It was storming like crazy when he hurried into the diner. I remember it clearly because he was wearing a bow tie, and not many people wear bow ties anymore. He looked more like an absent-minded professor than a Hartford businessman to me as he shook the rain from his tall, bulky frame, but it really didn't matter much. The rain had killed my afternoon business, and I was perfectly happy to see this potential tip in the tailor-made suit and the bow tie.

It was storming like crazy when she hustled into the diner. I had already sent Cesar home. Nobody was coming in, mainly because of the flooding; and I was just about to put up the Closed sign and call it a day when she banged on the door for me to let her in. Taylor had closed the ice cream shop an hour earlier. Not even Lorelai was planning on braving this weather; she'd called earlier and said she was staying at the Dragonfly Inn until morning. So when Emily Gilmore walked in to my diner, all pearls and soaked hair and frustration, I knew I was in for a long afternoon.

"You know, you're welcome to use the phone, sir," I told him as I topped off his coffee. He'd been fiddling with his cell phone for almost ten minutes. I figured it was only right of me to fill him in on the reality of this town of ours. "We're in a weird place here--something about the way the towers are positioned. Cell phones don't really work here."

He stared up at me and shook his head. I could tell he was frustrated, but for what it was worth, at least he was polite about it. Rich guys rarely were, but this one seemed to be a gentleman. "Well, that would explain a lot, wouldn't it?" He took a sip of his coffee. "I've pretty much given up on work, but I would like to call my wife and let her know I'll be late." Then he hesitated. "It's long distance. Of course, I'll pay you for the call."

"No problem," I said. I knew what it was like to get stuck at work late and want to call home. My girlfriend was a worrier, and even though we'd been a couple for almost fifteen years, I still liked to let her know when I wasn't going to be home for dinner. "Just dial direct, hon." He nodded in an old-fashioned way and came behind the counter to use the phone on the wall.

It's not like I hadn't told her about my no-cell-phone policy. I told her three times. She just stared at me, then at the deluge outside the front window, and continued dialing, each and every time.

She'd made a dozen or so calls, mostly to Lorelai and Richard's secretary, when her cell phone rang. Leave it to Emily, the ring tone was Mozart. That's what she told me as she removed her earring and put the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Oh, Richard, thank goodness! I've been calling your cell all afternoon--What? Where are you?" She tapped her cup, indicating she'd like another serving. I filled it without enthusiasm. "What happened to your car? Well, will they be able to fix it?" She nodded, tapping her spoon absently on the counter beside her cup as she listened. "How long until they get the part? Okay. No, I'm not at home. I'm at Luke's." She took a sip of coffee, frowning at the heat as she quickly put the cup back down to let it cool. "Yes, Lorelai's Luke's. Well, when I was driving home from the regional meeting…yes, Richard, it went very well, thank you…anyway, I was on the highway when I started to hear this knocking in the engine. By the time I'd reached the Stars Hollow exit, I knew it was a bad idea to try to make it back to Hartford. So I brought my car to their local mechanic, that Gypsy woman, and just made it to Luke's before all hell broke loose." She tested her coffee and took a sip as Richard talked on the other end. "Yes, she said it should be done by the end of the day. Lorelai is trapped at the Dragonfly. Apparently there was some flooding outside of town and...no, I don't think there will be any problem getting home, but if there is, I'm sure I can find some place to stay here. What was that?"

She put her hand over the phone and told me, "He's at some diner on the road from New York. He was there for a business meeting and his car had trouble, too. Can you believe it?"

"I cannot believe it," I said, but my dry sarcasm went completely over her head.

"Well, let me get a pen and paper, and I'll write down the number there. You know, we're going to have to invest in those satellite phones. If you're going to be on the road, we don't want to take a chance of your…yes, Richard, I've got a pen." She scribbled down a number and then smiled. "Yes, I miss you, too, dear. I'll have my cell phone on if you need to call."

She was looking straight at my sign when she said it.

When he hung up, he looked a lot better. I smiled at him and offered him more coffee. "Your wife okay?" It was just my way of being nice, I suppose. I always felt sorry for the businessmen who came into the diner. It seemed like such a lonely job to me, always on the road like that. He had a briefcase and what looked like a laptop computer bag, but he hadn't opened either of them since he'd come into the diner.

