for that matter, she might have. Huh.
"Luke," Lorelai leaned in concerned, placing a hand over his to stop the mindless counter wiping, "Are you okay?"
He shook himself and looked down at her: God, she was beautiful. God, he wanted her. God, he loved her....
Wait a minute, Danes...
You love her?!
"I'm fine," he told her.
I love her, he thought. Huh.
"Are you sure?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
"What?" he refocused his eyes on her face. His heart was beating. He could hear his heart beating. Why was that? Could she hear it?
"Luke, you're scaring me."
Get a grip, Butch.
"Sorry, just thinking about the day... Stupid fake holiday; Labor Day. I never know what kind of supplies to lay in, how many people to have on..."
"At what time exactly to pack away the white shoes," she added merrily. When that got no response she moved on, "I thought you were closing early because everyone is going to The Dragonfly tonight?"
"I am," he allowed, "but I've still got breakfast and lunch," he reminded her.
She nodded. "Okay," she said gently, still looking at him curiously.
Luke gave himself another mental shake. "So fountain, did you say?"
"Yeah, Mom ordered this champagne fountain to go in the new gazebo that Tom built and I can't get it to work. I stayed until after dark last night with my flashlight and everything and I just couldn't quite get it to flow right."
"Lorelai, that purple fuzzy flashlight doesn't give off enough light to do anything," he told her.
Lorelai ignored him, "The fountain?" she asked pointedly.
"You really need a better flashlight, maybe two," he went on, lost again on his own trail. I love her, he kept thinking; I love, Lorelai. Huh. "One for the car and one for the house. No, wait, three," he went on, "One for Rory's car too. For emergencies." They'd had some on sale at the hardware store last week, he remembered. And then, again, I love her.
"Luke! You're fading out on me again!"
"Sorry. Tell you what, I was going to pick up the Chuppah after the lunch rush to bring over for you, so I'll look at your fountain then."
"Thank you," she smiled beatifically and got up to go.
"Wait a minute!" he stopped her with a delayed realization, "Did you just say it's a champagne fountain?"
"Yep," she grinned.
"What the hell is that?"
"Sorta like a cross between a garden decoration and a fancy drinking fountain," she shrugged.
"With?..." he prompted.
"Um, yeah —With ten grand worth of Dom running through it," she added, embarrassed by the typical Emily over-opulence.
"Wow," he whistled low.
"I know," she nodded.
The day continued to heat up like an oven. Luke even conceded to run the air in the diner, but it wasn't helping a whole bunch and the frickin' bacon supply was dangerously low. Damn fake holiday. You just can't be sure of anything.
This had turned into a 'They came in droves' Labor Day Saturday lunch rush (the BLT mysteriously popular) and even as it was now ebbing, the regulars seemed to want to sit and chat: The air abuzz with the night ahead.
"Wait until you see it," drawled Patty to Babette as Luke topped off her coffee again, "I got it on sale: Black and White zebra striped silk. I'll be gorgeous!" she fanned herself, and then, "Thanks, Luke."
"Oh Luke, it's so nice of Lorelai's parents to have her invite so many of us in town too!" gushed Babette as he turned his attention to her mug. "I'm so excited. This is going to be one swanky evening. I even got Morrie's bow tie out of storage this morning," she confided.
"Yep," was all Luke said. The wedding of the century was still hours off and he was already heartily sick of it.
"And then you'll be next, sweetheart," smiled Patty.
"Excuse me?" asked Luke.
"Ooo! That's right," squealed Babette, "A big fancy Gilmore wedding for Luke and Lorelai! I can't wait!"
"I've gotta make the rounds," he mumbled and walked away, their giggling delight following him across the room.
"Thanks, Luke," said Kirk as Luke filled his mug now, "You know Lorelai has invited Lulu and I to stay in the Inn again tonight," he shared.
"I know, Kirk," he snapped and turned to fill Lulu's mug as well.
"It was so nice of her," smiled Lulu.
"Yeah well, her parents have rented the whole place for the weekend anyway and none of their friends are going to stay over, so Lorelai thought it'd be nice," he explained, not even he could bring himself to snap at Lulu.
"I just want you to know that now that I am medicated, my night terrors have ceased," Kirk told him proudly.
"Well, that's great Kirk."
"So you won't have to, you know..."
"I get the picture, Kirk."
"So, Luke, I was wondering," Kirk changed the subject then, "if you'd be needing any of my services in the relatively near future?"
That stopped Luke in his already half turn away from them.
"What do you mean, Kirk?"
"Well, we all know you'll be proposing soon, so I just wanted to remind you that I am an experienced DJ, for both weddings and engagement parties and, I also wanted to let you know, that I write a pretty mean love letter, if I do say do myself."
"Oh, he certainly does!" agreed Lulu, her eyes shining.
