Everything Old Is New Again

by Lula Bo

How do the same things happen every year in so many different ways? A year in the life of Lorelai, Luke, Rory, Emily, and Richard. Followup to Separation Anxiety.

6. January

AN: I must, as always, begin with huge thanks to my beta reader, all things holy. This chapter totally kicked my ass and did the tarantella on my head, and she put up with a lot of neurotic hand-wringing and hair-pulling from yours truly. The changes she suggested were necessary and made this a better chapter. She talked me down when I got to the point of hating every single word I'd written, too. (I am not at all a perfectionist. Not me. No sir.) Feedback would be so appreciated on this one.

Disclaimer: Amy Sherman-Palladino still owns them and gets to do with them what she wants; I'm only borrowing them to have some fun.

January

Lorelai liked to keep most of the lights off at night after the guests had gone to sleep. She left only the small, green-glass lamp on the reservation desk lit, the hall lights, the sconces in the stairway at their lowest setting, and along the floorboards, night lights. It gave the entire inn a soft, warm glow. She curled into the corner of the sofa, staring out the window just behind her into the frigid darkness outside. This was the reason she'd always loved the hospitality business—the sense of being hugged and held close to something safe and comfortable against the dreariness of two thirty-three AM.

She blinked slowly and drew a deep breath. There was nothing left to do. She'd balanced her books three times already, cleaned her office and desk drawers, reorganized the reservation desk (delighted with the knowledge that Michel would emit a pissed screech when he discovered this come morning), and eaten half of a log of ready-made cookie dough. She folded her arms over the back of the sofa and rested her chin on her wrists. It might come tonight, she thought, or early in the morning—soon, she knew. Her entire body felt poised and waiting the way it always did before the first snow of the year. The air in the afternoon had been just right, tasted of snow, and the cold smelled softer somehow; everything was still and holding its breath, she thought. And about damned time, too, she thought. Stupid freezing rain and sleet. Most depressing weather ever.

Tossing away her blanket, she padded across the parlor in her sock-feet, running her hands through her hair. She'd put on a fresh pot of coffee earlier and it would have not only perked by now but also sat long enough to get good and strong. The kitchen was cold, its surfaces gleaming by the hard outside lights as she hurried to pour herself a cup and return to the front of the inn. The kitchen, at night, had always given her the creeps. Back in the days when she had been the night manager at the Independence, she'd come prepared with thermoses of coffee rather than venture into the kitchen; she knew it was an irrational fear, probably instilled by something Emily had said to her when she was young about knives in the dark, but the knowledge didn't slow her steps any as she made her way back down the hall. She had never much enjoyed working at the Independence at night—the front room always had a large, cavernous feel, lonely and too open. Mia gave her the promotion just after Rory had started school, and she spent the afternoons and early mornings with her daughter, at night tucked her into the big fold-out couch in the manager's office to have her nearby, and slept in the potting shed during the day. She didn't do it long, but Mia had insisted on the formality before promoting her to running the desk in the daytime. She remembered breathing a sigh of relief the morning after her last night shift, and taking Rory to breakfast at Luke's. And here she was again.

She cradled the coffee to her chest, breathing in the steam. Her throat was still slightly sore, and she hadn't been quite able to shake the loose cough she'd developed over the holiday.She wanted nothing more than to be curled up in her own bed beside Luke, listening to him snore softly while she waited for the snow to begin. But three days after Christmas, the Dragonfly's night manager had quit—her husband had received a promotion and they'd be moving to Boston shortly and she couldn't even give them the two weeks' notice they needed to hire someone new. The holiday week had made it impossible for them to hire anyone decent, and so Lorelai and Michel took over the duties, turn about. And then, just days after New Year's, the chows came down with a mysterious illness and were vomiting every few hours and Michel could find no one to sit with them in the evenings, so Lorelai was on her fourth consecutive night of sitting up alone in her inn, waiting for the sun to come up.

There was a stack of books in her office on loan from Rory's room, but she'd been too listless for reading. With the mood she was in, the only thing she really felt like doing was calling Rory, but Rory was on her last week of sleeping in her own bed before winter break was over and it wasn't fair to wake her daughter just because Lorelai herself was bored.

Television was out of the question as well, she knew, and she settled back against the couch cushions with her coffee, drawing her knees up to her chest. She rested her chin on the rim of her cup and settled for quiet thinking. Really, there's no other alternative, she thought, short of waking up Luke and hello to the horror of that phone call. Hi, honey, I'm bored. What are you doing? She snorted. Honey. She tested it out in her head, Luke, honey?, and shuddered. He wasn't a "honey." She added it to the list she was slowly compiling of rejected terms of endearment for Luke; anything with a diminutive or related to food wouldn't do. It had been bothering her since New Year's Eve.

It had been a bitterly cold day. Luke had gone out early and opened the diner, served the early morning customers, run to the market, and come back just as Lorelai and Rory were dragging themselves out of bed, yawning and bleary-eyed.

"Looks like I'm just in time," he said, coming into the living room, his arms full, just as Lorelai descended the stairs from her bedroom. He kissed her hello when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Looks like you're far too perky," Lorelai mumbled, shuffling after him to the kitchen. "Tell me—"

"There's coffee," he said. "Rory up yet?"

"I'm up," Rory called, emerging from her bedroom. She slumped in a chair at the kitchen table and yawned. "God, I'm tired."

Lorelai hoisted herself up onto the counter, muttering an agreement in reply. They were quiet as Luke made them coffee and poured, as he mixed batter in a bowl and heated a skillet on the stove. Rory rubbed her eyes and reached for the sugar bowl, dumping large spoonfuls into her coffee cup.

"Remind me why I volunteered to go tonight?" she asked.

"Because you're a good friend," Lorelai said. "It's a very big gig for Lane—New Year's Eve, a bar in Hartford, Friday night..."

She dropped her head to her arms on the tabletop. "I know. But it's going to suck. It's going to be all sweaty and drunk people and kissing and we'll be right next to the speakers the whole time."

"Some day, I want someone to explain the whole New Year's Eve celebration to me," Luke said. "Talk about a stupid holiday."

"Don't start," Lorelai moaned, banging her head against the cabinet. "It's too early for a Luke Danes rant of the holiday kind."

He looked at her darkly. "Get off the counter and sit. Your pancakes are almost ready."

She slid off the counter and sat beside Rory. They huddled close, Lorelai's arm draped across Rory's shoulders. "If it makes you feel better, babe," she said, "I'm going to be doing the exact same thing—drunken, sweaty people kissing all over the place and me not participating because I have to run the damned party."

Rory rested her head against her mother's shoulder. "New Year's Eve is only fun when you do it at home—"

"—with Dick Clark—"

"—and Mallowmars—"

"—like in When Harry Met Sally—"

"—and fuzzy pajamas—"

"Good times," they sighed together. Luke arched an eyebrow at them as he placed their plates in front of them.

Lorelai reached for the bottle of syrup he'd put on the table. "Oh, don't look at us like that. We have our rituals."

"The only really good New Year's Eve party is the one in When Harry Met Sally," Rory said.

Lorelai pointed her fork at her. "When Harry shows up, and he's all 'I love you,' and Sally's all, 'I hate you, Harry, I really hate you!' And then they make out."

"Which is kinda gross, considering it's Billy Crystal," Rory added.

Luke stared at them. "I'm getting tired just keeping up with this train of thought."

"Oh, you are not," Lorelai said. "You're just feeling left out because you've never seen the movie."

The party at the inn that night was for a group of old college friends, all in their forties now, who had rented out the entire place for the holiday and left the kids at home. They wanted a party with streamers and confetti and whistles, cheesy eighties music and finger foods and lots and lots of booze. Lorelai had hired a bartender for the night and cleared out one of the parlors for a dance floor, set up a buffet and coaxed some of the wait staff into walking around with trays. It was a loud, boisterous group, all shitfaced by ten thirty. Lorelai surreptitiously set the clock back five minutes as she made her rounds, checking to see if anyone needed anything, if there was enough champagne, if anyone looked especially closed to vomiting or passing out. When the clocks in the inn read ten to midnight, she slipped out the back door to have a moment to herself.

She stood on the back porch, shivering slightly. She hadn't bothered with a coat and the night was cold enough to break glass; the satiny tank she wore with her good black skirt wasn't made for warmth, she knew, but she didn't care as she hugged herself and breathed deeply. The air tasted of ice. She started slightly and turned at the touch of a warm hand cupped on her shoulder. Luke grinned at her, standing just behind her. He was in typical Luke garb—scarf, baseball hat, army jacket, jeans. He gave her a quick once over before opening the front of his coat and pulling her to his chest, wrapping her inside the jacket with him.

"Not the best idea you ever had," he told her. "But it looks good."

"I know," she said. She rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him. "But I didn't know you were coming."

"That was sort of the plan," he said. "It's almost midnight. It's New Year's. Thought I'd ring it in with my girl, surprise her." He paused. "You know all your clocks in there are wrong."

She smiled as she turned her head, laying her cheek to his shoulder and huddling closer, wrapping her arms around him under the coat. "Yes, they are. I did that on purpose. Have the real midnight to myself and then go in and have it again with them."

"Sneaky," he said.

"Clever," she replied. "So the man who needs New Year's Eve explained to him turns out to be a sentimentalist about the holiday after all, huh?"

He shrugged. "I don't know about that." He reached up and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just wanted to see you."

"Either way, I'm glad you're here," she said. "Is it time yet?"

Luke checked his watch. "Another minute or two. So," he said, "that movie was... eh, I don't know. Didn't do much for me, and the party looked boring. The speech was pretty good, though. I liked the scene with the sandwich."

Lorelai looked up at him, mystified. "What the hell are you talking about, Danes?"

"You know, with the friends who get together and then the guy is an ass and he goes to the party and says all that stuff about how he loves the girl for all these dopey reasons—"

"You watched When Harry Met Sally didn't you?" she asked. He didn't reply, just made a face.

Just as Lorelai opened her mouth to speak again, the timer on Luke's watch went off, the mechanical beep harsh in the stillness. She leaned up to him, pressing her hands against his back to maintain her balance as she touched her lips to his and kissed in the new year. He tightened his arms around her while he returned and deepened the kiss. She pulled away reluctantly to catch her breath, slowly opening her eyes.

"I love you," she said. "Happy New Year."

Luke brushed a kiss on her forehead. "Happy New Year, Lorelai."

She disentangled herself from inside his jacket, gasping slightly when the cold hit her bare shoulders once more. She put her hand to his cheek and pulled him down to her for another brief, soft kiss. "I have to get back inside," she said quietly. "But I'll be home by dawn."

He caught her hand and held it to his face, kissed her palm. "I'll be waiting," he said, speaking into her skin. He let her go and leaned in for a last kiss. "Night, love."

Lorelai stood in the doorway and watched him jog away before she turned and walked swiftly back to the main room; she felt flushed through her entire body, as she always did when he called her 'love,' warmed through by the way he dropped his voice and spoke the word so low. It was a name he only ever called her after the sun had gone down, when they were in the dark together alone. As she walked down the hall, she wondered why she didn't have her own handle for him, a private name that belonged only to them. The crowd stood before the clock on the mantel, their glasses raised as they counted down. "Ten, nine, eight..."

Amidst the kissing and hugging and laughing when the hands on the clock met at twelve, Lorelai felt a tap at her elbow. She turned to find Derek holding her cell phone. He held it out to her.

"It was in the kitchen, ringing," he said. "I thought you'd want it."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Derek." She flipped open the still ringing cell. "Hello?"

"I think I just made out with Marty!"

Lorelai furrowed her brow and stepped away from the party to the back hall. "Rory?"

"What do I do?" she asked, breathless and frantic.

"Back up a second, babe. You think you just made out with Marty? You're not sure?"

She could hear the heavy thump of bass in the background and the hum of drunken revelry in the bar as Rory spoke. Her daughter's voice sounded thick and strange.

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," Rory groaned.

Lorelai furrowed her brow. "Have you been drinking?" she asked gently.

She heard Rory hesitate. "Some."

"Well," she said, sighing and closing your eyes, "you're entitled—it's what you do when you go out at a bar... Marty drinking, too?"

