More Chapter 7: Jack, a gilmore girls fanfic

Dear Ms. Sherman-Palladino,

In my little corner of the world herein lies Cyber Schwab's Drugstore. And I am Lana Turner. With much less perky breasts and a baggier sweater (alas, love handles) and some kind soul with Access (perhaps a Norman Main type without the addiction issues) reads my work, (well, not the crappy ones,) and sees in me someone who just might be worthy of the chance to write in actuality as well (if she could find said chance, or be given one, hen's teeth that they are), and to test her mettle in the real world too (where doors are so well-sealed, not even oxygen seeps in). Who could maybe even write a script (or a bit of one).

In this scenario perhaps it is some sort of wacky publicity stunt—'Hey, look at the kooky fan fiction writer! Let's let her write something for the show! It'll be a hoot!' (I could wear a silly hat) Or perhaps not.

Maybe instead it is an act of altruism (I believe in them which may actually preclude me from what I seek). It could just be a leap of faith whereby a successful woman artist says, 'Here is my hand, come learn what I have learned. Let me show you.'

This is a forum for fiction, after all.

I know, I know (as I come down off my caffeine high), not the way it works, you say. Frickin' Disney has ruined women of your generation. Go back to your day job. Esther Blodget, you ain't. (or Daisy Clover either. What was her name before they changed it? Did they change it?)

But, as usual, I digress...

Bah! I say, and swear upon the spirit of Imogen Coca too: I am much too full of my own possibility today to hear you, even as I watch the world totter and heave. And, okay, maybe possibility does only exist at Cyber Schwab's.

Then again, I just might wake up tomorrow tall and thin. That would show you.

Sincerely, netherfield

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For SeaWench in gratitude for her work on behalf of us all.

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5.07 You Jump, I Jump, Jack episode addition.

The following Saturday. Long.

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Good crowd tonight, he thought with no little satisfaction.

Yep, business good. The tables were full and turning over too, but without that rushed feeling that he sometimes got, and hated. And, so far, Ceasar had only burned one entree which made the night a record-breaker in his book. He eyed his watch then. Still had about an hour before he had to leave and once he got that weekly errand taken care of, he could go over to Lorelai's.

Which made him smile a little. Grow slightly taller even.

They'd watch Jon Stewart (the one show they could agree on), eat the sandwiches he made (he made a mental note then to check on her toaster again, he didn't like the way it was firing), and then... Well, then his reflective smile grew and was actually perceptible now. And then... Yep, there it still was, that pleasant warm feeling spreading through his body. It was still there. Boy howdy, and in spades. Whenever he thought of her, of them...

"What're you smiling for, Luke?"

Luke eyed Kirk and smothered his smile immediately. Nothing worse than thinking about Lorelai, really thinking about her, if you know what I mean, and having Kirk interrupt. In fact, it creeped him out more than a little, having thoughts of Kirk and Lorelai so close together in his brain.

"Not smiling, Kirk."

"You were," Kirk insisted as he took another bite of his Saturday Night Special (meatloaf, mashed potatoes, salad, peas, coffee or tea, and refills, a roll on the side: $7.95.)

"Shut up and eat your peas, Kirk."

"I don't like peas," he whined back.

"Eat your peas or I'm calling your mother, Kirk."

"Damn!" groused Kirk, foiled again, as he scooped up some peas.

He turned to grab the decaf (most popular tonight) to make the rounds, visually double-checking the napkin dispensers as he went. Sunday morning after-church sloppy-syrup-sloshers (Lorelai's phrase) went through napkins like popcorn. He always made sure to be well-supplied the Saturday night before.

By the time he was returning the pot to the warmer, he heard the bell ring at the door and in a moment found himself facing, of all people, Richard Gilmore, across the counter.

"Luke," smiled Richard heartily, reaching over to shake his hand.

"Richard," nodded Luke in surprise, reaching out his hand in response (after wiping it on his jeans first.)