"It would be a very romantic way to propose," Kirk told him meaningfully. "And as we are such good friends, I would give you a very good rate."
"You want me to hire you to write a letter of proposal?!" asked a dumbfounded Luke, trying to get it straight.
"Luke!" he saw Taylor waving at him from the counter. Best to just walk away from Kirk's madness, he decided.
"What is it, Taylor?" he snapped as he walked behind the counter. He just couldn't bring himself to sock Kirk in front of his girlfriend anyway, however much he wanted to.
"We need to talk," Taylor told him decisively.
"About?" Luke demanded testily as he topped off Taylor's mug.
"The fall tourists."
"What about them, Taylor?" he barked.
"I need to know how long you plan to close up this fall."
"Why would I close up this fall?" asked Luke.
"Well, I assume for your honeymoon," responded Taylor matter-of-factly.
"My what?!"
"I know you and Lorelai are little eager beavers and all—but do you think you could postpone things until, say, January? Things are always more slow around here then, and that way we wouldn't lose any tourists because they can't find a place to eat..."
"Oh," agreed Patty, at the counter now to pay her bill, "Lorelai would love a winter wedding, you know how she loves snow!"
"Oh yeah, she does," agreed Babette as she lay a couple of dollars over her check on the counter, "And that way Rory'd be on break and not have to miss school."
"I hadn't thought of that," agreed Patty thoughtfully.
"Just a minute..." started Luke.
Kirk stepped up with his check then. "A honeymoon in the tropics in January would be a great getaway," he mused.
"I'll bring over the brochures from my Carribean cruise later, Luke," Taylor added.
"I picture Lorelai in a much more romantic setting, like maybe Rome," said Lulu dreamily.
"Rome?!" barked Luke "Listen..–"
"Did I just overhear that you and Lorelai are getting married?" interrupted Reverend Skinner as he took over the last empty stool at the lunch counter, "Congratulations, Luke! Let me know if you need my services soon though. Lots of weddings in the fall. I book up quickly," he said amiably.
"Oh my God," squealed Lane, as she came in from the storeroom retying her apron, "You and Lorelai are getting married?!" she threw her arms around Luke for a quick squeeze. "Rory and I have been talking about that all summer! She didn't think you'd ever make a move and propose. But my money was on you, cowboy!"
That did it.
His knuckles gripping the coffee pot could get no whiter.
"Lorelai and I are not getting married!" he finally bellowed, unable to take it any longer.
And the enthusiasm emptied out of the room like water down a drain.
"Oh dear," sighed Babette, shaking her head sadly, "Don't you love her, Luke?"
"W-What?! That's n-none of your business," he sputtered in anger.
Then the mood in the diner perceptibly changed: From shock to frosty hostility.
Patty glared at him, "You better not be taking that girl for a ride, Lucas Danes."
"Patty," he clenched his jaw, "None of this is any of your..."
"I'll tell you what!" declared Kirk as he stepped forward manfully, "If you don't do the right thing by Lorelai, you'll have me to answer to!"
Luke blinked at that.
"I mean it, Luke! You're bigger and stronger but what's right is right!" Kirk slammed his hand onto the counter for emphasis.
Taylor stood up then too, "Your father would be ashamed of you, Luke!" he cast upon him and with that they all turned to go.
Luke deflated as he watched them all stalk out. Where had this day gone? From the gulping realization that he loved her to this... whatever had just happened. He looked down at the counter then without seeing it. His reflexes had just been unable to match the speed of life around him today. Why couldn't these nutjobs just let him do his work in peace?
He sighed his frustration.
He couldn't seem to process. Couldn't think of a thing to say or yell or... hit.
He looked helplessly over at Lane then.
She merely shook her head sadly, "You were going to go get the Chuppah after the lunch rush," she reminded him. "Everyone's pretty much gone. I'll finish and close up," she said and turned away from him too...
And then suddenly he was pissed. Not just annoyed: Fucking pissed.
He marched out the front of the diner then on the way to his truck, resisting the urge to smack the troubadour as he belted out 'Going to the chapel...'
He tried to calm down en route. He really did. And, truthfully, he did feel somewhat better by the time he'd loaded the Chuppah, stopped at the hardware store, and arrived at the Inn.
But then he'd walked in on the women admiring the wedding cake in the kitchen. And subsequently overheard Emily laying out the ideal scenario for Lorelai's wedding to an eager audience. In detail. The hell? Two million dollar weddings of her own weren't enough for this woman? And did he just hear right? A sleigh?
Still, he'd tried to hold it all in. He really did.
Even later, after an hour and a half laying flat on his back underneath a champagne fountain of all things and in two thousand degree heat, beads of perspiration in his eyes, trying to get his screwdriver in the right place...
And it had been Lorelai's fault really. She had started it...
