5.21 Blame Booze and Melville episode addition. Somewhere-the-hell in the middle.
Spoiler warning for finale.
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It's her own damn fault.
Well, not totally her own. It's Luke's damn fault too.
She spins around and glares at Kirk.
"But I'm taking it out on you!" she shouts. "And that pineapple is too green. Pick out another one!"
She turns and continues her march down the aisle.
Kirk heaves the produce-laden basket he's been toting around Doose's onto his other arm, and exchanges said pineapple.
"Lorelai, I've apologized a hundred times..." he whines at her.
She stops and holds up her hand without looking at him, "Silence, you little... fear biter, you!"
Kirk gasps, "I told you that in confidence!"
She whirls on him again.
"Confidence? Confidence, Kirk? Does that have something to do with keeping a secret perhaps?"
That shuts him up for a moment or two.
"Oh, yay! Brussels' Sprouts! I'll take half a pound, please."
Kirk sighs as he puts her basket on the floor and begins to fill a bag with sprouts before he decides to try again.
"Lorelai, seriously, how could I know that you would be in the produce aisle at the exact moment I happen to choose to express my disappointment to Taylor over losing the Twickham House? You and I both know that you haven't been in produce since the Great Lettuce Issue of ninety-seven."
She ignores him and shops on.
"I'll now have one head each: Broccoli, Cauliflower, and Broccoliflower."
"Lorelai, everyone knows your aisle is two: Hostess Fruit Pies, Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, and Nair."
She turns on him again, "What's your point, Kirk?"
"My point is," tries Kirk, near tears now, "My point is that you were in the wrong damn aisle!"
"Radishes, Kirk."
"We even call it the Lorelai-Aisle behind your back."
"And one of those white things, that Mexican vegetable—Whatchamacallit? I'll try one."
"Jicama."
"Right, Jicama.."
She turns then and smiles at him sweetly, "The thing is, Kirk, you see, that was Luke's secret. Luke's secret surprise to share. With me."
"I know."
"And now you've spoiled it."
"Couldn't you pretend to not know?" he whimpers.
"Of course, I can, Kirk. But I still would know, now wouldn't I? You can't un-ring a bell, Kirk."
"No, I guess not."
"So," she smiles again, scaring him into shudders, "Here's how it's gonna be, Mr. Richy McRich OddJob the Third. Number One: You will not ever let on to Luke that you spilled the beans."
"Absolutely not. You have my word of honor."
"Number Two: Your. Ass. Is. Mine. For the next twenty-four hours."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, grab that parsnip, will you? There's a dear. And finally, Number Three, and this one's important so pay attention: Do. Not. Ever. Be. Naked. In. Public. Again."
"It's never been gratuitous!"
"I mean it, Kirk. Not even as an artistic choice. Got it?"
He sighs audibly.
"Got it. So what's next?"
"Dry Cleaners, Jewelry Store, and Bookshop. Now let's go pay for these vegetables."
She plots and plans as pathetic Kirk puppydogs after her around town. But she's so very sure. And that is a thrilling thing. And apparently, to her amazement, to her delighted surprise, Luke is sure too.
Once back in her kitchen, she unburdens Kirk and sends him out to wash the jeep. Even though it's dark out already.
She stands perfectly still for a moment before walking over and kicking the thingy on the front of the refrigerator until it falls off.
She then puts a few key items away before walking to the phone.
"Luke?" she says when he answers, her heart beating all get out. "I've got an appliance emergency, babe... It's the refrigerator... Twenty minutes?... Wonderful. Thanks, hun... Yeah, love you too."
It only takes her fifteen minutes to put on the black satin slip dress she's just retrieved from the Dry Cleaners. One to put on lipstick and perfume. One more to get down the champagne glasses which read 'You go to my head', and set the chilled sparkling cider next to them. And another to slip the 'What to Expect for Idiots' book in a giftbag.
That leaves her two to take some deep breaths and pop an altoid.
And suddenly Luke's there with Bert, who is quickly forgotten when the spaghetti strap of the black satin dress slips off her shoulder almost on purpose.
And he's backed her against the refrigerator and they're making out like kids until she stops him and asks him to look at the broken thingy.
"Now?"
"I don't want anything to spoil."
He sighs and compliments her romantic timing but kneels down to look at the damage, anyway.
"What the hell did you do, kick it?" he shakes his head.
But he goes ahead and removes the thingy and then bends down to look behind it.
She sits on the floor next to him, her back against the cabinets and marvels at his thick, dark lashes and the thousand butterflies that are flying around within her.
"It looks like there's something wedged in here..." he says.
"Really? Huh, weird. What is it?" she plays dumb.
He withdraws a small black box, then looks at it a moment, then up at her.
She unblinkingly meets his eyes. Still sure.
"Open it," she whispers.
But he's watching the way her red lips pucker when she whispers and doesn't hear her.
So she places her hand on his arm.
"Luke, open it," she repeats.
He does. And it's a simple, hammered platinum band. He stares dumbly at it a moment and then looks at her again.
"Luke Danes," she says out loud, "I love you with my whole heart. And am only sorry that it took so many years for me to find that out. Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband? I... I have vegetables," and she points to the table to prove it.
His gaze follows her direction and he sees the vegetables and then turns to look at her again.
"Yes," he says and smiles somewhat shyly.
She laughs and cries a little, and throws herself into his arms then, and when they come up for air, she looks at him a long moment before speaking once more...
"Luke, there's something else you need to know..." she begins.