"Yes, thank you, uh…" He leaned over to read my name tag. "Louise. Apparently, she's stuck in pretty much the same situation as I am, only her cellular phone is working."

"What are the odds that both your cars would give out on the same day?" I said.

"Mind-boggling, is it not?" He was looking around the place now, more relaxed than he'd been before the call. It felt like an insurance adjuster checking out the joint, the way he looked at the diner. "This is a very nice diner," he added when he realized I'd been watching him. "A little slow, though."

"Yeah, well most people around here wouldn't brave the storm for burgers and fries."

"You know, I read on my lap top earlier today that this storm is covering almost all of the northeast region." There was this gleam in his eye as he spoke, like he was tickled pink to get that news off the computer. "They're saying it's one of the worst storms to hit New England in ten years."

"You said a mouthful. 'Nother cup of coffee, sir?"

"Um, no thank you. And, please, call me Richard." He reached across the counter for a menu. "Do you mind if I order something? My client took me to lunch at one of those annoying Manhattan restaurants--you know, the kind that charge enormous prices for microscopic portions. I'm actually quite hungry, and since it appears I'll be here for a while…"

I pulled out my pad. I was working the counter and the grill today, so I really hoped he wasn't a gourmet. "What's your poison, sir?"

Gypsy called me to tell me that if I let Emily Gilmore call her one more time about the repairs on her car, she was going to personally remove the tread from my tires, using my head as a file. I tried to tell her that I wasn't really the person who could control Lorelai's mom, but that didn't go over too well.

"Look, Mrs. Gilmore…" I started, only to have her insist, yet again, that I call her Emily. "Look, Emily, you gotta stop calling Gypsy. She, uh, gets distracted easily. You do want her doing a good job on your car, don't you?"

She looked up from her day planner and frowned. "You don't think there's a problem, do you? I asked if she was certified, and she told me she was certified. Richard will be furious if I have work done on the car by an uncertified--"

"Gypsy's certified, Emily," I said, half wishing I'd never even brought up the subject. Buying four new tires, in the long run, seemed better than this. "It's just that, well, not everyone is as patient as I am."

Now that got a look. Emily frowned, then lifted a single eyebrow, smiling ever so slightly as she did. "Subtlety, Mr. Danes?"

"Did it work?"

She laughed and put away her planner. "Not very much. But I'll be good, if only to expedite the work on my car." She sighed. She had taken off her jacket, mainly to let it dry on the hanger I'd supplied her from upstairs. She wore a burgundy skirt and white blouse, which looked very Great-Great-Great-Grandma Came Over on the Mayflowerish. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me, Luke," she added.

I never knew how to take it when Emily said things like that. Was she really sorry? Was she baiting me? Was it passive-aggression? "Hey, at least it's a diner, and not some dealership waiting room blaring Muzak at you." She seemed to accept that answer, because she began fiddling nervously with the menu. "You want something to eat?"

"I wouldn't know what to order," she said. But she looked through the menu dutifully.

I knew instinctively she was wishing she'd taken me up on my offer to drive her up to the Dragonfly before the road flooded and stuck her here. Sookie's cooking was more to the tastes of an Emily Gilmore. I half suspected she'd tell this horror story for years to the gals at the bridge club, all about the awful rainy day she got trapped in a greasy spoon and had to choke down--gasp!--a cheeseburger and fries! "Take your time," I said. "Not like there's a big rush on the grill."

"This is quite possibly the finest Spanish omelet I' e ever had, Louise," he said as he pushed the plate forward with a satisfied look on his face.

"Lemme guess--it's the first Spanish omelet you ever had," I shot back as I lined the sugar shakers up in front of me. The mechanic had called saying the road back from the next town was flooded, and he was going to have to take an alternate route back with the part for Richard's car. Another hour added to his wait time. I told him it was okay with me--I was going to be open to we closed at nine, customers or no customers, so he was welcome to sit there and do what he did. And since our town had no book store (he'd asked) and the cable at the diner had gone out with the storm (we checked), all that seemed left to while away the time was talk.

"Actually, I had my first Spanish omelet in the officer's mess at Fort Hood back in 1961."