Rory snorted. "Naked Guy, Mom, remember?"

"Who's driving home?"

"Brian, Mom. He doesn't drink," Rory said. Lorelai could hear the "duh" in her voice. "Wish I didn't," she said, sounding close to tears. "Oh, Mom, what's going to happen now?"

"Rory, babe, I can't tell you that if I don't know what happened before," she replied, carefully.

Rory drew a shaky breath. "Marty met us at the bar—he took the train in—and Zach got us in and told the bartender we were with the band, so we got free drinks—"

"What were you drinking?"

"What?"

Lorelai smiled a little. "What... were... you... drinking?" she asked slowly.

"Oh. Uh, rum and Coke? And cranberry and vodka?" Rory said. "Why does that matter?"

She shrugged. "I was just curious."

"Anyway," she said. "We were just sort of hanging out and listening to the music and dancing and drinking and then they did the countdown thing at midnight and we hugged and kissed each other's cheeks because that's what you do at midnight on New Year's, and—"

"Rory, honey, slow down," Lorelai said. "Where is Marty now?"

"In the bathroom," Rory said. "Can I please finish?" Lorelai said nothing. "Thank you. So we were hugging and then we were kissing and I don't even know how and then we stopped and it got very weird and he went to the bathroom..."

"Did he kiss you or did you kiss him?"

Rory sighed. "I told you," she said impatiently, "I don't know. I didn't know we had started until after we were already in the middle of it!"

"How long were you kissing?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, and Lorelai couldn't help but smile at the utter confusion and desperation in Rory's voice. "It was just... I don't know."

Lorelai bit her lip. "Well, hon, I don't know what to tell you. Was it good?"

"Was what good?"

"The kissing. Good?"

"Why do you think I'm freaking out?" Rory asked at a hysterical pitch. "It was amazing!"

"Really?" Lorelai asked. "Because, Lord love Marty and all, but he doesn't look like he'd really know what he was doing in that area—"

"Mom, you are so not helping!" she cried.

"Sorry, I'm sorry! But babe, I'm really not seeing the problem, here."

Rory let out a gusty sigh. "Mom. The problem is that I like him. A lot. And he's this really good, sweet, amazing guy."

"Still not seeing—"

"Because whenever the kissing starts, that's when things get confusing and everything starts to go wrong and I like him too much to be kissing him!"

Lorelai bit her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Oh, babe," she said. She paused. "Is he still in the bathroom?"

"He's either too embarrassed to come out or he's puking," Rory said. "Either way, not looking so good for the rest of the night."

"I have to agree with you there," Lorelai replied. "But listen, babe, I think you need to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. Remember why you started liking him in the first place," she said.

Rory was quiet a moment. "Because he's—because he doesn't expect anything from me," she said, at length.

"Except that you be Rory," Lorelai said. "There you go. Don't worry. He'll come out of the bathroom eventually, and there'll be a few minutes of awkward silence until he makes a dopey joke and you'll laugh, and tomorrow you'll figure out what you're supposed to do next, okay?"

"Mom?"

"Yeah, sweets?"

"I really wish we hadn't been drunk."

"Oh, I know, babe. I know. You call me when you get back to Lane's tonight, okay? I don't care what time it is."

"I will," Rory said. "Happy New Year, Mom. I love you."

"Oh, back at you, babe. I'll talk to you soon," Lorelai said.

She crept into the house just after six. Luke was in the bedroom, stretched out on top of the covers, his hands folded behind his head. Lorelai stood in the doorway a moment, trying to decide if he was sleeping. He wore his flannel shirt, unbuttoned and minus the perpetual tee underneath, and she could see his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath it. She stepped into the room, her heels clicking slightly on the floor, and he immediately turned his head and opened his eyes.

"Hey," he said, sitting up.

She gestured for him not to get up as she wriggled out of her skirt. He ignored her and rose to draw back the covers on the bed. "You haven't been awake this whole time, have you?" she asked, pulling her shirt over her head.

He shook his head. "Nah, just off and on."

Lorelai pulled on pajama pants and a tank top and climbed into bed. Luke followed suit, taking off his jeans and sliding beneath the covers beside her. She curled herself around a pillow and yawned. Closing her eyes, she squirmed to find the most comfortable position, settling herself close to Luke, her back to him. He spooned against her, his hand on her hip and his chin on her shoulder.

"My daughter," she told him, "is in love."

"Hmm," he responded, rubbing his thumb reassuringly against her hip.

Lorelai angled to look back at him. "That's all you have to say? 'Hmm'?"

Luke closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck. She shivered at the scratch of stubble on her skin, drawing his arm more tightly around her. He tangled his legs with hers and sighed as he hugged her to him. "Good for her," he said, muffled slightly against her.

She considered this. "Yeah," she said. "I think so, too." She paused. "Hey, what was with the getup, before?"

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. "Oh. I took a shower when I got back from the inn," he said. "Had a pair of boxers in the laundry room but no shirt, so..."

She twisted to look back at him again. "You know you can leave anything you want here," she said. "I mean, I know I'm very Jessica Simpson with the closets and the dresser and everything, but—"

"Thanks." He lightly pressed his lips to her shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"And if you wanted—"

Luke squeezed her, pressing his hand flat against her stomach. "Lorelai," he said softly. "I know."

She nodded and rested her head back on the pillow. "Good. Are you staying today?"

"I'm staying," he said. "It's a holiday. We're closed. You?"

Lorelai yawned. "Me, too." She closed her eyes. "Happy New Year," she mumbled sleepily.

"You said that already."

"And yet. Happy New Year."

He kissed her temple. "Happy New Year, love," he replied. "Now go to sleep."

She'd drifted off smiling. When she woke early in the afternoon, she was alone. She sat up and blinked in confusion, looking around her. The door was closed; she strained to hear signs of presence in the rest of the house. Shrugging when she heard none, she slipped out of bed, jammed her Hello Kitty slippers on her feet, and headed for the bathroom. A few moments later, she descended the stairs to be met by the nasal twang of country music and distinctive cooking-smells. She wandered down the hall and paused by Rory's door, leaning against the doorframe. Luke sat at the kitchen table, his chin propped on his fist and his brow furrowed in concentration, reading.

"Hey," she said.

He looked up. "You're up," he said. He rose and crossed the small distance between them.

"I am up," she replied. She stood on tiptoe, steadied herself with her hands flat on his chest, and kissed him briefly. "What's cooking, good looking?"

Luke took her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over hers. "That pasta-casserole thing you like."

"Oh!" she cooed. "Did you make the cheesy bread, too?"

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into the kitchen. "You think I don't know what's good for me?" he asked. He pushed her gently into a seat. "It's cooling—too hot to eat right now. I can put coffee on."

Lorelai rubbed her forehead and yawned. "Please do." As he checked on the food and made her coffee, she reached for the book he'd been reading. "What's this?" she asked, holding it up. "Nobody's Fool? I thought this was a Paul Newman movie."

Luke looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, it was Jess's Christmas present to me. Gave me a book by the same guy for my birthday, too."

"And how is Jess?" Lorelai asked.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You really don't have to ask if you don't want to know," he said.

"I want to know," she told him, her tone offended. Off his look, she spread her hands. "I do!"

"He's fine. Really likes working at that bookstore, and he's in some management position so the money's not too bad and he gets a discount."

"So he's pretty much died and gone to heaven," Lorelai said.

"Pretty much. And he met a girl."

She couldn't help snorting slightly. "Oh, really?"

Luke ignored the bemused disbelief in her voice. "She works at one of those makeup counters at Saks, apparently. And she's a student, a playwright, or something. Goes to the New School."

"James Lipton," Lorelai said. "I wonder what her favorite word is. And if she can get me free samples." She paused. "Maybe—" she began, and stopped when the CD in the stereo moved to a new song.

"I'll never forget the first time that I heard—"

"Oh, God," she moaned. "Luke!"

"—that pretty mouth say that dirty word..."

"What?"

"Luke, I hate this song."

"Why?"

Lorelai wrinkled her nose. "It's so condescending. Oh," she said, dropping her voice, "my girlfriend is so cute when she messes things up, which is all the time and I'm the man and I never mess anything up and—"

"That's not what he's saying."

"The whole thing is a list of times she tries to do nice stuff for him and she messes up and how absolutely adorable it is, and as a woman, I find that mildly insulting."

Luke pulled her to her feet and put an arm around her waist, taking her hand in his free one, forcing her into a slowly, lazy dance. Lorelai rolled her eyes but leaned into him. She slung her arm around his shoulders and let her forehead rest against his cheek.

He whispered into her hair, teasing. "It's about how you love someone, warts and all," he told her, "especially when she's doing something with you or for you that just shows you why you fell in love with her in the first place."

She tilted her head back to look at him. "And why is that?"

Luke studied her, his eyes soft. "What choice did you have?"

Lorelai grinned, closed her eyes, shook her head. "You're cheesier than that bread you make, Luke." She released his hand and clasped both hers behind his neck, pulling him closer. He rested his forehead against hers. "I kinda like it, though." She kissed him lightly. "Rory's not going to be home for a couple of hours," she said hopefully, raising her eyebrows, her chin against his.

"Oh?" he asked. He held her close, pressing his palms against her back. "And?"

She bit his lower lip. "Mean," she said. She dropped her hands and let them settle on his chest as she played with his collar. "You found a shirt," she said.

"Nah. I did a load of laundry, washed it while you were asleep."

Lorelai concentrated on the buttons of Luke's flannel a moment. She worked her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. She raised her eyes to him to be met by a questioning look.

"Luke, come and live with me," she said.

He averted his eyes immediately and she felt him tense. She pulled her hands back and made to step away, but he kept his arms firmly locked around her. He sighed, passing his eyes over her face, scanning her features, before he returned her gaze fully. "Let's talk about it when you get someone settled for nights at the inn, huh?"

She nodded. "Oh. Okay." She turned her cheek, her eyes stinging.

Luke leaned his head close. "Hey," he said softly. "I just—"

She tipped her face to his again. "No, you're totally right. You're right. It'll be better then, things will be settled. It's good." She closed her eyes rather than watch him react to the shrillness in her tone, the words stumbling over each other as she spoke.

He kissed her briefly and tangled a hand in her hair as he massaged the base of her neck. She relaxed against him a little, letting him rub away the disappointment.

"You want to eat?" he asked.

Lorelai laid her hand against his cheek. "Uh-uh," she said. "Take me upstairs."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You want me to take you upstairs?"

"Oh, don't be cute," she said. "Kiss me, take me upstairs, and worship my body to express your total adoration of its glory."

Luke chuckled. "My crazy girl," he said, his mouth against hers. He did as he was told, kissed her right there in the kitchen, cradling her head in his hand as he slid the other under the hem of her tee shirt, kneading the skin on the small of her back. He broke the kiss and, before either of them had caught their breath, put one arm firmly around her waist as he reached down and caught the other behind her knees, grunting as he lifted her to carry her up the stairs. She looped her arms around his neck, laughed as he deposited her on the bed.

Lorelai thought about it now, smiling to herself in the dark. She put her empty mug on the floor beside the couch. She lay down, pressed her cheek to the couch cushions, and closed her eyes. Luke, she thought, pulling a blanket down over herself, was the best kisser. He knew just how tightly to hold her, just where to put his hands, how much pressure was just enough, when to pull back. He had the best mouth, the best lips, warm and soft and all the better for the way his beard could be so rough against her skin. He had the best hands, not too rough and calloused or too smooth and soft, and they fit just so at her waist, at the base of her neck. Being the best kisser with the best hands and knowing her so well, knowing just where to drop a kiss and to trace circles on her skin with his fingertips...

She touched her lower lip with the tips of her fingers, remembering. She hadn't exaggerated, the night of his birthday.