"How are you?"

"Oh, you know, working. And you?"

"Ah, practically perfect! In fact, I plan to reach perfection by Thursday!" quipped the tall man.

He really is tall, noted Luke yet again.

"May I sit down?"

"Of course! Is the counter all right? I don't have a table now," he apologized, "We're busy tonight. Saturday nights are like that."

"So I see. So I see. Counter's fine. What Emily doesn't know, won't hurt her, eh? Yes, this is nice," Richard added, once seated and looking about himself, "Reminds me of a little place I used to frequent in Spain. Quaint little Tapas bar."

"Can't say my place has ever been compared to anything Spanish before."

They stared at each other a moment.

"Lorelai's not here," Luke finally managed to get out, not able to conceive of any other reason for Richard's appearance.

"Oh? Well, that's fine. Didn't come to see her, anyway."

"Oh," nodded Luke in understanding. As if he understood that is. "Because she's at the Inn tonight."

"I see."

"Working late."

"Ah."

"She's been putting in a lot of hours."

"Well, that's what it takes to get a new business going."

"Yep."

They stared at each other again. Richard looking up at Luke expectantly from his counter stool.

Finally, Luke cleared his throat, "Can I...? I mean, um, May I get you something, Richard?"

Richard smiled indulgently, "That would be very nice, Luke. What do you recommend?"

"Meatloaf's the best on Saturday night," said Kirk, suddenly standing next to Richard.

"Oh? Well, that sounds fine," said Richard.

"Meatloaf it is," confirmed Luke, still mystified. "Would you like a cup of coffee as well?"

"Yes, don't mind if I do," nodded Richard. "My daughter and granddaughter have been raving about your coffee for years. This is my chance to find out what all the hullabaloo is about!"

"Right. Well, one meatloaf and one cup of hullabaloo coming right up!" Luke joked lamely and then turned away gratefully to give Ceasar the order.

"....So, if Luke hadn't helped me out, I would've had to leave town," he heard Kirk completing a babble as he returned with a mug of coffee.

"Is that so?" asked Richard, his eyes wide.

"Oh, absolutely. And the town would've smelled of rotten eggs for weeks on top of that. So, you can see that it really was a pretty dire situation."

"Yes, well, that would be dire," Richard nodded, thinking about it.

"Kirk!" barked Luke as he set the mug before Richard.

"Well, gotta go!" said Kirk hurriedly, as he pulled his Power Rangers wallet from his pocket. "Nice meeting you, Richard." Richard nodded. Luke bristled. "Your daughter got quite the town catch in Luke here, Richard. I actually attempted to date Lorelai myself at one time, but we all knew that she only had eyes for Luke!"

"Kirk..." more of a growl this time.

"And, why shouldn't she, I ask you? Successful businessman, a real pillar of the community—I can't think of anyone he hasn't helped at one time or another. Even saved Mrs. Cassinni from drowning once, but that's another story."

"She slipped in a puddle, Kirk."

"A human being can drown in an inch of water, Luke," Kirk completed this reflection then set his check and money down, "Keep the change, Luke! Nice meeting you again, Richard." he said blithely and turned to go, but not before giving Luke a meaningful wink before running out the door.

Luke clenched his jaw and tried to take a calming breath, before turning back to Richard.

"Curious fellow," Richard furrowed his brow. "Did he say he dated Lorelai?"

"No."

"Thank God. I must have mis-understood then," he shook his head, still perplexed, "He did say that he hid Easter Eggs in a tree, though?"

Luke sighed, "I'll go check on your meatloaf, Richard."

Richard nodded and reached for his coffee.

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Luke kept an eye on him, as he made the coffee rounds again, took orders, added up checks. He seemed content enough, sitting at the counter munching his meatloaf, watching the crowd.

But why was Richard Gilmore here? In his diner? Must be some reason. Right?