"You were military?" Somehow, he didn't look like the type to me.

"Courtesy of the Selective Service," he nodded. "I was in college at the time, so I could have bowed out, but Gilmore men never shirk their responsibility." He shrugged off his jacket and laid it across the vacant bar stool next to him. "Three years service, Officers Training School, and Reserve service since. Not that I've done much in the last ten years; at my age, it's mostly an excuse to meet up with your old buddies for a couple of weeks and gossip about the glory days."

"Your wife must love that," I said, clearing the plates from him.

"She's very understanding," he said, pulling out his wallet. I thought he was getting ready to pay, but instead he pulled out a handful of pictures and showed them to me.

The first was a gorgeous brunette in a Jackie Kennedy suit, with legs that seemed to go on for miles. "That was my Emily the year before our daughter Lorelai was born."

"Wow," I said in a low voice. "Quite the looker."

"Seventeen years of ballet, not to mention competitive sports in school" he said conspiratorially. "Amazing woman." Another picture followed, this time of two younger women who looked liked sisters.

"Your daughters?" I asked.

He laughed and shook his head. "The one on the left is my daughter, Lorelai. That's her daughter, Rory, on the right. Beautiful, aren't they?"

I nodded and tried to figure out the math in my head. She must have been, what, sixteen, seventeen when she had that kid?

He pulled out another black and white, this time of his wife and himself in their wedding outfits. He looked kind of awkward and lanky, and she looked like the cover of a bridal magazine. They both looked happy and in love. "Our first wedding portrait and…" He pulled out a second portrait, obviously taken recently, of the two of them. "Our second wedding. Actually, it was a vowel renewal. On our fortieth wedding anniversary." He looked at the picture, and there was almost a wistful look on his face. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

I was wiping the sugar shakers as I looked. "She's gorgeous. Forty years, huh? That's pretty impressive."

I barely even noticed when he started handing me the shakers as I worked. "Even moreso, when you realize that we almost didn't make it." He reached for the next shaker and handed it to me. "We were separated for almost five months, and reconciled just prior to our fortieth anniversary. That's why we decided to renew our vows." He had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were remembering something both sad and beautiful. "'Come home,' she said. Those two words…" He looked away, almost as if embarrassed. "You know, Louise, she said those two words to me almost a year ago, and I still get choked up thinking about it. We were so stubborn, Emily and I, so convinced of our own rightness."

He reached for the next shaker, but held on to it as he continued, lost in his own memories. "I don't know what your marital situation is, Louise, but if I can offer you a bit of advice?"

I shrugged. In a town this small, everybody knew about me and Annabelle, but I still kept it close to my vest where strangers were concerned, even polite gentlemen in bow-ties who helped me with my sugars.

He continued as if I'd given him the green light. "We almost blew forty years because I was stubborn, because she was stubborn. It really looked like we were heading for divorce. You know what finally changed it all around?"

"The pre-nup?" I suggested without thinking, and then breathed a sigh of relief when he chuckled.

"Emily and I were married long before anybody ever thought of pre-nuptual agreements, Louise. No, what turned it all around was another man."

"She had another man?" Well, Lifestyles of the Richard and Famous had suddenly taken a turn for the scandalous.

"No. She had dinner with another man." He sighed, shaking his head in seeming disbelief at the memory. "A perfectly platonic dinner with a business associate of mine, and I was livid. I never considered myself a jealous man, Louise, but I was absolutely insane at the thought." He leaned forward, whispering to me as if we were in a crowded bus station instead of a deserted diner. "I smashed my car into the back of her Mercedes. Can you believe it? We were attending the same function, and I drove up to find her sitting in her car, talking to the very same fellow at the valet parking stand. So I slammed right into the back of her car, made a complete ass of myself, and dragged her back to the house…" A look came over his face, this look of complete and utter amazement. "Somehow, through some divine intervention perhaps, when we were in the foyer at the house, I found it in myself to admit that I didn't want to leave. That's when she said those two words. Come home." He smiled, realizing he'd been slacking on the sugar shakers, and handed me one to wipe. "I turned around and looked at her, and it was like I was twenty-one all over again. Like I'd never stopped loving her, like I was young and crazy in love, not a foolish old man who'd just destroyed a thirty-thousand dollar car in a fit of jealous rage."