They didn't often talk about sex. It was almost a relief: she liked that he didn't need her to boast to him about his physical prowess and that he never leered at her about her own. She wasn't surprised he wasn't chatty during the sex itself—being Luke, he wasn't known for his loquaciousness in most social situations and sex wasn't any different—and was thankful that he wasn't. It was, she'd always thought, the one time, the one activity, during which she was more than perfectly content to be silent and hold her tongue. So to speak, she thought. She loved that Luke didn't feel the need to narrate the whole experience, the way Max had—Max, who had a speech for every occasion, had been hyper-verbal in bed.And he never checked in, the way Jason had, always asking for status updates, needing validation at every moment. When he spoke, it was all breathless incoherence, pleas and I love yous and love and her name, and those were the things she returned. Moments like they'd had that night of his birthday, when she'd stopped him and told him she wasn't going anywhere, were rare, and she preferred it that way. Luke was eloquent enough without words, she thought.

Lorelai burrowed into her blanket further. Though she was dressed warmly in a thermal long sleeved shirt and fleece pants and the afghan was heavy, she shivered, thinking of the way he breathed that word love when they were together that afternoon with the curtains closed against the gray day outside, the way he'd run his thumb over her lower lip and whispered in her ear as she turned her head, arched her back to be closer to him, the way the word made his voice catch and her chest ache.

Had someone else called her this, she knew, it would have grated on her nerves. Someone like Max, she knew, could only sound like he was trying too hard, and it would be cloying and awkward; worse yet, guys like Christopher or Jason would have only made it seem condescending and cheap.

A year ago, she thought, if someone had told her she'd be sitting in the front parlor of her inn by herself in the dark and the middle of the night, contemplating the fact that Luke Danes called her "love" as though it were the most natural thing in the world when other men would have only pissed her off in doing so, she would have brushed it off with an uncomfortable laugh and a roll of the eye. It then would eat at her for the next forty eight hours while she pretended not to think about it and in the process would end up picking a fight with him to make herself feel better and only succeed in making both herself and Luke miserable. But a year ago, she thought, he'd been with Nicole and she'd been with Jason and both she and Luke together worked at deliberately misunderstanding their relationship—still just friendship, but not friendship, fraught as it was with passive-aggressive jealousy and the tension of mixed messages and closeness that was both a little too close and not close enough.

It wasn't entirely fair, Lorelai knew, to compare the past and present. She hadn't been friends with the men in her life before, not the way she had been with Luke. Even Christopher, she thought, was different. That wasn't a relationship either of them had had to try very hard for—it was one they grew up with. Her friendship with Luke was one that she'd sought out though she'd never given much thought to why. Probably, she thought, because the idea of someone not finding my bullshit utterly and completely fascinating confounded me to the point I had no choice but to wear him down and make him like me.

Fair or not, he invited comparison: he was so unlike anyone she'd ever been with. He wasn't smooth. He didn't flatter her just to please her—didn't pander to her to keep her interested. They had all been nice guys—Chris, the first time, and Max, also the first time, and then Max and Chris again, Alex after them... Jason, not so nice, in the end. She'd liked them all, loved the attention, loved being pursued. And there'd been at least a bit of a spark with all of them—it wouldn't have been worth it without it. Sparks, she thought, swirling the coffee in the oversized mug, but not connections.

She was probably giving Luke a little too much credit: that he understood her so well had more to do with the fact that they'd both managed to entangle themselves so completely in each other's lives for the better part of ten years than anything else. Even so, he'd challenged her, he gave back as good as he got, he stood in her driveway and waved shovels and yelled at her, pushed back when she pushed first, never let her get away with the easiest answer. When he did give in, it was never with a wink and a chuckle and affected amusement—he did it in the most Luke-like way possible. It reminded her of something Winky told her the first time they'd sat and talked; she had been telling Lorelai about her husband Harry, and she'd said, "It was easy. Even when it was hard, it was easy."

That was the difference, she thought. It was comfortable and he fit. They squabbled and baited each other, the way they always had; she asked too much and he was too silent, and they more often than not held onto their own private hurts until they came to the breaking point. There were things they didn't talk about. Lorelai thought about that night in Luke's apartment, that night she'd come to him and they hadn't talked about the tests she took in the mall restroom.They still hadn't talked about "those things," as he'd called them. There were moments, pauses in her days when she'd stopped to take a breath and rest and grab a cup of coffee and let her mind wander, that she'd come back to "those things" and felt slightly restless, slightly regretful that she hadn't taken up the offer to talk about it. During those moments, she'd sigh and push the thought aside again.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She couldn't keep doing that, she knew—eventually it would have to work itself out. But there were more interesting things to think about now. This matter of nicknames, she thought, was going to needle her until she figured it out. She closed her eyes and began to run through the list again. Sweetie, honey, darling, dear, baby, sugar...

Lorelai sat up, suddenly, a pricking sensation at the back of her neck and goose bumps raising on her arms. Her fingers and toes began to tingle and she felt the familiar looseness in her joints return as she swung her legs over the side of the couch and slid across the slick wooden floor to the window. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out into the yard, squinting.

It had begun to snow. Big, fat flakes sifted slowly through the thin light coming from the lamps on the porch, whirling softly in the breeze. Lorelai beamed, smiling broadly as she skipped back to her office. Enough with the freaking stupid sleet and slush we've had all winter! Glory, glory, hallelujah, bring on the white stuff! she thought. She jammed her feet into boots and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She struggled into her jacket and pulled her hat down over her ears as she wound her way down the hall towards the front door, reaching into her pocket for her gloves. She paused, one hand on the doorknob, finding only one. Glove gnomes, she thought, always stealing just the left one. She shrugged and put on the right hand glove as she let herself out.

The front yard was entirely still as the snow fell. Lorelai hugged herself, bouncing on her toes as she stood on the top step and listened to the particular kind of silence that only belongs to snowy nights. The porch light opened the lawn out before her, creating a circle around the front of the inn that dissipated into complete darkness and gave Lorelai the sensation of absolute safety. She took a breath and closed her eyes—there was nothing about this moment she didn't love, every single year. The stillness, the smell of the cold, and the tangy taste of air, all of it together gave her an utterly peaceful feeling she couldn't replicate on her own. Her mind moved so quickly, the words never ceased, but when the snow came, she felt herself slow, felt restful.

She opened her eyes slowly, unsurprised to see Luke emerging from the darkness into the yard, a cardboard carton holding two paper to-go cups and a paper bag in his hands. She smiled, descending the stairs to meet him. He was bundled in his army jacket, a red wool scarf peeking over the collar and a gray wool cap on his head. He cocked an eyebrow at her as he approached, the expression on his face one of bemused tolerance.

"How did you get here so fast?" she asked.

He leaned towards her and kissed her lightly. "I was up."

Lorelai closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. His skin was cold. She thought she felt a slight tremor in his hands as he held the coffee and baked goods.

He handed her the paper bag. "Here. Donuts. And the one with the white top is yours."

She opened the bag and looked inside. "What's that? A corn muffin?"

"That's for me."

"And what are you drinking?" she asked, taking her coffee and leading the way to the porch stairs to sit.

He sat beside her. "Hot cider."

"Learn to live a little, Luke."

Luke watched Lorelai pick through the donuts he'dbrought as she sipped her coffee. He gripped his cider in his hands, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What have you been doing all night?" he asked abruptly. Lorelai darted a glance at him, surprised. His voice was overly loud, his tone a little too tense.

"Thinking," she said slowly, around a mouthful of chocolate donut. "And drinking coffee."

He snorted. "Right. And how's that going for you?"

She shrugged. "I have yet to reach my threshold." She handed him the corn muffin he'd brought for himself. She studied him as he pulled off his gloves and separated the top of the muffin from the bottom. He concentrated on crumbling it into pieces rather than actually eat it. She smiled. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"What?"

She spread her hands. "This. Wait up because I told you it would snow, bring me coffee and donuts, all of it." She lowered her eyes and pulled at the fingertips of her glove. "You do too much for me."

"Well, I love you," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "And I know how much you look forward to this."

"So you thought you'd help me keep up the ritual," she finished. He shrugged in reply, and Lorelai bumped his shoulder with hers. "Oh, Luke," she sighed.

Luke took a swig of cider. "So, what have you been thinking about?" he asked. The hitch in his voice was now unmistakable, she thought. He cleared his throat, and she decided to let it pass.

She stared out over the yard. She turned her coffee cup in her hands, not really wanting to answer. Gee, I was thinking about you and all the other men I've been with. Wanna hear the list? And then I started thinking about "those things." The thought made her smile drop; she shoved half a donut in her mouth to avoid replying.

"Nuffin'," she said through her full mouth. "Nuffin' a aw."

He laughed. "Okay, then."

Lorelai swallowed and turned to look at him once more. He seemed pale, though she thought it might just be the quality of the light coming from the porch lamps and the brightness of the snow falling. He caught her eye and furrowed his brow.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

She wanted to inch even closer to him, to rest her head on his shoulder and tuck her forehead against his neck, to hold her coffee and breath him in and enjoy the snow. But the questions were bubbling up within her now, the questions she'd squelched repeatedly since before his birthday. She spoke before she realized it.

"I'm really good at avoiding things, you know?"

Luke cleared his throat once more. "And what specifically are you avoiding?"

She chewed on her lip a moment. "The thing we haven't been talking about since November."

"Oh. That." His face fell.

"Yeah. That." She drew her feet up a step and leaned forward to her chin on her knees, balanced her coffee on the toes of her shoes. She shut her eyes once more, squeezing them tightly closed. "Never mind."

She jumped when he rested his hand on the small of her back. "No," he said. "If this is bothering you—"

"I wouldn't say it's been bothering me," she told him, "except... it's been bothering me, a little."

"So, we should talk about it," he said thickly.

Lorelai tipped her head to look at him, her expression pained. "I don't mean to ruin this—I mean, you went out of your way and—"

"Lorelai," Luke sighed. "Don't do that. Tell me."

"I will," she said.

They were silent several long moments.

"Luke? If I really had been—been pregnant... would you have asked me to marry you?"

"Yes," he said. He waited a beat. He was tentative as he spoke. "Would you have said yes?"

She hesitated. "No."

He turned to look at her. "No?"

She twisted awkwardly where she sat. "Not right away."

"Why the hell not?" he asked, his mouth hanging open. His voice, his expression were both a mess of emotion, confused and hurt and pissed all at once. Lorelai felt her chest tighten, a sharp pain behind her ribs, seeing the vulnerable brokenness in his eyes. She reached for his hand, and though he resisted, she linked her fingers through his.

She spoke slowly, studying their entwined fingers. "Because I wouldn't want to say yes if I thought you'd asked me because you felt like you had to."

Luke made a noise of disbelief. "You know—"

"I know," she said. "But if I had come to you and said, 'Luke, I'm pregnant,' and you'd said, 'okay, then, will you marry me?', I'd have—I'd have gotten angry. I'd have thought you didn't want any of it, that you felt obligated—"

"You know me better than that," he said, drawing his hand back and rising. He began to pace. "Don't you?"

Lorelai clutched her coffee in both hands and drew into herself, shuddering with cold. "Of course. But—it would have—can you see it from my perspective? That it wouldn't have felt like that was what you wanted?"

He sighed. "I guess. I don't—I don't know. But if you'd said no—"

"You'd have done what?"

He looked at her sadly. "I would have—I would have thought you didn't want any of it, either. The baby, me..."

"Don't you know me better than that?" she cried.

Luke stopped pacing and threw his arms out, leaning forward slightly. "I do, but you ask someone to marry you and her immediate response is no? Might make you question yourself."

He paused and looked down, putting his hands on his hips. Lorelai watched him, her eyes filling, as he slowed his ragged breathing and attempted to calm himself. When he looked up at her, his carefully neutral expression stung her slightly. He kept his tone deliberate and even.

"What if I asked you now? Would you say yes if I asked you now?"

Lorelai's mouth fell open. She widened her eyes and a rush of heat swept through her. "What?"

Luke averted his eyes and began pacing again. "Forget it."

She made an indeterminate high pitched noise, opening and closing her mouth several times as she tried to reply. "You can't say something like that and then ask me to forget it!"

"Why the fuck are we arguing about a past hypothetical situation that never happened?" Luke yelled, grabbing the bottom of his hat and pulling it viciously over his ears, his face screwed in an expression of pained frustration.

Lorelai dropped her eyes. Her mouth suddenly felt bitter, tasted of guilt. "I just needed to—I needed to know."

"Know what?"