It was too busy (he and Lane hopping all evening without a break) to get a chance to sneak-call Lorelai. And maybe her father was just in the neighborhood and hungry. Maybe that's all it was.

And Lorelai would turn vegan tomorrow.

Finally, as the last of the dallying diners began to go, he topped off Richard's coffee again and offered up pie. The pie and coffee phase was usually when people started to talk.

"Apple okay?"

"Sounds great, Luke."

Luke served and watched Richard in silence for awhile, waiting for the other shoe to land with its proverbial thud.

"So, Luke," he began at last, "Dinner was excellent."

"Well, glad you liked it."

"Just delicious. I can see why Rory and Lorelai come here so often. And the coffee definitely lives up to its reputation."

"Good."

"I was wondering, Luke," Here it comes. "Have you had any time to consider the proposition I made you when last we met?"

"Proposition?" Luke blinked.

"The franchise plan," Richard reminded him. "Now that I've been here and seen your place and had a meal, I am more convinced than ever that we could make quite a success of this venture. You've got the right sort of down-home persona that people trust, too. That can go a long way toward success."

"Down-home persona?" repeated Luke. Was this guy serious? "Look, Richard, I don't know if..."

"Excuse me, Luke?"

"Yes, Lane?" he turned in half-relief, half-irritation to the young woman at his elbow.

"I had a question about the health insurance," she said as she pulled some papers from her pocket.

Luke turned a questioning eye to Richard then but was waved off.

"Go ahead, young man, help the girl. I can wait."

And then it was Richard's turn to further appraise Luke as he walked Lane through the health insurance paperwork.

"Is that all clear?" he finally asked her.

"Oh, yes," answered Lane clearly relieved, "The whole co-payment thing just wasn't making sense to me."

"Yeah well, these insurance idiots like to make things as complicated as possible," Luke told her and then looked up quickly at Richard, "Present company excepted, of course," he said, wincing.

"Don't worry about it, Luke," he chuckled. "I'll tell you a secret; We do like things complicated. Can't have everyone understanding everything or we'd be out of jobs, wouldn't we?"

"Thanks so much, Luke," Lane enthused, "Oh, and I've got the big trays and pans packed in the back and ready to go for you. I could borrow Zach's car after closing, and make the delivery for you, if you like."

"No, that's fine, Lane. I'll do it. Just help Ceasar close and go home," he told her and began clearing Richard's plates.

"I didn't know you did delivery as well, Luke."

"Well, I don't as a general rule. But this Saturday night thing is regular and a big order. And the guy's an old friend, so I do him a favor."

"Sounds like good business," Richard nodded approvingly.

"The only other deliveries he makes are to Lorelai and Rory," grinned Lane as she passed by with a bussing tray.

"I see."

"Well, they get hungry," Luke shot Lane a glare.

She smiled sweetly in return.

"I imagine they do. Those two can eat like an army."

"Yes, they can. And Lorelai doesn't really cook."

"No, that never happened, I suppose. We had planned to send her to a Swiss finishing school after graduation, but before Yale. They have a fabulous culinary program. Emily feels that a good hostess really should understand sauces. Helps when you're hiring help. But alas, as you know, that was not meant to be..." he trailed off and took an uncomfortable sip of his coffee.

Luke had no idea how to respond to this.

"Well Richard," he tried instead, "I'm glad you came by, but I really need to go drop off this food now."

"Oh? Well, what do I owe you then?"

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

"Nonsense, you're running a business here."

"Really Richard, it's fine."

"Well..." began Richard doubtfully.

"Well..." echoed Luke.

Richard stood thoughtfully to go then.

"Listen, I have a thought, Luke..."

"Yes?"

"Why don't I just tag along with you on your delivery?" asked Richard with renewed animation.

"You want to come with me?"

"Absolutely! That way we can talk more about the franchise idea!"

Luke chewed on that a moment, sizing up Richard. Sizing up the situation.

"Fine by me," he decided.