I finished wiping the last of the sugar shakers and just looked at him for a moment. I wondered what I would think of Annabelle in twenty-five years. Would I still be crazy in love? Would I still have fits of jealous rage? It took me a moment to realize he was watching me with a knowing look in his eyes.

"Whomever you love, Louise, never let them think you've taken them for granted."

"Luke Danes, this is quite possibly the finest Spanish omelet I've ever had," she said as she finished up the last bite. The storm didn't look like it was going anywhere. In fact, it had gotten worse since I'd taken Emily's order and started on her omelet.

"Let me guess. It's the only Spanish omelet you've ever had."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've been eating Spanish omelets for years. This just…really is good," she said.

I guess I should have taken the compliment for what it was, but something in Emily always struck that cord with me, and I chose to see it as condescending. "Don't sound so surprised." I took her plate and pretty much tossed it back through the window into the kitchen.

She sighed in that long-suffering way she had. "You know, not everything out of my mouth is an insult. I have, on occasion, been known to actually give a sincere compliment."

"Sorry," I mumbled. Ever since the scene at their renewal ceremony, not to mention the arrival of April and all the trouble between the Gilmores and Rory and Lorelai, I just didn't know how to act around my prospective mother-in-law. Not that it would've made any difference had all that stuff not happened. Emily was just a difficult woman to warm up to. And I wasn't exactly Mr. Social Interaction myself.

She looked around the place, spinning slowly on the bar stool as she did. "My goodness, it's slow this afternoon," she said.

"Well, who's gonna brave this storm for a cheeseburger and fries, right? Even Lorelai--who almost never misses her twelfth cup of coffee of the day--isn't gonna make it."

"Half the stores are actually closed down," she said, craning to look out the window through the storm. "You live upstairs, don't you?" she added as something seemed to dawn on her. "Oh, my…you were closing up, weren't you, when I cam in?"

I shrugged. Kinda late for her to ask now. "It's okay. Wasn't like I was going to let you wait in the rain. Gypsy doesn't really have a waiting room for customers, per se."

"Thank you," she said softly. She seemed more relaxed now. She'd even put away that damned cell phone of hers. "Richard…I think Mr. Gilmore would be pleased to know that. It matters to him that his daughter marries a gentleman."

I had to laugh; well, snort anyway. These were the people who thought I was dirt, who thought I wasn't good enough for their daughter, who risked ruining their own renewal ceremony to try to break us up. Story's changing, is it, Emily?

"What about you, Emily? You think I'm gentleman enough to marry your daughter?" I was pushing, I knew, but there was nothing else to do but sweep the floors and poke at Emily Gilmore's pride.

She almost looked hurt—well, as much as Emily Gilmore would ever let her emotions show. "I think you're a man." She said it without humor or venom, just a matter-of-fact statement. "Not the kind of man I'd marry, but just the kind of man who could make my daughter happy." There was a long pause, and then she sighed and continued, "After the events of the last couple of years, I'm coming to understand that happiness is sometimes more important than…" There was another pause, then she grinned. "Well, just about anything, really."

"Are you happy?" I don't know why I asked it. I didn't care if Emily Gilmore was happy. I didn't care if she drowned in this storm, actually, so why in hell was she warming the counter stool in my diner when I should be upstairs relaxing?

But she took the question seriously, thinking about it before she responded. "I don't know if people like me are meant to be happy," she whispered. "Not in the way you and Lorelai and the people in Stars Hollow are happy." Then she smiled, a little too brightly. "I have a husband I adore, who takes care of me and spoils me and—after this last little drama in our marriage—never takes me for granted. I have a beautiful, successful daughter and a granddaughter with charm and beauty and brains and potential. I have a beautiful home, charitable work, friends… I have everything a woman could want, Luke."

Again, no clue why I asked. "But are…you…happy?"

"My goodness, isn't that Gypsy ever going to call," she said, pushing her cup forward. "May I have a refill, please?"