"What would have happened. If I really had been pregnant," she said. "I mean, we might not even still be—"

"Don't," he said again. "You know that's not true. I would have been pissed as hell, but I would have stayed. You know that. We'd have done it together."

Lorelai gave him a watery smile, and he returned to sit beside her. "Good," she said. "That's very good."

Luke cupped her face in his hands and studied her a long moment, running his thumbs against her cheekbones as he did. She tilted her chin up and kissed him, laying her hands over his. Lorelai brushed the tips of her fingers along the backs of his hands as he kissed her softly back. She pulled away, her throat aching slightly. She kept her eyes closed, drawing deep breaths. Now, she thought, she knew, he knew, and he was still there. She held his hands to her face, her own now tightly gripping his wrists, feeling his pulse flutter quickly beneath his skin. Luke kissed her bottom lip, her chin, her eyes, her forehead, still lightly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

"It would have been," he said.

Lorelai opened her eyes and searched his face. The tremors, the happy, nervous shaking he'd given her that first time he kissed her had never gone away—the certainty she saw in the set of his expression, his eyes, brought them on full force.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"We're good," he replied. She kissed him once more, briefly, and squeezed his hands before releasing them.

They were silent together, watching the snow fall as they sat side-by-side, Lorelai under Luke's arm, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. She replayed the conversation over in her head, hearing the array of tones with which Luke had spoken, always coming back to the calm, even way he'd asked her what she would say to a proposal now. It wasn't something she could think about; she was emotional enough as it was. She lifted her head.

"I'm going to go in and get some more coffee. Do you want anything? Tea?"

Luke started, as though she'd disturbed him from some reverie. His eyes were distant as he shook his head. "I want—" He stopped, stared blankly head another long moment. His breathing seemed shallow. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh.

"Luke?"

He opened his eyes but didn't look at her as he put his gloves back on and adjusted his hat. "You know, I should go," he said briskly. "I have a delivery before we open, and—"

"Oh. Okay." She waited a bit, slouching in disappointment. "If you have to go, you have to go." He still didn't look at her, nodding, and so she sighed and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for coming, though."

"Yeah." He rose, jamming his hands in his pockets. "So, I'll see you. Later."

Lorelai forced a smile. "Yes, you will." She paused. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"O-oookay," she replied, an expression of disbelief on her face. "I'll come by the diner."

"Good," he said. "Good."

Lorelai watched him turn on his heel and head back towards the dark edge of the yard. She stayed where she was, her hands clasped at her shins as she hugged her knees, intending to see him out as far as she could before she went back in for more coffee. It felt colder, suddenly. He left tracks in the fresh snow, sharp patches of brown peeking through the white, and seeing him retreat left her feeling suddenly bereft, lonely, almost hollow.

Luke trudged slowly, shaking his head as he went. He paused at the edge of the yard, hesitatingly turning towards Lorelai and then back, towards her and then back. She watched him, her head tipped to one side as she tried to figure out what he was doing. He looked over his shoulder at her and she gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, fuck it," he said, jogging back to her.

"What's with you?" she asked.

He dropped beside her with a shrug. "I just—I can stay, a while."

She beamed at him. "I'm glad. I still need coffee, though. Come in with me?"

"Nah," he said. "I'll wait here."

Lorelai shook her head as she went inside, smiling to herself. She refilled her cup with the almost stale brew she'd made earlier and went heavy on the cream and sugar to compensate for it. She dawdled a moment in the kitchen despite the creeping sensation along the back of her neck, watching the snow fall before the window over the sink. This, she thought, was peace. When she returned, Luke was in the same spot, tapping his toes and hitting his knees with the palms of his hands.

She sat and pushed herself close to him, nudging him until he put his arm around her. He held her a moment before he took his arm back. He pulled at the seams of his jeans. She could see him working at something, his brow furrowed in concentration, his jaw tightly clenched. She laid her hand on his arm, rubbing the material of his coat in what she hoped would be a reassuring way. She was about to open her mouth, to tell him to talk to her, when he lifted his head.

"Lorelai?"

"Hmm?"

"What made you bring all of this up now?"

She shrugged, sloshing her coffee. "I've had a lot of time on my hands to think about things."

"And?"

She darted a glance at him and took a breath. "I was thinking—I was thinking about how it would have been different if all of this had happened with someone else." He stiffened at these words as if she'd pricked him with something sharp. She stared at the yard before her as she went on. "Anyone else—well, first of all, anyone else would have left way back in July when I lost it after the town meeting, so it would have all been moot anyway. But even then..." She trailed off and said nothing for a moment; Luke waited. "If you had been anyone else, because I wasn't pregnant, and I hadn't told you that I thought I was, I probably wouldn't have told you at all. And things would have gotten all uncomfortable and strange—"

"Like that scene with Harry and Sally when they decide sleeping together was a mistake and he starts eating the salad like a lunatic?" he suggested.

Lorelai laughed shakily. "Yes, just like that." She paused. "No one else would still be here right now. That's what I was thinking about."

They were silent again for several long moments. Lorelai's left hand burned with cold and the small space between she and Luke began to produce a dull ache in her abdomen. At last, she hazarded a sidelong look at him, surprised to find him biting back a smile.

"What?"

He shrugged. "Oh, nothing."

"Luke."

The smile got the better of him. "I was just thinking—"

"Let me in on the joke, then."

"Just—if we were to view your life as some sort of game of Survivor—"

"Oh, stop," she groaned, hitting his knee. She shivered and tucked her left hand between her knees. "I love snow," she sighed, gazing past Luke to see the snow falling over the barn. "I love this."

He reached for her hand and held it between his gloved ones, rubbing her skin lightly. "Why are you only wearing one glove?"

"I lost this one," she said, pouting. "Tragic, because I love this set. It makes me so cute."

"You're already cute," he said. "It's probably around somewhere."

"Probably," she shrugged. She sat beside him and let him warm up her hand a while longer, giggling when he brought it to his mouth and breathed on it, kissing the joint at the base of her thumb.

They fell silent once more. Luke continued to warm Lorelai's hand. After a few moments, he took off his own gloves and folded her hand in one of his, stroking her knuckles lightly with the other. Again she felt the slight swell, the headiness that came from contact, from proximity. She glanced at him as he stared intently at their hands. She studied him before looking away: the moment now was good, her hand in his, coffee, the first snow. She didn't think anything of it when he released her hand and turned the palm up until he placed something cold at the center and closed her fingers over it.

She turned back to him, her eyes wide, as he gently pushed her hand away from him. She uncurled her fingers and looked down at what she now held. She drew a sharp breath.

The ring was old, an antique, she could tell, a simple setting of a square cut diamond set off by smaller sapphires in an elaborately engraved platinum band. Lorelai jerked her head up, searching his face. His expression was watchful, waiting, tremulously hopeful, slightly anxious. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and opened it once more. She made a small noise. Never in her life had she been so completely without words. She momentarily thought her entire body had gone numb, as well, as though her brain had ceased functioning altogether

"Marry me," Luke said simply. His eyes were clear, certain, the blue intense as he looked into hers and waited.

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose. She was intensely conscious of the feel of the ring in her palm, the constriction in her throat. She sought words, struggled to tie them together into sentences. She could only hear Luke's voice, the words he'd said echoing slightly as if from a distance. Her heartbeat felt inordinately slow, as did her breathing, as though she'd fallen asleep and hadn't noticed. The bite from the cold on her cheeks and the electric charge Luke gave off assured her she was awake, that he was staring at her, and that he was waiting for her to speak. She opened her eyes.

"You want me to marry you," she said.

He nodded, watching her carefully. "That's what I said, yes."

She dropped her gaze and stared at his left shoulder. Looking at his left shoulder was safer, there wasn't any expectation sitting on his left shoulder, staring at her, waiting. He had a seam coming undone; she should fix that for him. Really, the coat was so old she should make him retire it altogether, though it wouldn't go over well. A nice navy pea coat, maybe, she thought, something heavy. And a whole new set—hat, scarf, gloves... Her stomach flipped over. I only have one glove. And there's a ring in my hand that is without the glove. I am holding an engagement ring. That Luke gave me. This is a ring, in my hand, that Luke gave me, a ring that Luke gave me because he wants to get engaged. To be married. To me.

"Lorelai?" Luke ducked his head, trying to catch her eye.

Lorelai looked up again, startled. She wished she could stop feeling the cold of the platinum band against her palm so sharply—she couldn't think beyond the ring in her hand. She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips hard against his—she only wanted the contact, something solid other than the ring cutting her skin. She drew back, her heart pounding in her throat, now beating so fast she feared she'd pass out. Her spine tingled. She blinked a few times, trying to gather herself together.

She tried not to think about the flush creeping under her skin, the rush of blood she heard in her ears, to ignore herself as she dredged up some semblance of verbal ability. Luke wanted her to marry him. He was proposing. And she was sitting in the same place she had beentwenty minutes ago, when they'd argued about this very question. She had been so sure, she knew how she would have reacted in that particular situation. In the present situation, however, reacting required total concentration; the fact that he was sitting so close, barely breathing, causing her heart rate to escalate every other second, was making it all the more difficult.

"Are you sure?" she asked. She heard the desperation in the words, the pleading edge—her voice didn't sound like her own, it shook too much, choked on too much feeling.

Luke kissed her forehead. He caught her eyes again. His voice was low and even as he spoke. "I'm sure," he said. "I want you to marry me. I'm sure about that. I'm really, really sure about that."

She furrowed her brow and felt a tear skim her cheek as she unconsciously shook her head."You know, this is—this is forever." She extended the word as far as she could, enunciating and stretching each syllable. She liked the way the word tasted as it rolled out on her tongue. "Forever," she said again. "'Till death do we part, and everything."

Luke pulled back to look at her more fully. He pushed a lock of hair off her cheek, sliding his finger down the side of her face. He traced her features, just as he had kissed them earlier, the lines of her mouth, her jaw, her eyes. Lorelai shivered. "I'm pretty okay with that," he said. "This is what I want. 'Till death do we part."

She felt her eyes welling up as she smiled. His breath was sweet, smelled of apples. "Say it again," she whispered.

He smiled softly. "Marry me."

She kissed him, light and slow, drew away at length. She opened her fist and contemplated the ring, now hot against the center of her palm. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, took a breath, and raised her eyes to his.

"Yeah," she said. "I'll marry you."

Luke rose, pulling Lorelai to her feet with him and lifting her into an almost painfully tight embrace. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, feeling the rapidity of Luke's heartbeat even through his jacket, feeling it in every inch of him as he held her to him, feeling it run through her. She fit herself against his chest, deepening the kiss as she both leaned forward and pulled him closer. The snow fell faster now, and a sudden wind came up, drifting snow into their eyes. When at last they pulled away from each other, Lorelai began to kiss the snowflakes from Luke's face. She closed her eyes again, straining onto the tips of her toes as she rested her chin on Luke's shoulder.

"Can we just stay like this? Just like this?" she asked. "Forever?"

He ran a hand through her hair and put her mouth to her ear. "That's the plan."

Lorelai kissed him just beneath his jaw as she inched back. She concentrated on the feel of his hand at the base of his neck, his arm around her waist, the sound of the snowy silence and Luke's labored breathing, the smell of the cold and his musty jacket and that particular spicy smell that belonged only to Luke, the quality of the light and the shadows created by the snow as it drifted, the way the inn waited behind them as they stood in the center of the yard and the circle of light that enclosed it. She memorized the moment and looked to Luke, watching her as always, his gaze overwhelming. Lorelai hoped his fingers were burning like hers, that happiness this vast and huge hurt a little, if only as a reminder.

"I love you so much," she told him. "Just so much."

Luke swallowed thickly. "I can't tell you," he began, and stopped, lowered his head. She waited, placing a hand over his heart. He held it there as he raised his eyes again. "I just love you," he said, shrugging. "I just do."

They kissed again, less urgently this time. Luke lifted her off her feet as he brought her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, cradling his head in her hands. When they parted, she took his hand, linking her fingers through his and bringing him back to the porch stairs.