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It all began in uncomfortable Yankee silence as they rode along in the dark.

Luke clenched and unclenched his jaw. What'd Lorelai called her father? The Puppet Master?

What was this man up to?

It was all too clear what Richard Gilmore thought of him.

Well, screw that.

He sneaked a sideways glance at the man himself then. He could literally see the wheels and cogs whirling away.

Luke sighed.

This was a bad idea.

For his part, Richard kept a hand on the truck's dashboard for balance as they bounced along, considering the best approach to the taciturn fellow at the wheel.

"So, Luke," he began, "I'm curious as to how it is that you can afford to offer your employees health insurance."

Luke shrugged, "It's not easy."

"Cuts profits to the bone, I imagine."

"Sometimes."

"But, you do it anyway?"

"Yep."

And they lapsed into another silence for a few moments.

"The profit margin on this diner franchise could potentially set you up for life, Luke," Richard tried again, "You could stop cooking and have a hand in the organization. Be a manager. Have more time for yourself. Work on that golf game. "

"Well, that's a thought, Richard. But, as it happens, I like working."

"Admirable, to be sure. But, it's good to look to the future, son," Richard advised. "And Lorelai's too, of course."

Now we're getting somewhere, thought Luke. This is really all about Lorelai. About being good enough for her. But he'd known that, of course. Luke wondered briefly, after all the stories of betrayal and hurt he'd heard, that had been hinted at, that had probably never been told too... How after all that, this guy was still trying to intercede, to micro-manage Lorelai's life. But, of course, he understood that too.

What wasn't clear was if this was an act of fatherly love on Richard's part, or just dumb pride. Or if Richard even knew the difference.

That damn Oprah book really screwed with your head there, Butch.

"Now," Richard continued, slowly circling in on target, "I know that it's presumptuous of me to mention it at this point, but it's never to soon to consider the future."

"No, I suppose it isn't." Would they never get to Litchfield?

"Now Lorelai's an independent young woman."

"Yes, she is."

"And she's been keeping Rory and herself in shoes for a long time now."

"No small task."

"Ha! Well put," Richard forced a hearty laugh. Luke rolled his eyes in the dark. "And," he went on, "I don't mind telling you that I've been impressed with the way she's pulled that Inn of her's together."

"Have you told her that?" Luke quirked a brow and glanced over at Richard.

"Excuse me?"

"Nevermind."

Richard decided to let it pass.

"Now, you'll have to allow me to say that I know my daughter pretty well, Luke." Right thought Luke. "She may be independent, but she didn't work so hard to get this Inn going for the fun of it. She's ambitious and I'm sure wants things in life..."

"Here we are!" said Luke more loudly than he intended as he pulled into a sweeping drive. He wondered for a moment if Richard was right.

Richard looked out the window in some surprise, "Why Luke, this is Saint Bartholomew's."

"Yep," confirmed Luke as he pulled around to the back of the old stone church.

"Emily's been trying to get on the Ladies Beneficent Committee here for years."

"Really?" asked Luke as shifted the truck into park and got out.

Richard followed him, continuing to gaze up at the graceful old spires.

"Oh yes, it's a very prestigious charity committee. Terribly exclusive. Impossible to get on unless someone and their grandmother have died."

"Uh hunh," nodded Luke, as he pulled a tarp away in the truck bed and lifted out a large covered aluminum pan.

"They have a lovely 'February Fancy Dress Ball' every year."

"Help me out here, Richard?"

"Oh! Certainly, certainly," said Richard taking two of the large pans.

Luke grabbed the other two and walked toward a door at the back.

"Are they having a function of some kind tonight?"

"You might say that," said Luke. They were inside now and walking down a long hall.

"This is Frederick Wentworth's church, isn't it? And was his father's before that too. Do you attend here, Luke?" Richard asked, impressed.

"Don't go to church."

"Ah."