"Not getting out of it that easily," I muttered as I poured her another shot of decaf. I'd switched it after the second cup without telling her. Last thing I wanted was Emily on a Buzz trapped in my diner. "Answer the question, or the coffee goes away." It always worked with Lorelai…

She laughed, taking a sip. "I see why Lorelai is addicted to this stuff." Her eyes lowered to the rim of the cup, then she looked up with exaggerated suspicion. "You aren't lacing this with anything, are you?"

"Only small town charm, Emily. So, answer the question."

Emily Gilmore shrugged in that dramatic fashion she had. For all the grief she gave Lorelai for being a drama queen, this woman had no room to talk. "Oh, really, what does it matter?"

"You're going to be my mother-in-law. It matters."

With an exasperated sigh, she threw up her hand. "Yes, Luke, I'm happy. I'm blissful, even, a transcendent pinnacle of euphoria in a Chanel suit." Taking another sip of her coffee, she added, "Satisfied?"

"No regrets?"

Still holding the coffee, she waited for a clap of thunder to pass before answering. "Of course I have regrets. Everybody has regrets."

I took the cover off the pie plate. This strawberry pie wasn't going anywhere today, I figured, so I cut two pieces and handed one to her. "On the house."

"Thank you."

"Regrets?"

"Well, yes," she said, taking a bite of the pie. "My gawd, this is amazing. Well, of course I have regrets about Lorelai and the way that all happened when Rory was young. Richard and I could have handled things better, of course. Not that Lorelai was blameless," she added quickly.

I held up my hands in self-defense. I was the last person to think Lorelai was perfect. I loved her, but I'd been on the receiving end of more than one of her screw-ups, as she'd been on mine.

Emily continued. She looked like she was a million miles away, not even in the same room with me anymore. "Now, I never regretted marrying Richard. Even with that harridan of a mother he had…" She looked at me and laughed. "Yeah, we have something in common. No, Richard was my one perfect choice, and I never regretted anything about our marriage. Well, except for those five months of separation. I regret that. I regret being stubborn, not hashing things out at the beginning, not talking to him more about what really mattered." She looked at me wistfully. "You know, Luke, I'm a difficult woman to deal with. I like things the way I like them, and I'm not afraid to push for what I think is right."

"You don't say." This time, the dry sarcasm hit its mark.

"Lorelai Gilmore—the first Lorelai, my mother-in-law—did everything she could to destroy me. She tried intimidation, insults, insinuations—she even wrote Richard a letter the day before our wedding, practically demanding he abandon me at the altar. From the day I met her till the day the old witch melted to the ground, she was relentless. I know what you're thinking. How could I do the things I've done to you after she did those things to me? The answer is, I don't know." She took another bite of her pie, toying with the spoon as she savored it. "You've got a daughter now. She's what, twelve?"

I nodded. I really didn't feel comfortable enough with the whole April thing to be discussing it with Emily.

"It hasn't hit you yet, but it will. I can see it in your eyes. You're going to be one of the protective ones. The first time Rory dated a boy," she threw out, smiling. "You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"

I had to grin. "Well, not for dating her. But the first time one of them broke her heart…"

"I promise you, every boy that looks at Rory from now on, every boy April brings home, you're going to hate them on sight. Until they prove their worth to you, in a way that is undeniable, you're going to loathe them and fear them. It's part of being a parent, I think. You want the absolute best for your children, and sometimes…" Then Emily looked me straight into the eye. "If you're half the man Lorelai says you are, Luke Danes, you will not let me win. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, don't let me win. I can't promise I won't throw obstacles in your way. I can't promise I won't say things that hurt and humiliate. But I can promise you this. If you let me turn you away from Lorelai, then you really don't deserve her."

"No, Lorelai, I understand." He was talking to his daughter now, the one who had the kid who looked like her sister. "Well, I know that the roads into Hartford are blocked off. Yes, I know the road to your inn is flooded; I warned you about that when you bought the inn, remember? I told you that you should see about getting those private roads paved. But that's not the point. I don't think it's right for your mother stay alone in your house. Yes, I know you don't want that, either, Lorelai. There's no need to be sarcastic."

It seemed funny, how different he sounded talking to each of them. With Emily, he was steady, warm, reassuring—her protective husband. With me, he was the kindly older gentleman, reserved but friendly. We talked for almost an hour about books—he seems to know everything about anything that was ever committed to print. But with his daughter, it seemed like there was another Richard coming through. There was a hardness, an exasperation in his voice when he talked to her. Like a man who'd been through a lot and was having his patience sorely tested.