They rearranged themselves on the top step, Luke drawing Lorelai into his lap. She draped her arm across his shoulders as he put both his arms around her waist. She rested her hand against his cheek and kissed the tip of his nose. This face, she thought, I love this perfect face.

Her mouth rounded into a delighted O as she remembered. "The ring!" she said. "Can I put on the ring?"

"It is yours," he said. "But wait, can I—will you let me do it?"

Lorelai pressed the ring in his hand. Luke studied her a long moment and leaned in to kiss her. When he pulled back and looked down at her hand, she saw tears in his eyes. She bit her lip as he slid the ring onto the appropriate finger of her left hand. They both stared at it a moment. Lorelai kissed him again.

"We," she said, almost reverent, "are getting married." Luke nodded in reply, his head against her shoulder. Lorelai raised her hand and looked at the ring again. She spoke in the same awed tone. "I'm wearing an engagement ring."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," she said. "Did you pick it out all by yourself?"

"I did," he said indignantly. "When we went to New York."

Her mouth fell open again. "You've had this since November?"

He looked down. "I wanted to wait."

"For?"

"The first snow," he said sheepishly. "It's not a thousand yellow daises, or anything, but—"

Lorelai softened. "Luke. Seriously. This? This was perfect." She sighed contentedly. "A man who proposes with coffee and donuts is a man you say yes to." She paused. "Coffee and donuts and a ring." She looked back at him. "You had a ring."

"Yes, I had a ring."

She kissed him, closing her eyes tightly, her palms flat against his cheeks. She didn't tell him that she'd been proposed to at least twice before, blindsided by the offers, and neither time had there been a ring present. Yet another item on the list, she thought.

"What time is it?" she asked, at length.

Luke checked his watch. "Almost five."

She bounced in his lap. "Michel won't be here for a while," she said. "Will you stay? I want you to come home with me and be there when I tell Rory."

"Oh, Rory knows," he said.

Lorelai sat up straight. "What?"

"She knows," Luke repeated, shrugging. "I showed her the ring, asked her permission."

"When?"

"The day I bought it."

"She's known since November? And she didn't tell me?" She sat a moment, stunned. "I feel so betrayed! I can't believe she didn't tell me." She shook her head. "It's just so wrong." Luke, she could see, was trying not to laugh. "Yeah, yuk it up, Burger Boy. Regardless, I still want you to be there when I tell her officially," she said, the italics punctuated with sharp pokes into his shoulder.

"I have no objections to that," Luke replied. "You want to sit out here until then, or can we go inside and thaw out at some point?"

Lorelai grinned slyly. "Well, it would be highly inappropriate to bring you inside and let you make sweet, sweet love to me on my desk in the office—"

"Yes, highly inappropriate. And uncomfortable."

"—but there's a couch," she finished. "It's a bit narrow, but—"

"How is that more appropriate than a desk?"

She cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "Luke, Luke, Luke," she sighed. "Always with sex on the brain." He snorted. "I am merely suggesting that we go in, divest ourselves of the cumbersome outerwear—"

"Seriously, when you talk to Rory, I want you to wear a sign, or something, so I can prepare myself."

"—and engage in some heated canoodling on said couch limited to the activities of groping, kissing, necking, and attempting to remove each other's clothing while simultaneously not allowing said removal of clothing to occur."

"So you want us to behave like teenagers making out in the basement while Mom and Dad are upstairs listening," he said.

She lit up, smiling. "Exactly! But, as we are older and more mature, I might actually let you touch my bra." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Boys can't handle that much excitement, but I think you might be up to it."

"Dirty," Luke said.

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "So dirty!"

Luke kissed her and pushed her off his lap, onto her feet as he rose. "Let's get with the canoodling."

Lorelai tripped behind him, hanging on his arm. "Oh, being married is going to be so much fun," she laughed.

They spent the next two hours on the couch in Lorelai's office, kissing and talking and laying quietly. Lorelai lay tucked between Luke and the back of the couch, her head on his chest. He played with the ends of her hair and she traced patterns on her shirt with the tip of her fingers.

"Were you going to leave, before? Before you asked?"

Luke shifted. "You just told me you would have said no if I had asked you earlier—"

"There were extenuating circumstances," Lorelai said.

"I know that, but—my confidence was a little shaken, that's all."

They were quiet again.

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this why you didn't want to talk about moving in with me?"

He nodded. "Seemed like jumping the gun."

"We're meeting some people this afternoon," she told him. "If at least one of them is halfway decent, we're hiring that person. I can't stand this much longer." She lifted her head to look up at him. "If that happens, will you come live at the house?"

Luke sighed. "Lorelai—"

"You want to wait until we're married, don't you?" she asked. He didn't reply. Lorelai settled back against his chest. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"If that's what you want," she said. "I don't get it, but if that's what you want, it's okay."

"Okay, then."

Later, Luke pulled back and caught his breath. "It's really okay with you if I don't move in?"

Lorelai blinked. "What?"

"Not moving in—you're fine with it?"

She kissed the line of his jaw. "Whatever you want, Luke. Now shut up."

A few moments later, he again drew back. "Why don't we just talk about it later, okay?"

"Talk about what? You're really breaking the rhythm, here, pal."

"Moving in. We'll sit down and have a conversation."

Lorelai smiled indulgently. "Okay. Let's do that."

Still later, as Lorelai admired her ring, she cut Luke off in the middle of a story he was telling about a kitchen fire he'd had during the week. "You know that getting married means we're going to have a wedding, right?"

"And?"

"Like, a whole wedding thing. There'll be flowers, and a cake, and music, and you and I will stand up in front of everyone we know, and I'll be in a dress and you'll have to wear a suit, and they'll watch us be all mushy and dopey and—"

"Maybe you'll be mushy and dopey."

"—we'll have to dance, and there'll be a party—Luke, this is going to be a whole spectacle," Lorelai finished. "I mean, all of Stars Hollow will turn out for this."

He sighed. "I realize this, yes."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Lorelai, I'm pretty sure the day I marry you, I'm not going to paying attention to much else."

Lorelai rolled her eyes and draped herself across his torso. "Mushy and dopey," she said. "And I love it."

When she heard stirring in the kitchen, Lorelai struggled to sit up, adjusting her shirt and running her hands through her hair. She stopped and looked at the ring on her hand, tipped her head to one side.

"What?" Luke asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I love this ring," she said. "I love it." She smiled. "We're getting married."

Luke sat up and put a hand to Lorelai's cheek. "We're getting married."

She turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. She felt herself begin to tear up again and closed her eyes, pushing her cheek into his hand further, looking away from him.

"Hey," he said softly. "What's this?"

"I'm just happy." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Oy with the crying already," she said, laughing. "C'mon, I want to go home."

They met Michel at the front desk. Lorelai kept her hands hidden in her pockets to avoid questions about the ring, one arm linked through Luke's. She kept him close, relishing the flutters and the vibrations being near him caused, and she wanted to stretch the feeling out as long as possible, to hold him to her side, to latch onto him in a way that almost frightened her—but the fear was a good one, controlled, reassured by the solidity of Luke's body beside hers.Michel looked annoyed already, his arms crossed over his chest and a pissy expression on his face. She clarified the arrangements for the day: she would come back early in the afternoon to take over and begin interviewing people while Michel went home for a break before he took over for the night.

"I am uncomfortable leaving Paw-Paw and Chin-Chin alone," he pouted. "Paw-Paw still looks peaked."

"Michel," Lorelai said, "if Paw-Paw is not currently projectile vomiting and is fit to be left alone, I am not spending another night here. Got it?"

He made a strangled noise in reply and stalked away to the kitchen. Lorelai made a face at his retreating back and tugged on Luke's hand.

"Take me home, Diner Man."

The house was quiet, Rory still sleeping when they came in. Lorelai kicked off her shoes and dropped her hat, scarf, and glove by the coat stand before she hung up her jacket. Luke gave her a look as he followed suit, draping his scarf over his coat and tucking his gloves with his hat into the pockets.

"This is why you lose gloves," he said, pointing.

Lorelai smiled and snaked her arms around his neck. Luke settled his hands at her waist and waited for her to speak. She only shrugged and kissed him, leaning forward as she did. He tightened his arms around her and rubbed her shoulder blades. He stepped back at length.

"I'm going to go up and take a very long, very hot shower," she said.

"Sounds good to me."

"Yeah?" she asked, gripping his collar lightly in her hands. "Care to join me?"

"I do, yes," he replied. "But Rory's still—"

"Luke, I'm pretty sure that Rory knows you've seen me naked. Also, she definitely knows that I've seen you naked. In fact, I can tell you positively that she knows we have sex from time to time," Lorelai said. "She does know what sex is, you know. She's very smart."

He looked at her from beneath lowered brows. "Regardless. Not in the shower, not while she's home."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Don't say anything to her if she wakes up before I get out, okay?" She kissed him again and made for the stairs. She stopped on the landing and leaned over the banister. "Luke," she called softly. He turned, standing at the end of the hall. "We're getting married."

Luke grinned. "Yeah, we are."

Once in her bedroom, Lorelai stripped, leaving a trail of clothes haphazardly across the floor. She slid on her robe and stood before her dresser, brushing her hair. She was acutely aware of the ring on her finger, the feel of it as she ran her fingers through her curls and the glint reflected in the mirror as it caught the early morning light from the window. She took longer than necessary in the shower, her skin turning rosy under the hot water. After, she dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater and bounced down the stairs in her bare feet, tying her damp hair up into a messy knot as she went. Luke was standing by the sink, his hands on his hips, staring out over the yard. Lorelai came up behind him, put her arms around his middle, her cheek on his shoulder.

"I have to tell you," she said, "that I am ridiculously happy right now."

He looked back at her. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm."

Luke lifted his arm, and Lorelai shifted, letting him pull her to his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "Good," he said.

"I'm assuming the monosyllabic behavior means that you reciprocate, and you are just too overcome with feeling to express yourself."

He kissed her in reply.

Rory's door opened a half hour later. Lorelai sat on the counter, drinking coffee. Luke stood beside her; he held her hand and traced patterns on her skin. Rory shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She went to the coffee maker first.

"Morning, babe," Lorelai said. Rory mumbled a reply as she poured her coffee. "Sleep well?"

Rory shot Lorelai a filthy look as she took her first sip. "Early," she said.

"Hey, guess who's getting married?" Lorelai asked.

Luke darted a look at her that clearly spoke: "nice transition there, way to ease her into it"She kissed his cheek.

Rory furrowed her brow. "J. Lo? Again? Isn't she technically still married to that singer guy?" she asked sleepily. She slouched, heading for the cabinet where the Pop-Tarts were kept.

"I was thinking of someone a little closer to home," Lorelai replied, easing herself off the counter. "Or, at home. This home. Our home."

Rory turned abruptly. She looked from her mother to Luke, comprehension slowly dawning. Her mouth dropped open. She met Lorelai's eyes with a questioning look.

"Really, babe," Lorelai said. She held up her hand once more and twitched the ring finger.

Rory nearly broke her coffee cup in her rush to tackle her mother. They laughed as they embraced. When they calmed, Rory looked to Luke, brushing tears from her cheeks.

"Well, finally!" she cried. She quickly enveloped him in a fierce hug. "This has been the hardest secret to keep in my life!"

Luke returned her hug, patting her back a little. "I appreciate it."

Lorelai shook her head, her eyes bright as she looked at them both. "I am deeply wounded," she told them. "My own flesh and blood, lying to me—"

"I wasn't lying to you!'

"—and denying me the opportunity to spend my days in agonizing suspense as to when I would finally be asked the all important question until the pressure would finally get to me and I'd demand the ring at some highly inappropriate moment."

"Such as?" Luke asked.

"You know, town meeting, in the diner in the middle of the dinner rush, times like that."

"Speaking of, I should get to the diner," Luke said.

Rory slipped out from under his arm and took Lorelai's hand, examining the ring as Lorelai talked over her head to Luke. "I'll be by in an hour or so, I want to go up to the Dragonfly and tell Sookie. But I have a favor to ask," she said, darting her eyes from Luke to Rory and back. They waited, wary. "We can't tell anyone else until after we talk to my parents. I'm going to call Mom on my way to the inn and wrangle us a dinner invite for tonight."

