Chapter Sixteen

Lorelai looked out over the back lawn of the Dragonfly past the pond with ducks playing on its newly melted surface and bows and streamers flapping the gentle breeze. All of this was hers. The lawn, the pond, the trees, everything at the Dragonfly Inn bore her mark. It was a wonderful sensation to know she had crated something useful, something she had never done before. Before, she had provided: she had clothed her daughter and put a roof over their heads; she had found a job, and then a better one. She formed and carried out each advance in her life with the clinical calculating eye of a mother caring for her daughter. Even the Inn, to some extent, had its inception in that most primal of motivators. Later, however, as the Inn became more a reality and less a dream it became more gratifying in itself. She wanted the Inn. She coveted its ownership and genesis as much as she had pined for freedom as a child. And, now, just as she had as a teen, she had succeeded. She did it; she won. She came out on top. The Dragonfly was a bustling hive of activity as guests fairly raced each other to register a coveted room—they had booked every room through most of April and May, and a good portion of June was taken up as well. People called the Dragonfly their "home away from home." No matter how much she loathed such cutesy and cliché platitudes, Lorelai reveled in the compliment. She created a home, a safe and inviting asylum for those seeking solace in their lives, solace she had so desperately desired growing up.

She chuckled at the irony.

Lorelai appraised the bride as she solemnly walked down the aisle and gave a small, disproving shake of her head. This wedding was all wrong. The entire affaire reeked of the twin demands of Propriety and Etiquette. Everything was formal, rigid, planned. Planned. Weddings, Lorelai decided as the bride and groom exchanged the traditional vows in the backgrounds of her inn, should not be planned. Weddings should not have flowers of uniform shape; bows should not be starched to rigidity; there should be no 'sides' Weddings should be created. They should be about life and a celebration of joy and love. There should be laughter and tears, not solemnity and stoicism. A good wedding should be fluid, with dancing and singing as much a part of the ceremony as the actual sermon. There should be flowers everywhere: pale lavender and lily of the valley for the guests, white roses for her. The dress should either be an heirloom of the family or homemade—a true labor of love, not bought form a designer months before. It should be soft, ephemeral in its fluidity, and white. Yes, it should definitely be white and with a faint pale blue tint. The thousand twinkling lights sparkling from amidst the flowers and bows and ribbons would reflect nicely off her tiara.

She laughed at the irony.

Lorelai turned back to the happy couple and smiled as they walked down the aisle hand-in-hand. They made a cute couple and the money they paid made an equally cute clink when Lorelai deposited it in the bank. The guests cheered and threw rice and followed the newlyweds to the dining room for the reception.

Things were definitely good.

When Lorelai finally returned home, her own man was angrily cursing at something on the stove. "Yeah, and you're fat too!" She grinned and eagerly leaned into the welcoming kiss Luke offered her.

"What was that about me being fat?" he raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Just lending my support." She grinned again and kissed him once more. Her knees buckled at the sensations that sprang to life as his fingers danced their way up her back. She missed this, missed them. "So what's cookin' doc?"

"Isn't it supposed to be 'what's up, doc'?"

She nodded. "Most times, however, when people were cooking he'd exchange the up for a cookin'," she pointed to the pot on the stove. "Ergo, what's cookin' doc?"

"Does this mean I'm Elmer Fudd?"

"Ew, and very good." She clapped her hands in praise.

"What?"

"You got a reference and made one of your own."

"Bugs Bunny, not that hard."

"Not for normal people, but for hermits like you…" she grinned and snatched the baseball cap from his head.

"Hey, you and I are together. That makes me an ex-hermit."

"Ah yes, you are a former hermit. Your hermitage is no more!"

He nodded and chuckled along with the game. "Yes. I have ceased to be a hermit. You forced me to watch that skit a thousand times. It was bound to stick," he kicked the floor in embarrassment.

"You liked it and you know it." She wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled the back of his neck.

Luke turned and kissed the spot just behind her ear. "I liked that you like it." His gruff whisper tickled the small hairs on her neck and made her knees quiver. She could get very used to having him around again.

"So, what's for dinner?" Whatever it was smelled heavenly.

"Lobster Newburg, lemon-dill soup, braised shrimp with pasta and sun dried tomatoes, and spring salad."

"Wow. What's the occasion?"

Luke kissed her furiously and ran his hands underneath her shirt. "Us."

His words were husky with passion and need. They drove her wild. "What's for desert?"

He blushed and shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't gotten to that part yet." She giggled and kissed his neck. He was so cute when he was embarrassed.

"I got a call today from Rory." The warm gooey glow that filled her being sent her flying; Rory was a success! "Logan set her up with an internship with her father."

"Logan is the no-strings guy?" The hardness in his eyes and sudden cool tone left no ambiguities as to his opinion on that subject.

"They're fully strung, now, according to Rory." She reached over and lit the candles between them. "Which, I guess I'm okay with. She's happy, and that's all that matters. But she's been so wonky lately."

"You wonder if she really knows what she wants." He set the final bowl on the table and took his chair across from her.

"Yeah, I mean, she's made such poor choices. Ever since she went to Yale, really." She sighed and shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. "I just have to keep telling myself that Rory's a bright girl and she knows what she's doing."

He nodded. "She's happy, and that's all that matters." He popped the cork form the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass. "Are you okay with Rory working for her boyfriend's dad?"

"I've never liked nepotism. If that's what makes her happy, then I am." Her shoulders slumped in mild defeat. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep to the conviction in her voice.

"She'll be fine. She's Rory." Lorelai smiled again; Luke had such faith in her daughter, such pride. He seemed almost like Rory's real father. Hell, in all but biology, he was. "So, what's the internship about?" Even in disapproval, he was interested in her daughter's life—just as a father should.

"Something about being an assistant with opportunities for reporting. She sounded vague about it on the phone. She's going to call tonight with more details." Luke nodded in interest and grimaced as he sipped his wine. "Still not a fan of wine?"

He coughed and quickly set his glass down to avoid spilling it. "Nope. But, the situation seemed to call for it."

Another warm gooey glow filled her. The situation: them. She liked this side of Luke: the romantic Luke, the Luke that cooked wonderful food after a day of hard work. No one saw this side of Luke; she doubted if anyone knew he could be like this. This Luke was hers, and only hers. She relished the idea that a part of him belonged only to her. It made her feel special and treasured to know that Luke revealed so much of himself to her. The more sides he revealed, the deeper her love for him grew. "So what's for…?" The ringing pone cut her off. "That's probably Rory."

Luke grinned at her childish excitement. "Go answer it."

She squealed and dashed to the phone. "Hello Spawn of my Loins."