They were in a large well-lit hall now. People milling about. Richard blinked and looked around him in confusion. "What kind of function is Father Wentworth having exactly?"

"I think they call it 'Soup Kitchen'," Luke responded dryly.

Richard stared more intently at the people then, "B-but there are children here."

"Luke!" called a stocky bald man, crossing energetically toward them.

"Oh hey, Fred," said Luke, "Brought a turkey tonight too."

"Excellent! Thanks so much, Luke. We're a bit long on customers and short on help tonight."

"Oh?" said Luke looking around. Their need was plain. He swiveled his neck back at Richard then (he still taking in the clientele with a mix of revulsion and fascination) and it only took a very fleeting thought process before his decision was made.

Then, he smiled.

"Well, we could help you out tonight, Fred. Get you over the worst of it."

"Really?" beamed the priest, "That would be great! Follow me!"

"Excuse me?" asked Richard focusing in on the men again. But they were striding off toward what was clearly a kitchen now.

Richard hurried after them.

"Drafted us some volunteers!" Fred called heartily to the man and woman already in the kitchen. "What's your friend's name, Luke?" he asked.

Luke smiled, "This is Richard, Fred."

"Welcome and thank you, Richard! You're really saving us tonight."

"Well... uh.. Of course," he stammered in response.

"Wonderful!" beamed the bespectacled woman now. "You!" she called, pointing to Richard.

"Y-yes?" asked Richard a little nervously, eyes wide.

"You're on egg salad duty," she proclaimed.

"Luke, we're not really sure how to get all this organized with so little help tonight," said Fred pulling him aside.

"You'll have to do a buffet. Too many to table-serve," Luke told him, eyeing the situation with an experienced eye.

"That's what I was thinking."

"We'll have to re-arrange the tables though..."

"Luke!" Richard called weakly as he saw the younger man leave back into the dining hall.

"Here you go," said the woman, handing him something.

"What's this?" he asked looking down into his hand.

"Hair net," she told him. "We've got health regulations. And unless you've got a hat like Luke, you've got to wear a hair net. Oh, rubber gloves too. Here you go."

Richard stared down at the offensive articles in his hand, "My good woman..." he began huffily.

"Call me Bea," she said crisply, as she tied an apron around his middle, "Oh dear," she tsk-ed then, "Not a very practical shirt to be wearing on KP duty, I'm afraid. Oh well, can't be helped now, I suppose. Follow me... Richard, isn't it? We got several dozen eggs donated last week. The only thing I can think to do before they go bad is egg salad. So, I've hard boiled them all. And Warren over there has peeled them, so I'll put you on chopping..."

It took a moment for Richard to realize that he was supposed to be following this whirlwind of a woman over to the counter.

Luke glanced over at Richard slyly through the service window (hairnet and gloves on now, he was awkwardly picking up a chopping knife).

"A little more to the right, Fred," Luke instructed with a broader smile now and renewed energy too as they scooted together a pair of long tables to form a buffet.

And then he began to whistle a little as he rolled up his sleeves.

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"Hey."

"Hey, sweetie. Where are you? You're missing 'The Moment of Zen' as we speak."

Luke sighed, "Yeah, sorry about that. Fred was caught shorthanded tonight."

"Oh? Do you need me to come over and help out?"

"No, it's all winding down now. This is just the first chance I've had to call you. We had a little mishap."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No. Listen, did you eat?"

"Of course I did!"

He sighed, "I thought I hid the poptarts."

"Not very well. You're going to have to climb a couple of leagues to hide food successfully from me, my friend. And no fair asking Rory for advice!"

"Fair enough," he conceded, then added, "I'm... I'm sorry that I couldn't make it over, Lorelai."

"Well, tell you what... You know where the extra key is, right?"

"Yes," he was liking the sound of this.

"Well, when you're finished, just come on over. You know, a la Mae West."

"So, I should 'Come up and see you some time'?"

"Yep. Only make it tonight. Specifically.