Luke passed a hand over his face. "If you want."

"I don't want," she said. "But what I really don't want is for this to get back to her and have her turn into Claude Rains' mother in Notorious."

Rory dropped her mother's hand. "She's right. Grandma knows so many people in town now, and if someone called to congratulate her, she'd be upset that she didn't find out before."

"Wouldn't be pretty," Lorelai agreed.

"Okay. Then we wait," he said. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go. But I'll see you there."

Lorelai grinned broadly. "You will." She put her hands on Rory's shoulders and turned her to face the other direction.

"What are you doing, freakshow?" Rory demanded.

"I want to kiss my fiancé here in what he will think an inappropriately impassioned manner," she said, her tone indicating this should be obvious. "So just stay turned around or he won't let me." Luke grunted, shaking his head.

Rory heaved a sigh. "Why don't I just take my coffee into my room?"

"Even better," Lorelai said.

Rory gave both her mother and Luke another hug—whispering in his ear as she did—took her coffee to her room, and shut the door. Luke stared darkly at Lorelai a moment as she sashayed over to him. He looked heavenward as she linked her hands behind his neck, her thumbs tracing lines under his jaw. After a moment, he caved, scratching at the fabric of her sweater as he placed his hands on the small of her back.

"What did she say to you?" she asked.

Luke looked at her archly. "Not much."

"Intrigue," she replied. "I'll worm it out of one of you eventually, you know. I'm extraordinarily good at worming."

"I believe you," he said. She slid her hands forward and pulled him down to kiss him gently.

"You call that an inappropriately impassioned manner?" he asked.

Lorelai stepped back and took his hand, dragging him behind her to the foyer. "Right," she said. "Precautionary measure, you understand. I know you think I don't have a shred of modesty, but If I'm going to ravish you—"

Luke cut her off, hoisting her up by the back of her thighs as he kissed her; she reflexively wrapped her legs around his middle, leaning down into him. She gently tugged on his hair, tipped his head back as she kissed him harder, pressed herself against him and squeezed his torso with her legs. He staggered slightly until he was backed up against the wall. When she felt his legs begin to quake, she broke from him, laughing breathlessly.

"Now that's what I call inappropriately impassioned," she said.

Luke set her down, seeming stunned. He rested his forehead against hers. He took slow, measured breaths, his eyes closed. He peeked at Lorelai from beneath his lashes when she whispered his name. Her eyes shone as she spoke.

"We're getting married."

"We're getting married," he echoed, a catch in his voice. "I love you."

"Love you back," she said.

She followed him to the door, gripping his hand, unwilling to give him up. After several failed attempts, he made it out and jogged towards town. She held her hand to her chest, her eyes smarting a little.

When he'd gone, Lorelai knocked on Rory's door and gave her the all clear. They spent another moment admiring the ring, their heads together as they sat side-by-side in the kitchen. Rory snacked on a Pop Tart and demanded to hear more. Lorelai recapped the salient details, unable to sit still as she did, flailing her hands and bouncing in her chair. Rory smiled.

"I'm so happy for you, Mom," she said. "And look at you! You're all glowy and carried away! I can't remember seeing you this happy, ever."

Lorelai tucked her hair behind her ears. "That's because you don't remember the day you were born," she said. "But other than that, you're probably right." She twisted her ring, the familiar, fluttering, shaking feeling beating behind her ribcage as she did. "This is okay with you, right? Making Luke part of the family?"

"He already is part of the family," Rory replied. "This just makes it legal. And you know you don't need to ask me that. I love Luke."

"And Luke loves you. I know I don't need to ask—I just want to check in, make sure—"

Rory leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Lorelai's cheek. "I think it's the best idea either of you have ever had, and I don't know why you didn't do it sooner," she said.

"From the mouths of babes," Lorelai intoned. "Okay. I'm going to head to the inn, but I'll see you at the diner." She stopped before leaving the kitchen. "What did you say to him, by the way?"

Rory made a face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

It was still snowing as Lorelai stepped outside, buttoning her coat. She tucked her scarf more securely around her throat and hopped down the front steps, heading towards the inn. Lorelai walked slowly, savoring the early morning quiet of the first snowfall, watching Stars Hollow soften, the ugly scars of a cold winter masked beneath the rapidly accumulating drifts. She hoped the roads would be clear enough to get to Hartford as she pulled her phone out of her purse.

Emily answered on the second ring.

"Mom?"

"Lorelai?"

"Who else calls you Mom?" Lorelai asked. "Unless there's something you think I should know. A second family in Cuba would really up your street cred."

"Isn't it rather early for a phone call, Lorelai?" Emily asked, her tone speaking volumes. "We've barely sat down to breakfast."

"Sorry to interrupt," Lorelai said. "I just—I was wondering what you and Dad were doing tonight."

"Why do you ask?"

She hesitated. "We-eeell," she said, "I thought maybe we could get together. All of us—you and Dad, me, Rory, Luke. Have dinner."

"It's not Friday," Emily pointed out.

"I know, but—" Lorelai smacked her palm against her forehead as she scrambled for the best excuse. "Rory's heading back to school at the end of the week, and it might be easier to bump dinner up than to have it Friday."

Emily sighed loudly. "Really, Lorelai, I do wish you'd give me notice when you do things like this."

"How often do I do things like this?" Lorelai shot back.

"We don't have anything planned for the meal—"

"I can take care of the food, if you like."

"—and the weather is absolutely terrible," Emily continued. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"

Lorelai stopped and kicked at the ground. "I'm sorry, Mom, I really want to do this today."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Mom?"

"Lunch, then. Come for lunch."

Lorelai closed her eyes and willed herself patient. "I can't—I have meetings up the wazoo at the inn. Please, Mom. If the streets are really that bad, we'll stay over. Rory has her own room, and there are nine hundred guest rooms—"

"Well," Emily said, "we'll be happy to have you, if you insist."

She sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Mom. Thank you. Do you want me to bring the food? Luke is a really good cook."

"I know this, Lorelai. One moment." Lorelai waited, knowing Emily was speaking to Richard with her hand over the receiver. "Your father thinks it would be a nice change of pace. It's a little odd, having your guests provide the food—"

"We're not guests, Mom, we're family," she said. "It'll be fun. Same time as usual?"

After she'd hung up with Emily, Lorelai quickened her pace. She arrived at the kitchen door breathless, her cheeks red with cold and her eyes watering, her hands sweating in her gloves. She let herself in and scanned the room. Sookie was bent over the stove, talking to a muffin tin. Lorelai called to her and Sookie turned abruptly, falling against the counter as she did. Lorelai rushed to help her up.

"The floor's a little slick here," Sookie explained. "Why aren't you home sleeping?"

Lorelai smiled to the point her cheeks hurt as she took Sookie's hand. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay," Sookie said slowly, following as Lorelai led her to the pantry and shut the door behind them. "What's going on?"

"This," Lorelai replied, taking off her gloves. She held out her hand.

Sookie's jaw dropped and she began to jump up and down, incoherently enthusiastic, grabbing Lorelai's arms and pulling her into a hug, shoving her back to yank at her hands and look at the ring, all the while laughing and babbling.

"This is—I'm just—Lorelai, I can't—oh, my God—beautiful!"

"I know!" Lorelai cried. She put her hands on Sookie's shoulders. "Sook, I'm getting married. I am getting married. Married! Can you believe it?"

Sookie's eyes spilled over and she hugged Lorelai again, dancing a little. "Honey, I'm so happy for you! This is the most wonderful—I'm so happy! And look at you! You're so happy! Oh, I'm so happy you're so happy!"

Lorelai grinned broadly. "When did we step into a Sondheim musical?"

"I don't know, but this is just—this is—oh, Lorelai, it's just so great!"

The two friends laughed together, both wiping their eyes and laughing still harder. When Lorelai could speak, she told Sookie the story. Sookie stood breathless, wringing her hands the entire time, her mouth open and her eyes wide.

"This is just the best news," Sookie sighed. "You're getting married!"

"I know! Me, Lorelai Gilmore, notorious commitment-phobe and all-around romantic mess!" She looked at the ring. "Former, anyway."

They gushed a while longer until the distinct smell of smoke registered with both of them. Sookie swore and rushed out, nearly forgetting a hand towel in her haste to pull the now-blackened muffins out of the oven. Lorelai apologized, but Sookie waved it off with a shrug.

"I can make more. This is more important," she said. "When's the party?"

Lorelai sighed. "I don't know. I have to—Emily doesn't know yet, so we're going there tonight for dinner, to tell them both."

"Are you nervous?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little," she admitted. "She's changed so much, I know, but still..."

"What?"

"Part of me worries—expects, even—that she's going to ruin this for me, somehow," Lorelai said. She closed her eyes. "I know she likes Luke, and my dad loves him to an almost disturbing degree, but I just keep having flashbacks of the last time with Max and how much that hurt and—"

"That was a long time ago, sweetie."

Lorelai looked at Sookie with a sad smile. "I know. But it's hard to get past, like, thirty-five years of being the disappointment and waiting for the worst possible reaction." She straightened her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. Even if—even if she doesn't take this well, for whatever reason, I still get to marry Luke." She put her gloves back on and jammed her hat back on her head. "Listen, can you sit on this for twenty-four hours? I don't want anyone to know until after we tell my mom and dad."

"Anything you want, sweetie," Sookie said. "But I'm already planning the menu for the party. That I can't help—it's like hearing voices in your head."

Lorelai hugged her once more. "I wouldn't let that get out," she said.

She walked briskly from the inn to Stars Hollow, stopping just outside of the town proper. She dawdled on the sidewalk and took off her gloves. She indulged herself, looking at the ring from different angles, making it catch the light, before she slipped it off and put it in her jeans pocket.

She and Rory had breakfast at the center table of Luke's. Rory told her mother she had developed a perpetual idiot grin, and upon hearing this, Lorelai only smiled broader. The need to be secretive made Luke more gruff than usual, and he barely spoke to either Lorelai or Rory when he waited on them. Each time he passed, Lorelai touched his hand, his wrist, the hem of his shirt, the leg of his jeans, his hip, just brushing her fingers lightly against him. When she accidentally touched his ass, he jumped and dropped a bin of plates he'd just bussed from another table.

"Can I please speak to you upstairs?" he asked tersely.

Lorelai sighed theatrically to Rory, who was snorting in laughter in her coffee cup. Lorelai trailed Luke up the stairs. He opened the apartment door and gestured for her to go inside. He shut the door behind her, turned, and immediately drew her to him. A few heated moments passed; Lorelai whined in protest when Luke put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. He stared at her, trying to catch his breath.

"You gotta stop putting your hands on me," he told her.

She bit back a laugh. "I know. It's just—this ring? It's like an aphrodisiac. I can't help it. All I want to do is—"

"I know," he interrupted, putting up a hand. "You don't need to elaborate."

"I just want to be somewhere quiet with you for a very long time," she said. She made a face. "Apparently being engaged has turned me into Glinda the Good Witch; don't be surprised if I start spontaneously bursting into song or little mice and birds come into the house and help me get dressed in the morning."

Luke adjusted his shirt. "Don't sing, I beg you," he said. She smirked at him. He paused, and took her by the waist, dug his fingertips into her hips a little as he pulled her toward him. "And, again, I know. I'm not going to be singing anytime soon, and I know I've been a little... reticent—"

"Is that what you call it?" she teased, resting her hands in the crooks of his elbows.

"—I'm just a little—a little in shock, I guess." He looked down. "That, and I am the luckiest son of a bitch in this town and it kinda kills me I have to keep that a secret."

Lorelai slid her hands up and crossed them behind Luke's neck. "That is adorable."

"It is not."

She nodded, feigning agreement. "Okay, it's not." She closed her eyes, bit her lip as he began to run his hands up from her hips, along her sides. "Luke?" she asked, tilting her head as he leaned forward and kissed her just behind her ear.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you in shock?"

He raised his head and blinked. "You said yes."

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

He worked his jaw, thinking, before he spoke. "No," he said, "but I still wasn't quite prepared to hear you say it." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes once more. He trailed off, looked up to find her gazing at him expectantly. "But I'm so fucking glad I did."

