Chapter Eight
Luke stepped out of the truck and looked morosely at the house. Somewhere inside--probably the living room--was Lorelai. His Lorelai. Stalker implications aside, she really was his. She was his in the way that he was hers. They were synonymous in his mind: Luke and Lorelai. There was no separation in his mind about where he ended and she began. That still sounded obsessive, he supposed, but it was still true. She was the other part of him and, in that way, she was his. He had always been there for her, helping her, fixing her house. Every act had been a silent declaration of his love. Every surly grumble and bark a hidden kiss. And the banter, the flirtatious, friendly banter was the ruse that made the disguise possible.
He had survived that way for years, staring at her from afar, and became pretty good at it. He knew her walk, her perfume, and her wardrobe. That had been enough for him. To know her better than she knew herself and just be there for her. A year ago, though, he had realized that she was the most important person in the world to him—followed closely by Rory and Jess (although he would never admit that to the punk)—and he had taken the plunge and stopped watching her and went to be with her. And it was good. Really good. And, he ruined it.
He stood in front of Lorelai's house, confused about how he had got there. Had it really been only a few hours ago that Rory had told him to go talk to Lorelai? Like a fool, though, he had waited an opened the diner. The whole day, he was surly and forgetful. He wrote the same order five times and took a plate of hamburgers to six separate tables before he realizes that the patty was still frozen. Lane finally had to confine him to the apartment so that she could salvage the rest of her tips (and his customers). That just meant that he got to brood alone in the solitude of his apartment. Around two in the afternoon, Lane had brought him a turkey sandwich and a cup of chicken noodle soup.
He had to smile at that. She really was a good kid. Why she stuck by him after the Break Up was beyond him. He had assumed that she would have quit as a sign of unity with her surrogate mother and best friend. Yet, the following morning she had appeared at the diner to work her usual shift. She just came into the diner, offered him a small smile and a shrug, and started filling coffee cups. Later, after a particularly rough day—he vaguely remembered throwing a few customers out to the curb—she had taken over orders entirely and relegated him to sweeping and refilling cups. At the end of the day, he had asked her why she stayed with the diner.
She just looked up from counting out her tips and shrugged. "Mama says you should never cast dirt into the well that gives you water."
Luke had just nodded at her reply and given her her paycheck. Her check two weeks later would reflect nearly a dollar raise. Luke 'did not put dirt in his wells either'. He understood loyalty. He was loyal.
However, when Lane had given him lunch earlier that afternoon, after Rory had left, it had seemed like she was doing it for another reason. She was not just being loyal and taking care of her employer. Again, Luke asked her the same question he had given her nearly two months before.
"Why are you still here?" He had looked over at her from his hunched position in his armchair.
Lane shrugged and looked down at the tray in her hands. "Because you're there for everyone else." She shook her head dismissively and set the tray down on the kitchen table. "I'm gonna go back down, now." She turned on her heel and scampered back down the stairs, leaving him once more alone with his thoughts.
These thoughts brought him to Lorelai's house where he stood on the gravel driveway studying the place with an appraising eye for any signs that she had moved on. The house still needed the new coat of paint he had planned to give it this spring. A few shingles had come loose during the recent snowstorm. He would replace them Saturday. A window rattled softly in the wind; the frame needed sanding. It had probably warped when the fool woman left it open to sniff the snow. He walked up the steps and grimaced as he heard the railings creak—another thing he needed to fix. It was easier to think of things to fix than to focus on his relationship. Emotions had always scared him, ever since his mother grew ill. Therefore, he had learned to channel his emotions into a project, and then fix it or build it; if he still could not deal, then he found another project. His life had been filled with projects since he was seven. His mother got sick; he learned to cook. His mother died; he made a desk. His father died; he built a diner. The woman he loved was engaged to another man; he built her a chuppah. Each time, there was an emotion attached to it that he could not deal with. Over the years, he had become very adept at not dealing. Unfortunately, he needed to deal now.
Luke took a steadying breath, "Easy Danes," and knocked loudly on the door. He counted the seconds for the door to open, fighting the urge to bolt down the road back to his diner and drown his sorrows in a case of beer. "This is crazy. I should go." She would never take him back anyway. He had screwed things up too badly.
He never had the chance to act on his decision as the door opened to reveal a disheveled Lorelai. "Kid, I'm gonna be fine!" She gasped as she saw a dejected Luke standing on her porch. "Luke?" her voice was small, tentative. She did not want to believe he was standing on her doorstep, nor did she want it to be a dream.
"Hey." God, she was beautiful. Was she always this beautiful?
"Hey." He looked up at her with his soulful plaintive eyes. Then, she was in his arms. Their lips met at first tentatively, soft pecking questioning feathers tracing each other's features. The kisses grew more furtive, more demanding, as her hands gripped his broad shoulders and he buried his deep in her hair.
She pulled him into the house. He allowed her to lead him. She gasped for air. He pressed her tighter to his chest. Her kisses grew insistent. He called for reason. Neither of them listened.
They ignored the implications of what the kiss could mean. Two halves of a single soul had reunited for one special scared moment was all that mattered. Tonight, for the first time in two months, they were happy. That was all that mattered.