"Don't you think Luke could get her to the inn? Yes, of course, the truck would get stuck in the mud. Me? I'm hoping to have this resolved with my car in about half an hour. I talked to Emily just a moment ago, and her car is ready to go. I could possibly get to Stars Hollow, but my car is not going to make it to the inn any more than hers would." He breathed in long and slowly, like he'd been through these types of argument before. "No, I don't want to stay alone at your place anymore than she does. Good god, Lorelai, it's not like we'd spend the whole time rifling through your diary." He rolled his eyes. It was almost like he was thinking, 'Kids!'

"Yes, I'll hold while you get on the phone with Luke." He put his hand over the phone and shot me a sheepish look. "I am going to pay you for the use of your phone," he reminded me. It seemed to be code for, 'My family is driving me crazy," but maybe that was just me. We waited there for a long time, him on hold and me wiping down the chairs, before his daughter came back on the line.

"Yes, Lorelai. Yes, I can make it there. You've been there before? Ah, yes, good. And you'll make all the arrangements? Excellent, excellent. You're sure Luke can get her there? Good, good. Make sure to ask for a non-smoking room…Yes. Yes, thank you, Lorelai. I appreciate your help. I'll be there around seven."

He hung up the phone and shook himself slightly. "Well, it seems my daughter the innkeeper knows of a nice little place about halfway between here and Stars Hollow. We're going to meet in the middle and spend the night before heading back to Hartford in the morning." He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. "I thank you for your time and patience, Louise," he said as he handed me two bills. "Keep the change. I think I can brave the storm back to the mechanic's to wait out the rest of my time." With a kind smile, he added, "Sorry to bore you with the ramblings of a dull insurance salesman."

He turned to leave, and I saw that he'd left me two fifty dollar bills for a twelve dollar ticket. I wanted to say thank you, but he'd already gone out the door by the time I got my voice back. "I'll be damned…"

We didn't talk much on the way to the hotel. I could tell she was nervous about riding in the truck, about the storm, maybe even about being alone on a stormy night with a diner owner. I don't know. I just concentrated on the road and tried to remember that Lorelai was worth it. I guess I was glad she hadn't insisted on driving herself. Even on the good roads, the weather was terrible and too dangerous for a nervous driver to navigate after dark.

We got there just after seven. The hotel was much closer to the interstate than the Dragonfly was, which gave us much easier access. For some reason, I insisted on walking her in, making sure Richard was there, that the room was okay, before I headed back to Stars Hollow.

He was waiting for her in the lobby, already checked in, wearing that bow tie and suit combination he seemed to live in. Richard stood when he saw us, reaching his hand out to Emily but looking at me when he spoke. "How are the roads?" he asked plainly as he pulled Emily into a quick embrace.

"Rotten. You're smart to stay here until morning." I watched them together, wordlessly catching up as they stood side by side. As much as they intimidated me, and as much reason as I had to dislike them, I had to admit they looked good together. Forty years worth of good.

I realized as I stood there dripping on the carpet that that was what I wanted. I wanted forty years of history, with Lorelai, with my wife, forty years to know how we were feeling with just a single look at each other.

"Well, Luke, it looks like you got my girl back to me in one piece," Richard was saying with a grin at his wife. I never thought of Emily as a "girl," but she seemed to like it when he called her that. "Thank you for your help."

"It was nothing." And I realized, it was really nothing. I'd spent an entire afternoon, uninterrupted, with Emily Gilmore. And I'd survived. "Well, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…I'd better be heading back."

"Drive carefully, Luke," Emily said as she wrapped her arm around Richard's waist.

"Absolutely, son. It's madness on these highways tonight."

"I will," I said as I turned to leave. Before I got to the door, I turned, with just one more thing to say. "Emily?"

They'd been heading toward the hallway which led to the rooms. She stopped and turned, a questioning look on her face. "Yes?"

I grinned. "Just wanted to let you know--I'm not going to let you win."

She smiled broadly, especially at Richard's confused look, and replied, "Good."

And then we went our separate ways.

The End