Lorelai stepped into him, letting him hold her a little too tightly. "Potty mouth," she whispered. "You're happy, then."

"I am," he said, murmuring in her ear. "And if I could, I'd kick every single person down there, including Rory, into the street and lock the doors for a week, keep you all to myself."

"Only a week?"

He laughed. He kissed her once more and gently disentangled himself from her. "You're awfully demanding. But stop teasing me, down there."

Lorelai gasped, grinning and wrinkling her nose. "Dirty!"

He paused on the way out, his hand on the doorknob. "You talk to your parents?"

"Yes. She wanted us to do lunch, but I talked her into dinner. So it's on. Tomorrow, you can blatantly be the luckiest son of a bitch all you want. You could even take me right on the diner counter, should you be so inclined."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it?" he said. "I think I can spare another minute," he said, closing the door again.

"If I knew getting engaged would be this much fun—"

He shook his head. "Don't finish that sentence," he told her, grinning as he lowered his head to hers.

On the walk home, Rory asked Lorelai what they'd talked about when they went upstairs. Lorelai made a noise at the back of her throat and tossed her hair.

"Trust me, babe. You don't really want to know."

"Eek. Probably not."

"So," Lorelai began. Rory looked at her warily. "Talked to Marty lately?"

Rory's posture became suddenly erect and she wrapped her arms around herself defensively. "Not since New Year's."

"Rory," Lorelai said. "That was—"

"He hasn't called me, either," she said.

"Have you considered that he might be waiting for you to call him, or that he's embarrassed?"

"Well, so am I," Rory said sullenly. She bumped into Lorelai, who, knowing what was expected, put her arm around her daughter. "It's going to be weird."

"I know. But you have to try to ignore the weirdness, babe. You'll just kick yourself if you don't."

Rory rolled her eyes. "So speaks the voice of wisdom."

Lorelai squeezed her and held up her gloved hand. "The voice of wisdom has a rock the size of a small Ferris wheel now that speaks for itself. Do you have your cell with you?"

"Yes," she replied slowly.

"Get it out. Call him."

"Mom!"

"Rory!"

"You think?"

"Occasionally," Lorelai replied. "Get it over with, you'll feel better, you'll put it behind you, you'll laugh about it when you're old or the next time you get really drunk, whichever comes first."

Rory sighed and did as she was told, speed-dialing. "Voice mail," she whispered. Lorelai gestured for her to speak. "Hey, it's me—Rory—uh, I was just—I was calling, just to say—wondering what's up and everything, and school is next week and wanted to know if you'd be there—which is silly because of course you'll be there, and..." She looked desperately at Lorelai, who gave her a signal to wrap it up. "I just wanted to talk to you. Call me back." She hung up and pointed at her mother. "You're evil."

"And you're sweet. He's going to pee himself when he hears that."

"Mom!"

She giggled. "Oh, man, I pissed my pants!" she chortled.

"Evil," Rory muttered.

Lorelai tried to nap until she had to be at the inn, but she was too twitchy for sleep. She arranged herself on the mattress, flat on her stomach, arms and legs stretched out, her cheek smushed against the pillow, and closed her eyes. She waited. When the alarm purred, she rose, dressed, and drove to the Inn. Two interviews in, she had a searing headache and a distinct ache under her left shoulder blade. She reached for the phone. She spoke briefly with Caesar, who told her Luke had gone out an hour ago, no, he didn't know when Luke would get back, no, he didn't know where Luke had gone, and yes, he'd tell Luke she'd called. She stuck her tongue out at the phone as she hung up.

By five thirty, Luke still hadn't called and Lorelai was shuffling through the resumes and her notes from the interviews, sighing. The best candidate was a very perky twenty-three year old graduate of Johnson and Wales named Harley who had a voice that lilted up at the end of her sentences and made her sound as though she was perpetually asking questions. But she was bright, she was enthusiastic, she liked Stars Hollow, and she really, really wanted the job. Plus, she would either completely irritate Michel or turn him into a stuttering schoolboy, and that was always amusing. Michel arrived and she left him with the paperwork, telling him to look it over, and drove home. Luke and Rory were in the kitchen when she came in the front door, talking over the bags of food resting on the table.

"And then you caramelize it," Luke was saying. "Brings out all the good stuff."

Lorelai propped herself against the fridge. "Luke, I beg you: I've worked long and hard to make Rory as domestically challenged as possible, don't undermine years and years of careful training, okay?" They both gave her withering looks as she helped herself to a bottle of water from the fridge. "Hey, you're all fancy."

"It's a big deal," he said. "I'm not wearing jeans for this."

"That's too bad, because I was planning on wearing the overalls with the paint stains," she said, met by another shared roll of the eyes. "Man, you two are ganging up on me today. Rory, what's with the bag?"

"Grandma called a little while ago and asked me to stay overnight."

"Really? Why?"

Rory shrugged. "She said we hadn't spent any time together lately and she thought it would be nice, so I agreed."

"Huh. Well. Okay, then. Let's go while the Jeep is still warm."

"We're taking the truck," Luke said. Lorelai opened her mouth to protest. "Snow tires. Have you seen it out there?"

The drive was slow and silent. Lorelai, seated between Rory and Luke, stared blankly before her. She felt a weight in the pit of her stomach, an acidic, burning weight like fear. She'd been repeating it to herself all day, the mantra of we're getting married, but the prospect of saying it to Emily turned it into a reason for apprehension rather than celebration. She couldn't picture the expression on her mother's voice, couldn't fathom what she would say. At the end of her parents' street, she turned to Luke.

"This is a bad idea," she said.

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "It's going to be fine."

"No, Luke, it's not going to be fine because it's my mother and nothing is ever fine with my mother—she turns good things into—"

"Mom, you said yourself she'd changed," Rory pointed out. "And you were right. Stop worrying. Luke's right, it's going to be fine."

Lorelai shot Rory a look. "You know, you're supposed to be on my side of things."

Luke put his hand on Lorelai's knee. "Trust me. It's going to be fine."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I have no idea how you can be so calm. It's irritating. We're walking into the mouth of hell, you realize this."

"Melodrama, much, Mom?"

Luke pulled the truck to a stop. "Too late now, we're here," he said, smiling brightly.

Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "Seriously, Luke, you're freaking me out."

She followed Rory and Luke up the walk, her hands in her coat pockets. Rory rang the bell and hitched her overnight bag on her shoulder, offering to take a grocery bag from Luke, tossing a significant glance at Lorelai.

"I'm not helping him," she said. "He's freaking me out."

"You said that already."

"It's still true."

Emily came to the door, a smile plastered across her face. Lorelai eyed her suspiciously as they stepped inside and stamped the snow off of their shoes, hung up their coats. Richard came into the foyer and relieved Luke of his bags, immediately taking them to the kitchen. There were hellos and nice to see yous, all spoken with unnerving cheerfulness. Lorelai watched her family warily, sitting sullenly on a corner of the divan. She elbowed Rory.

"Something is going on here."

Rory looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Lorelai pointed at her. "You're in on it!" she hissed. "Spill!"

"What is wrong with you?" Rory asked. "Would you calm down?"

Emily handed them drinks and sat opposite them, making idle small talk until the men joined them and had drinks in hand as well. Richard sat beside his wife with a contented, satisfied smirk. Lorelai gulped her martini so quickly her eyes watered and she sat up straighter as her mother turned towards her.

"So, Lorelai, what was so very important that you simply had to have dinner today, of all days and in this weather? I believe this may be the first dinner you have voluntarily sought out, and it has made me very curious," she said.

Lorelai cleared her throat. "Well, Mom, we do have some news."

"Oh?"

Lorelai looked at her uncertainly, wet her lips, and reached for Luke's hand. "Well," she said again, "you know Luke."

Emily lifted an eyebrow. "I believe we do, yes."

Her voice shook. "And you know that Luke and I have been seeing each other for a while, and that we've been friends for a really long time—most of Rory's life, really, and—"

"We know this, Lorelai," Richard prompted.

Lorelai cleared her throat. "Luke and I are—we're—I mean, we're going to—Luke and I—" she stopped, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Luke squeezed her hand reassuringly, running his thumb against hers. She opened her eyes. "Luke asked me to marry him, and I said yes. We're getting married." She stared at her knees.

She gripped Luke's hand, swallowed, waited. Silence hung in the room for what seemed an interminable time before Richard was on his feet, offering Luke his hand, crying congratulations. She got to her feet with Luke as he rose to shake Richard's hand, pale and trembling as she saw her mother stand as well. Emily's features were soft—she couldn't be crying, could she? Lorelai's mouth fell open as Emily walked around the coffee table, holding her arms out to Lorelai. Without thinking, she stepped into the hug and let her mother pull her close.

"I am so glad to hear it," Emily said. She squeezed Lorelai once and pulled back. She raised a hand to Lorelai's cheek and thumbed away a tear. "I am very happy for you, Lorelai."

Lorelai put her hand to her mouth, suddenly aware she was crying. She felt her lower lip quaking, felt the knotted, painful weight in her stomach begin to rise; she dropped to the divan and buried her face in her arms, bent over her knees, and cried in great, shuddering bursts.

"What on earth?" Richard said.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Emily sat beside her and rubbed her back. "Lorelai?"

She sat up quickly, wiping away the tears. "I just—I was so—and I didn't—and you—with everything, and this, and—I'm—I couldn't—"

Luke knelt beside her. "Hey. Hey," he said again. "Come on, what's this?"

Lorelai gestured and shook her head wordlessly, drawing a hiccuppy breath. Luke rubbed her knee, waiting. Lorelai tried to breathe. She turned to her mother.

"Thank you," she said, her voice still choked with tears.

Emily put a firm hand under Lorelai's elbow and helped her up. "Come, let's get you cleaned up. Richard, why don't you show Luke to the kitchen? Rory, you keep them company while Luke starts dinner."

Lorelai let her mother pull her up the stairs and into the bathroom, sat obediently on the closed toilet while her mother wet a washcloth with cool water for her. She held her tongue as Emily gently dabbed the cloth at her face.

"I'm very sorry, Lorelai," Emily said as she wrung out the cloth, "that you were so terribly anxious about coming to us with this news. This shouldn't have been an occasion for tears."

Lorelai sniffed and accepted the tissue immediately thrust in her face. "They weren't bad tears," Lorelai said. "I was just—I was relieved."

"You really must stop expecting the worst of me, Lorelai," Emily said. She crossed her arms over her chest, her posture erect. Lorelai recognized the carefully arranged features, the way her mother constructed the false front; she'd had years of practice, but Lorelai never before noticed the wounded set of Emily's eyes.

Lorelai sighed. "I really am sorry, Mom. It wasn't fair to you, I know. Call it a gut reaction."

"I'd rather not call it anything at all and forget it ever happened," Emily replied.

Lorelai gave her a small smile. "Thanks, Mom. You know we haven't told anyone else—we wanted you to know first."

"I appreciate that," Emily said. She put her arm around Lorelai's waist and walked her towards the stairs. "Your father and I are extremely happy for you." She paused. "I know it is a bit early, but—"

Lorelai laughed. "At least some things don't change," she said. "Mom, a big wedding would make Luke miserable. I know you could plan something to put Brad and Jen or Charles and Di to shame, but I think small and simple would be best." She stopped them at the bottom of the stairs. "That is not to say that I will not be wearing the most fabulous gown in the known world, however."

"No, Lorelai, you're right: some things don't change," Emily replied. "And it is your wedding, you should have it any way you like."

"Really."

"However, if you would like some suggestions, I am more than willing—"

"I'm sure you are, Mom," Lorelai said, rolling her eyes. "Come on, let's go see what's cooking."

They drank champagne in the kitchen while Luke made them dinner—"Steak? Luke, don't you know red meat can kill you?" Lorelai teased—and taught Rory what he was doing. Lorelai sat on the center island, swinging her legs as she drank her champagne, her chest tight and her hands still shaking. Emily studied the ring and complimented Luke on his good taste while simultaneously trying to talk Lorelai off the counter. Richard stood nearby, declaring this was the longest time he could remember having spent in the kitchen.

"It's quite nice, isn't it?" he asked.

