Disclaimers, et. al. in Chapter 1

-Four Years Ago-

We were on our hands and knees, inches away from each other and watching Taylor describe how the diner would look once we painted it. Then we looked at each other.

It was uncanny, how I could sometimes tell what he was thinking - how we had the same thoughts. We were of one mind for a full ten seconds - sharing the same thought...

It's just one kiss. What would it hurt?

He moved his head a few inches - I moved mine towards him.

What would it hurt?

Then came the split, when my thoughts became my own again and I could suddenly think of what one kiss could hurt.

It could hurt my coffee supply.

It could hurt his enjoyment in lecturing me.

It could hurt our easy friendship.

It could hurt him.

It could hurt me.

I blinked and said, "I've got to get going." I stood quickly, wanting to leave as fast as I could.

"Yeah," he said, standing with me. I had misjudged the distance and ended up standing very close to him.

Don't, I told myself firmly. I left and went home.

-May 14, 2004-

After I told Luke that I couldn't change our friendship into something else, he stared at me for a very long time. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His face crumpled for a minute, then he stood abruptly and said, "fine. Okay."

I started to explain, but he cut me off, "you're running. I know that and there isn't a hell of a lot I can do. I want you in my life and I'll take you as a friend over nothing at all."

"Luke, this is for the best," I began, ignoring his hard eyes and his huff of annoyance, "you know how I am. I don't want to hurt you."

He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "nice execution of that plan, Lorelai." Then he walked away.

I didn't go after him. Why should I? He had started this, tried to change what was normal and reasonable into something that would only end up destroying him. Something that would end up destroying me.

-Independence Day, 2004-

Epiphanies are strange things. They come at moments when your thoughts are fastened elsewhere, intruding when you're busy doing other things, giving you answers to questions that you weren't even aware you had asked.

This is where my thoughts were fastened: on the sparkler I was playing with. This is what I was doing: sitting on a blanket in the square and not thinking and waiting for the fireworks to start.

Babette and Morey were sitting next to me, Luke was not. He was not even in the square. When I had asked him to come with us, he had glared at me and reminded me that he didn't like town festivals. Things being what they were, I hadn't even pointed out that he always enjoyed them when he came with me.

When it came to Luke, there were a lot of things I didn't do anymore. I didn't fight with him anymore. I didn't spend hours at the diner anymore, I didn't go there after closing. I didn't call him to fix things for me. I didn't flirt with him anymore, didn't bat my eyelashes at him to see his response. I didn't point out that he was angry and sad and isolated again because I could not have borne him pointing out that he was like that because of me.

I didn't do things that would hurt and I didn't think of things that would make me ache, so I did very little with Luke and thought very little of my parents and Rory and him.

So, instead, I thought about the sparkler. I made designs in the air and relished the thick smell it made as it spent itself. I let the hot and humid breeze move through my hair and weigh down my skin. I listened to the sounds of the crowd and realized that I was in love with Luke and breathed in the smells of cotton candy and hot dogs.

That is how it happened - in the midst of everything else. The epiphany did not come with fireworks or snowflakes to announce its arrival, it merely inserted itself into the middle of my existence. I sat stunned until the sprinkler burned to my fingers. I dropped it cursing and began sucking on my fingertips. I thought the thought again, I am in love with Luke Danes, just to see what would happen.

And this is what happened: nothing. No fear, no trepidation, no question. I fumbled to my feet, still sucking on my fingers. Babette was questioning talking to me, but I couldn't begin to take in what she was saying. My thoughts were fastened solely on getting me where I was supposed to be: across the square and into Luke's arms. I moved quickly and surely. The rhythm of my footsteps corresponding to the beating of my heart, Luke, Luke, Luke.

Happiness and certainty bore me across the square and deserted me at the diner's door. Suddenly, I was terrified. What if he didn't want this? What if he did? What if he didn't believe me? What if he did? Oh God, how was I going to do this? How could I not do this?

Another thing with epiphanies is this: they really don't give you a plan to act on and they don't predict the future for you.

I paced outside battling with myself for a good five minutes. Part of me wanted to march in there and tell Luke the way things were going to be. The other part of me wanted to run home and hide and never fall in love again.

I was in mid-stride when Luke jerked open the door. I stumbled and stared at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

I squeaked, not sure what to say. I stood there, still sucking on my charred fingers staring at him, my mind a roaring blank of stage fright.

He stood still, watching me warily. I jerked forward suddenly and he stepped back to let me in the diner. I blinked and looked around. It was blurry and very, very bright. I couldn't breathe. I had never been so panicked in my life.

He had rounded the counter and was pouring me coffee. I looked at his lowered face and blurted out, "I love you." Quite a way to start things, I know; at least it was gripping.

His head came up so quickly I was sure he would end up with whiplash. He slammed the mug on the counter and narrowed his eyes. "What?" he asked.

"I love you," I said again. Slowly and distinctly. It was getting easier.

He slammed his hands down on the counter and said, "Are you drunk?"

"No," I replied, stunned at his reaction.

"No, that would be too easy," he sighed, pulling off his baseball cap and running his fingers through his hair. He dropped the cap - a new one, I noticed - onto the counter beside my coffee and glared at me. "Lorelai, I don't want to do this tonight."

"Do what?" I asked. Suddenly, I was thinking of all the things I wanted to do with him. The word dirty began to float around my head amongst the images.

But, as Luke couldn't see the images, he glared some more. "Go watch the fireworks," he said, his voice tense and angry.

"I don't want to."

"Well, I don't want you here. Please leave."

"What?" I demanded, not at all liking the direction this conversation was taking. He should be happy. Why wasn't he happy?

"Leave now," he said, suddenly looking very tired.

"No," I said flatly.