"Dirty!" she laughed as she sat nearby to hand him tools, "Can't get your screwdriver in the right place! Ha!" she laughed.
He grimaced, "The threads on the screw are stripped," he puffed with exertion, "If I can't get it loose, you'll never get the flow you need... And if you say dirty again, I'll... Wait a minute... There, got it!" he said in relief as the screw finally loosened.
He sat up in the swelter and lifted his shirt front to wipe his eyes.
From there things got murky, (maybe it was the heat) even when he went over and over them in his mind later...
She handed him a glass of ice tea and started babbling about how happy her mother was... How glad she was that her parents were coming back together... How perfect they were for one another and all... And then something weird about Sookie's mystical wedding cake making abilities... How this first wedding at the Inn was going to be so beautiful...
"I am so sick and tired of hearing about weddings and marriage," he sighed, more to himself than anyone else and took another gulp of tea...
"Oh," she said. That's all, just 'Oh.'
He'd eyed her at the tone. "What does that mean?" he asked.
She looked back at him cooly. "It means 'Oh' as in 'I am registering my comprehension of your wedding dislike.' That's all," and she shrugged.
"It seems like a waste of money in general," he went on contrarily, feeling sticky and miserable, "What percentage of marriages end in divorce, anyway? Forty? Sixty?"
"I don't know, Lancelot," she said, her eyes wide.
"I mean everyone tries to force you into marriage, when clearly most are doomed to fail," he went on bitterly. Wait a minute, who said that? he thought.
"Luke, no one is trying to force you into marriage," said Lorelai, her eyes cold now. She stood up from where she'd been sitting on the floor of the gazebo.
He stood as well, "That's what you think!" he snapped.
Lorelai put her hands on her hips and leveled a look at him.
Crap, he thought.
"Luke, no one is trying to force you into marriage," she said, deadly calm.
Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack, his brain told him.
He made a lame attempt, "I was just talking in general, Lorelai." He averted her gaze then.
"In general?" she repeated warily.
Being put in this position was not good. In fact, it was getting him pissed all over again. Yep, he was rapidly moving from cranky to pissed fast.
"Yes, in general," he emphasized, "Not about us and... marriage," he added and bent to pack up his tool box, praying it would all magically end before he had to look her in the eye again.
"Who said anything about our getting married?!" she barked in exasperation.
"Well, it sure as hell wasn't me!" he snapped back, rising again to meet her. (Full on anger now.)
"No kidding!" she returned.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"You just don't have such a great commitment record, that's all," she told him.
"Well, look who's talking!"
"Hey! I have tried. I have really tried," she said softly....
He couldn't even remember now everything else that was said, or not said, as he watched her walk back to the Inn.
You love her, you jerk.
He bent over then and picked up a paper sack next to himand jogged to catch her before she went in. When he got to the porch steps, he grabbed her arm when she paused a moment.
She turned to look at him, her mouth set in a kind of fury. Her eyes suspiciously bright.
"Lorelai..." he said.
"Luke, I don't think we should..."
"Please," he said.
She looked at him, nodded, sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. Waiting.
He looked about him then and spied a porch swing in the corner and pulled her over to it.
"Sit down," he told her.
She looked at him darkly.
He sighed, "Please."
She nodded and sat, her arms still crossed. Still waiting.
He paused, not knowing what he wanted to say.
"Fucking Labor Day. Stupid fake holiday," he muttered as he set his bag down.
She cocked her brow at that.
He put his hands on his hips then and looked out across the lawn at the gazebo.
"Luke?" she prompted impatiently.
"I look at that champagne fountain and it seems like kind of a joke..." he said.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"I mean, I usually work my ass off getting ready for this weekend, you know? I order extra food, I fiddle with the work schedule. I never know how it's gonna go. What to expect. Whether I'll be hustling twelve straight hours or twiddling my thumbs as I smell the carcinogenic fumes of every barbecue in a forty mile radius..."
"Okay." She didn't really know what else to say.
"So, a champagne fountain on Labor Day? Doesn't that seem kind of contradictory?"
"I suppose."
"So..." he turned back to her.
"So?" she was absolutely perplexed.
"So, I'm this guy, Lorelai... this Ground Beef Ordering Guy."
"What...?"
"I'm not complaining," he went on. "I'm lucky. I own my own business. It's going good."
She nodded, still struggling to comprehend.
"And when I know there are children in the fields in this country picking the strawberries for your mother's wedding tonight... and that most of them are homeless... Well, that puts this whole light on my life..." he sighed and looked down.
"Luke?" she looked at him in concern.
"Sorry... I was reading the paper this morning," he waved his hand to brush off what he'd been referring to. "Anyway, the point is, I think, that I am not a Champagne Guy. I'm a Ground Beef Guy."
