A/N: So I lied. I decided to make this into a multi-chapter fic. It's my first—like, EVER—so please, please promise me you won't break out the tar and feathers if it's not that great. Thannnnnnnnkkkkk you.

Disclaimer: All I own is seasons one through six on DVD and a strong desire to make Amy Sherman-Palladino president.

On to the fic…

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"Hey," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and pulling out the seat across from him. "Did you order yet?"

"Believe it or not, I was waiting for you," he said.

"Oh, right. Of course," her voice came out higher than usual.

"Something wrong?" Logan asked, looking concerned.

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all," she babbled, trying not to sound like she was hiding anything. "In fact, I was thinking of writing a song about it. You know, how not wrong everything is. Maybe I could make a record and sell it on the black market. Then, of course, you'd have to help me not get arrested. That would make a good song, too. Did I ever tell you about Mom's plan to rob Sephora? Hey, do you wanna drive the getaway car?"

He laughed. "Okay, nothing's wrong."

She sighed. Since when did she adapt her mother's talent for incessant chatter?

"So, burger, I guess," she said to the waiter who was now standing by their table, waiting for them to order. "No tomato, or lettuce. Extra cheese, and chilly fries. And two side orders of onion rings. Oh, and a cherry Coke."

"That all, sir?" said the waiter, assuming that the order was for both of them.

"No, no, no." said Rory, flashing the man a smile. "That's just for me."

Logan laughed. "I'll have a BLT and—" he quickly flipped through the menu. "Do you serve alcohol here?"

"Yes, sir," said the waiter. "Would you like the wine list?"

"No, I'll just…"

Rory stared into space, trying to figure out the last time they had gone through one meal without Logan ordering a drink. I wonder where Jess is, she speculated, then quickly shook the thought out of her head. She turned her attention back to Logan, who, with the waiter gone to fetch his scotch, was either talking about beaches or leeches; she hadn't really been listening.

"So I thought that Sunday we could visit that little town where we had those really good steaks that time," he said. "Remember?"

"Mmmhmm," she said, nodding. Jess would have taken me to a bookstore. The thought had subconsciously wandered into her head. She furrowed her brow. Jess? JESS? You're sitting here with your husband and you're thinking about Jess? She tried to focus on what Logan was saying.

"And we could just meet up with them, you know, for old times sake."

"Meet up with who?" she asked, generally confused.

"I told you," said Logan, looking at her as if she had one of those cone-shaped hats on. "Collin and Finn. We'll meet up with them by that park with all those old professors telling you to go dig into a classic, or whatever. As if anyone wants to spend their vacation discussing The Fountain Head."

Ayn Rand is a political nut.

"I mean, it's bad enough they have to go around pushing all these books on people, but at least do it when we're not trying to relax."

Yeah, but nobody could write a forty-page monologue like she could.

"God, I hate those guys." He squinted his eyes, and waved a hand in front of Rory's face. "Hey, Ace. You there?"

"What?" she said, looking up suddenly. "Yeah. Right. Ayn Rand."

"Yeaaahhh," said Logan, pronouncing the word like it had three syllables. She hated when he did that. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"You know," she said, putting on the kind of fake-sick expression kids use on their parents. Unfortunately, she wasn't that good at it, seeing as she never had any need to use it. "I think I might be catching the flu or something. I think I'm just gonna spend the day in bed."

"You sure?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. She nodded. "You want me to stay with you?"

"No, no. It's fine. I'm fine. You go ahead and beat up those professors."

"Well," he said, but she could see that she almost had him. "Okay." Score. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked out, wondering if she had packed old Ernest in with the rest of her stuff.