Lorelai nearly fell off the counter, she was laughing so hard, which Emily pointed out rather proved her point about the precariousness of such a perch.

Dinner was easy and relaxed. Lorelai began to unwind as the wine made its way to her fingertips and toes; she picked at her dinner, still too wound up to be really hungry. Dessert was a rich chocolate cake Emily "happened to have on hand," and more wine before the coffee. They dawdled at the table over conversation, a rarity, Lorelai noted. Rarer still were the hugs exchanged all around at the door as Luke helped Lorelai into her coat and they prepared to leave. Luke blushed as Richard clapped him on the back with further loud congratulations, and turned crimson as Emily hugged him.

"We're very glad to have you, young man."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gilmore," he stuttered, looking at his feet.

"Emily, please," she said. He nodded, biting his lips together. "We'll ease you into it," she laughed.

Luke walked Lorelai to the car, propping her up as she picked her way along the path.

"I like champagne," she said. "And it is still snowing."

"I can tell you like champagne," he replied. "It's really coming down."

"Champagne?"

He helped her into the truck. "No, the snow."

She leaned forward before he closed the door and kissed the top of his head. "You," she said, "are going to be my husband."

"I am that," he said. "Now sit back."

Lorelai struggled to focus on the way back to Stars Hollow, Luke slowly and carefully navigating them over through the ice and snow. At the midpoint of the drive, a thought occurred to her.

"Luke?"

"Yeees?"

"You do realize that when I marry you, you will also have to marry me," she told him.

He gave her a bemused look. "I understand how it works," he said. "You marry me, I marry you, and we marry each other."

She breathed deeply again. Clearly, he wasn't grasping the enormity of that concept. "I just want you to understand this, that you will be marrying me. You," she said, gesturing drunkenly, "will marry me."

With a sigh, Luke eased the truck to the side of the road. He turned in his seat and looked at Lorelai, who regarded him with wide, though heavy-lidded, eyes. "What's the problem with that?"

She shrugged. "I want this to be totally clear, that by asking me to marry you, you therefore are obligated to marry me. And that," she said, pointing, "my friend, is something to think about."

"I don't need to think about it," Luke replied. "And I don't know why you think I'm getting the raw end of the deal, here."

Lorelai leaned in conspiratorially. "You, sir, are a catch."

Luke sighed. "Lorelai."

"I am also a catch," she continued. "I mean, look at me."

"I am looking at you," he said.

"That said," Lorelai went on, "you should know something. And that is that, however hot I am, I am also insane."

He laughed. "I know this. Believe me, love, I know this."

"And still, you want to marry me."

"Still, I want to marry you," he said. "Okay? Can we go home now?"

"Hang on a sec," she said, unbuckling her seat belt. She slid across the seat and awkwardly put her arms around his neck. "I'm going to kiss you," she informed him.

He rolled his eyes as she pushed closer to him, didn't protest when she kissed him rather heatedly, ignoring the slight sloppiness of the whole embrace. She pulled back after a moment, breathing heavily, and pushed herself back in her seat. "Okay," she said and re-buckled herself into her seat. "Good to go."

Lorelai kept silent until they pulled into her street. "I have to say that that went extremely well. Phenomenally well. Like, world record book well. My mother," she said, blinking heavily, "hugged me."

"Hugged me too," he grumbled.

Lorelai spread her hands. "I thought they'd take it okay, really, I did, even though I was nervous and afraid they wouldn't, but I had no idea they'd take it that well." Luke was silent. "I mean, they practically jumped off the couch. I felt like we were in a Nora Ephron movie."

Luke angled the truck into Lorelai's driveway behind the Jeep and killed the engine. "They sorta knew it was coming."

She stared, slack jawed. "How?"

"Today? I might have gone over there to ask their blessing."

"You did not!"

Luke sighed. "Yeah, Lorelai, I did." She gaped at him a moment as he continued. "They're your parents. It's the right thing to do, and I felt bad not having done it before I asked you, so I thought I would go over there today and—"

"I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that," Lorelai said. "What did they say?"

"They thanked me for asking and your dad tried to give me a cigar," Luke said. "Your mom just told me she was glad we found each other, or something like that."

"Huh."

With that, Luke got them both out of the truck and into the house. Lorelai frowned as she shrugged out of her coat. "It's fucking cold in here," she said. She reached for a light switch. "Damn. Power's out."

"I brought wood in the other day," Luke said. "I can make a fire. Do you have a flashlight?"

Lorelai snorted. "Please. Luke."

He told her he had one in the truck and went out to retrieve it; when he came back in, Lorelai had gone. He called to her as he knelt before the fireplace and began to build the fire. She spoke from the top of the stairs, startling him as she announced that she had gone upstairs to change into pajamas.

"How could you see what you were doing?"

She carefully descended the stairs. "I used my flash phone as a cell light," she told him.

"Or your cell phone as a flashlight," he said as she plunked herself on the floor beside him and propped her chin on his shoulder. "Hey, drunk girl."

She giggled. "Not drunk."

"Yes, you are. And so were your parents. And Rory was half a glass away," he said. "There was no stopping your father, filling those glasses." He studied her a moment. She closed her eyes, tipping her head to one side and smiling. "You okay? After the whole crying thing?" She murmured a positive. "You sure?"

"I am absolutely sure that I am absolutely fine and that you should stop worrying, okay?" she said. "I was just worried because there was precedent and I didn't want history repeating." Her eyes flew open. "I didn't say that."

"Don't worry about it."

"Seriously, Luke—"

He kissed her. "Don't worry about it," he said again, more slowly. "Why don't we sleep down here tonight, with the fire?"

"Oh, sexy!" Lorelai said. "Gimme the flashlight and I'll go get pillows and blankets."

"Why don't you just use your flash phone?"

She gave him a wet, noisy kiss. "You suck," she informed him, unsteadily getting to your feet. "Finish getting that fire going, buddy."

He laughed as she wobbled her way up the stairs. He joined her in the bedroom a few minutes later and helped her gather the comforter and pillows and followed her down back down the stairs. She took the flashlight from him and directed him to the hall closet for more blankets and disappeared to the kitchen. When Luke had laid out a stack of blankets in lieu of a mattress on the floor and toed off his shoes, she stalked back in, gripping a bottle of wine under one arm, two wine glasses in one hand and the flashlight in the other. He rushed to help her, earning himself a pissy glare from Lorelai.

"You haven't had enough tonight?" he asked.

She handed him a glass. "You haven't. You need to catch up. And I'm a big girl, I can handle a little booze."

"At least let me pour."

She sighed heavily. "Fine." She held her tongue between her teeth as she watched him pour the wine, her brow knit in concentration. He set the bottle down and she held out her glass. "Here," she said. "Clink."

"What are we clinking to?"

"To us, because we are getting married."

"Of course," he laughed. "Clink."

They drank deeply, still standing. After a moment, Luke took Lorelai's glass from her and set it down on the coffee table along with his, and reached for her. She twisted as he put his arms around her, leaning back against him, resting her hands on his just at her waist. She shivered a little.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Uh-uh," she said, pushing her head against his shoulder. "It occurs to me," she began, as Luke raised one hand and lifted her hair away from her neck, "that my mother, knowing that you proposed and that I said yes and that tonight would be the night after you proposed and I said yes, asked Rory to stay over so that you and I could be completely and totally alone."

"Might be," Luke said. He eased Lorelai's robe off one shoulder. "And?"

"That would mean that my mother removed any obstacle to my getting laid tonight," she said. "That makes me really never want to have sex again."

Luke trailed his lips up her shoulder, her neck, finding the place at the nape of her neck that made her tilt her head away and curve herself into him. "Never?"

Lorelai turned and put her arms around his neck. "Well, never is a very long day," she said. She drew him to her, kissed him. "You, sir, are wearing too many clothes."

"Amen to that," he said. He tucked her hair behind her ears, taking her in, feature by feature, framing her face with his hands. His eyes were bright, the set of his mouth soft.

"I move that we remedy that situation immediately," Lorelai said.

"Lorelai?" Luke said, slowly stepping closer. "Please stop talking."

She didn't know if she was expecting it to be different and so it felt different; she didn't know if it felt so simply because now the promises they'd made had visible, tangible proof, a certainty they could reach out and feel. She only knew it was different, somehow. His kisses were the same, only more. His hands, hot against her, were the same, but as they traced the planes of her body, she felt the heat marking her, searing her skin in new ways. The way her breath hitched and caught in her throat was the same, but the rhythm of their movement together was almost imperceptibly changed. The old intensity was greater, and when he spoke her name, his voice hoarse and rough like his stubble against her neck, her eyes stung and her throat ached. She only wanted to be closer; she couldn't get close enough.

She lay sprawled across him, her arms folded on his chest and her chin on her wrists, staring into the fire. He ran a finger up and down her spine. Neither spoke. Lorelai turned her head and laid her cheek against her arm, smiling at him with her eyes closed.

"This was," she murmured, "with the exception of the five painfully painful interviews I sat through today, a perfect day."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Glad to hear it."

She opened her eyes. "Luke?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever wish you could go back and do it again?"

"Go back where and do what again, love?"

"Back—back to before. Before everyone else."

Luke stroked his hand down her arm. "I don't know—I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. And I wish I could... undo... certain things. So that this—this would be the first." He sighed. "But you learn and you go forward and you try not to regret things. And there aren't any guarantees. If we did go back, if it was before and I took one of those chances I missed, who's to say we'd end up right where we are now?" She cast her eyes down, nodding thoughtfully. "Everything we did, everyone else—I don't know, but it seems like those are the things that got us here."

"I love it when you get philosophical, Luke. Makes your voice all deep."

He shook his head. "C'mere," he said.

Lorelai nestled against his side, her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and he put his arm around her, cupping her elbow in one hand. She traced letters on his chest, writing nonsense words.

"Luke?"

"Yeees?"

"What did Rory say to you in the kitchen, this morning?" She angled to look up at him. "Please? I have to know. I feel so out of the loop. She knew you were going to ask me, Jess probably knew—"

"Oh, he knew."

"—and you and my parents and Rory all knew what was going on this afternoon, and I didn't. I feel like Ross on Friends after the whole 'they don't know we know they know we know' thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Luke said.

"Please? Spill?"

He sighed, curled a lock of her hair around his finger. "She called me Pops."

"She did not."

"But she did."

"Huh." Lorelai tangled her legs in his and rubbed her foot against his calf. "We should have Jess down, soon. For dinner, or whatever."

"You mean serve him dinner, not have him for dinner, right?" Luke joked.

She snorted. "Luke, I don't know where comments like that come from. I am a kind and benevolent being."

"Whatever you say, love."

Neither noticed when, sometime later, the fire began to die. Lorelai held Luke to her and listened to the ragged edge of his breathing. When he began to move away, she held him fast, her eyes locked intently on his.

"Don't," she said. "Stay, just a second." Her eyes filled. "We're getting married," she whispered.

Luke folded her in his arms. "And thanks for that."

"You do realize what you're getting yourself into, right?"

He brushed his lips across her forehead. "I think we covered that one, Lorelai." He lay on his back and pulled her roughly against his chest. "God help me, but I love you."

"God help you, but I love you back."

Luke pulled the blankets up around them. As the fire burned to embers, they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other.

When they woke in the morning, the drifts came to the top of the porch railings outside; the entire neighborhood was silent and blank, the lights out up and down the street. Lorelai stood by the window and peered out. The landscape, she thought, hadn't changed overnight—underneath, that was still her yard, her driveway, and next door, Babette's garden waited beneath the snow, the gnomes still standing guard. The snow hadn't made it new and it would eventually melt; everything would be where it was before, exactly as it had been. But this morning, she thought, it was beautiful in new and strange ways.

She smiled as Luke padded up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. He pressed his lips to her temple; she leaned back into his chest.

"Whatcha looking at?" he asked.

Lorelai reached back with one arm and touched her hand to Luke's cheek.

"Same old," she said.

"How does it look?"

She turned in his arms and regarded him a moment. "Luke, my life," she replied, "it looks amazing."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Your life, huh?" he said. "I like that."

Lorelai slid her arms around his neck and rested her forehead to his. "Me, too," she said.