"I don't want to wake you," he said doubtfully.

"Please," he heard the smile in her voice, "Wake me, Big Boy: Specifically."

"Well, okay then."

"Okay."

"See you later, Lorelai. Specifically."

"Yep, specifically later, Big Boy," she giggled in her best Mae West accent.

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"I will never look at eggs the same way again."

Silently, Luke had to agree.

Richard leaned his head against the back window of the truck and sighed wearily. He was ashen. All this almost made Luke pity the guy. Almost.

"Emily will never get on that committee now," he groaned.

"Not likely," Luke concurred, as he turned down the highway toward Stars' Hollow.

"Father Wentworth was a little upset."

"Yes, he was," Luke had to agree.

"But, Thank God we found it," Richard went on.

"Yep."

"I mean someone could have choked to death. And the thing was practically invisible. As if intentionally camouflaged for egg salad..."

"Richard, I'm still not clear: How exactly did you manage to slice off the end of your rubber glove without A.) Noticing or; B.) Cutting yourself?"

"I'm not sure," Richard answered miserably. "All I know is, one minute I'm handing the bowl to Bea to serve, and then the next, as I went to take off the gloves, I noticed that... Well, that one of the fingers was missing."

Luke nodded.

"My God, the liability if someone had eaten it!" Richard shuddered.

"Wouldn't have been so great for them personally, either."

"There must have been a thousand pounds of that goddam egg salad!"

"A helluva lot anyway."

"And I stood there for an hour in a hairnet , for God's sake, digging through that proverbial Everest of egg salad practically with my bare hands!"

"Well, your gloves were pretty much lost causes at that point," Luke offered helpfully.

"With all those people watching."

"Think of it as Dinner Theater, Richard."

Richard moaned and closed his eyes at that.

And they lapsed into a long silence then.

"Well, it's clear that I don't know a thing about working in a kitchen," commented Richard finally.

"Some people are just check writers."

"Indeed," agreed Richard and opened his eyes then to look shrewdly at Luke. "I couldn't have looked more foolish in front of Father Wentworth if it had been prearranged."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Richard. Look at it this way, at least you kept your actual finger."

"I need a drink," responded Richard, "A stiff drink. And I must say that you confound me, Luke."

"Don't know what you're talking about, Richard. Big words and all."

"Hmmm," said Richard knowingly, "Not averse to taking advantage of a situation when you can though, eh?"

"Well, I am a businessman, Richard."

"Humpf."

"Well, here's your car," said Luke as he pulled over in front of the diner."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon, Luke."

"I'm not going anywhere, Richard."

"I haven't given up on that franchise idea you know, young man."

"Didn't expect you to."

"And, think about what I said earlier, about really knowing Lorelai," Richard volleyed this parting shot before climbing out of the truck.

"Will do."

Richard leaned down to the window then, "Goodnight, Luke."

"Uh, Richard?"

"Yes?" he sighed in irritation.

"You've got a little egg salad..." Luke pointed to the general area about a quarter of an inch below Richard's right eye.

Richard withdrew a handkerchief then and swiped at his face, looked distastefully down at the yellow blob then back over at Luke.

"Thank you," he said with great dignity and turned to go to his car.

"Sure. Goodnight, Richard."

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He quietly climbed up her stairs, liking the feeling of being invited to do so. Surely, he knew her, he mused then. He'd been around. For years, he'd been around. Had seen her cry. Had plunged her toilet. Yelled at her. Fed her. Made love to her.

Surely he knew her better than he. But, he is her father, his brain told him.

Well, screw that, he grumped.

And she knew him too. Right?

She did. And still it was all okay. Great even. Knowing each other hadn't ruined anything so far. He knew her. She knew him. She didn't quiver and pout when he ranted. Nicole had told him that the world must think him pretty mean the way he went on at times. That he was on the short bus to being a sour old man. (Then again, he'd thought he'd known Nicole too.)