"A Ground Beef Guy?" she repeated. "Luke, I'm trying to understand what you're saying but, God, trying to work it out is exhausting me. I need more."
He nodded and sat down next to her on the swing.
"I just... I need to know; Is this what you want?" he asked, and when she lifted her brows he went on, "I mean champagne fountains and ice sculptures and... and, well, sleighs?" he added in feeble defeat.
And the penny finally dropped for Lorelai on that.
"Ah," she said knowingly, "Sleighs. You're panicking because of overflow wedding pressure. You're thinking because you overheard Emily's megalomaniacal ramblings that we are supposed to...That everyone expects us... that I expect you to...?"
"I am not panicking," he grumped with a pout.
"Luke," she snapped, "join me back in the adult world for a minute."
He looked at her, "Sorry."
"Talk to me, Luke," she said softly.
"God," he raked his hand over his face. "Lorelai, I don't want champagne fountains..." he began.
"And caviar dreams?" she couldn't resist. He glared at her.
"Sorry," it was her turn to say.
He stood up and began to pace before her.
"I mean...Here it is Labor Day weekend and homeless children are working ten hour shifts picking strawberries, and I'm fixing a champagne fountain and I'm over forty and... I want you, Lorelai. I really do..." he ranted back and forth. "But I gotta be sure that it's me you want back—because I'm not some fucking champagne guy. I mean if you want snow and a sleigh, or even another thousand daisies, fine. Whatever. I'll do that for you just as long as you know that all the time I'll be thinking about those homeless kids because I'm not..."
"A Champagne Fountain Guy?" she grinned up at him.
He stopped in his tracks, turned, and blinked at her.
"Right."
"You're a Ground Beef Guy," she reminded him.
"Right."
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?" he repeated dumbly.
"My God, the work!" she exclaimed and reached over and pulled him down next to her.
"Luke," she began gently, her arms wrapped around one of his. "First of all; I want you too."
Luke gulped a little and felt a tingling in his stomach.
She lay her head on his shoulder then.
"Second of all; I'm almost as old as you are. I'm not twenty-two."
He nodded at that.
"I don't want a Dream Barbie wedding, Luke. If you'd thought about it, you'd know that nothing could be further from who I am. I ran away from Dream Barbie when I was sixteen," she reminded him. "Or was it Dream Emily?" she frowned, "Nightmare Emily? Anyway, Luke," she roused herself, "Though no one could accuse someone as self-absorbed as me as having much of a social conscience, I don't want a champagne fountain while homeless kids are picking strawberries either. And though I'm not quite sure how that all balances out in the scheme of things here today, between us, I know it's important to you. So I gotta think about that," she told him.
He felt strange then. Geez... tears?... was he feeling his own tears threaten? God, he really did love her.
He cleared his throat knowing, feeling, that his voice would sound as strange as the rest of him now felt.
"Lorelai, you and I... This is it..." he said hoarsely, "I think," he added with a whisper.
She nodded and smiled, "I think so too," she whispered back, and then. "Huh. Scary. We're talking commitment here, aren't we?"
"I think so," he agreed.
"But at our own pace, Luke. We're both too old for this crap."
"Yeah, we are," he sighed in relief.
She giggled, "Did you think I thought you had some hidden 'get-down-on-one-knee-with-a-ring' aspect of your personality I was just waiting for?"
He reddened.
"Oh Luke," she laughed, "That's no more you than Dream Barbie is me," she paused a moment in reflection then and added, "I did think once that there had to be daisies and a horse and... stuff... I don't know, these silly ideas of what romance was supposed to be, I guess. But I'm an older and wiser woman now.," she grinned when he snorted at that. "Now I know that fixing stuff, and loaning money, and watching movies you hate... Well, let's just say, I realize that it's this work you put in for me... That these things are what it's all about."
They both paused, thinking about that... Then Luke leaned in to her...
"Lorelai...?" he began, a question in his eyes.
"Don't ask, not yet Luke," she told him quietly, "It's too soon."
He met her eyes and nodded.
So instead Luke shifted and reached to his feet for the paper sack he'd set down earlier, sat up then and put it in her lap.
"Can we go steady then?" he grinned.
She grinned back, "Sure," she said and looked into the bag and pulled out three sturdy stainless steel flashlights.
"I put the batteries in them already," he assured her.
She looked at him and grinned again, "So, these are 'Going Steady' flashlights from the Ground Beef Guy?"
He looked down sheepishly, "For now, I guess..." he said.
"I love them," she said simply.
"Well, I'm glad you... love them," he swallowed and met her gaze steadily.
They paused in the moment then.
"So after you kiss me, will you come in and look at the ceiling fan in room four? It's wobbly," she batted her lashes.
He groaned.
"Work, work, work..." he grumped and leaned in to her lips.