Now he sighed.

But his rants didn't phase Lorelai. At all. Never had. Had they? She'd ignore him, or cajole him out of it. Knew that it meant nothing. Because she knew him. As he knew her. Her parents were the ones she ran from. He was the one she ran to.

Damn self help book.

Sure, they knew each other, he tried to reason with himself. She snored. He hogged the covers. All this they knew. And more.

The little stuff.

But what about the big stuff?

Well, they'd talked about that too. Only that was before.

Damn Richard Gilmore and his manipulations to hell!

He switched off the hall light she'd left on for him then and creeped into the bedroom, lest she was asleep.

He stood at the foot of her bed, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did, he saw her smile up at him sleepily as he peeled off his clothes. He climbed under the covers, as she slid over, leaving him the warm spot. He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"Hey! Your feet are cold, Big Boy!" she complained.

"And you are nice and warm, Mae West," he whispered in her ear.

"Yes, I am."

"Still glad you asked me to come up and see you?" he smiled and breathed in her hair.

"Absolutely," she purred, molding her body against his.

"Hey, Lorelai?"

"Hmmm?"

"Remember the other morning when I was cleaning your kitchen?"

"Ummmhmmm..." she was wiggling her hips slightly into his groin now.

"And, I asked you to hand me the spray cleaner from under the sink?"

"Yep," she yawned and turned to face him now and began lightly kissing his sandpaper chin.

"Well when you did, I didn't need to look down to see if you had turned the little square knob from 'closed' to 'spray'."

"Okay," the oddity of this statement stopped even Lorelai Gilmore cold in her tracks. She looked at him curiously, fully awake now.

"I mean, I knew you wouldn't have bothered," he explained.

"No, I usually don't. That's true."

"You just leave it on 'spray' all the time because it's easier, right?"

"Honey, have you been inhaling the spray?" Lorelai sat up now to peer down at him.

"Just listen, I'm trying to say something," he told her and propped himself up on his elbows.

"About cleaning spray?"

"No."

"Okay." She waited.

He looked up at her intently, "It's just that... Well, driving over just now I realized that if anyone else had left the bottle on 'spray'... You know, and hadn't turned it to 'closed', which is what any sane person would do when they put it away in the cupboard in the first place..."

"Luke?" Lorelai was trying to understand. She really was.

"I'm just saying that if anyone else had done that: Left the knob on 'spray', it would have driven me crazy. But, when you do it, it doesn't. Because I know you."

"Well yes, you know me very well," she confirmed gently.

"But... Do I?" He really wanted to know.

"Honey, what is this about?"

"I just want to be sure that we really know each other, that's all," he finished and looked at her uncertainly.

Lorelai regarded him a moment.

"Luke, besides Rory, I don't think anyone has ever known me better than you."

"Really?" he asked, relieved.

"Yes."

"Big things and little things?"

She looked at him quizzically for a moment, "Well, I'd like to think there are still some surprises ahead of us."

"Right."

"But, though I'm not sure where this is all coming from, let me assure you that it amazes me daily that you do know me so well and yet still want me. What with being a spray bottle harlot and all."

He smiled in relief then.

"Well, likewise. About the amazement part."

"Now see," she smiled comfortingly then, "I knew you were going to say that."

"Oh really?" he smiled too and wrapped his arms back around her.

"Oh yes," she snuggled close again, "And I know you so well that I can accurately predict right now, with one-hundred percent certainty, that you are going to wear plaid tomorrow."

"Probably the same plaid I just dropped on your floor over there," he rolled his eyes.

"Probably," she admitted, "And by way of return, you can probably tell me right now, this very minute, what beverage I am going to desire seven long hours from now," she continued dramatically, "It's astounding really, when you think about it..."

"Lorelai?"

She looked up at him innocently. "Shut up?"

"Yep," he confirmed, nuzzling her neck now.

"Now see? I knew you were going to say that too..."