Blush rises to her cheeks, warm and invited. A small, self-depreciating snicker is released from her lips, breaking the silence. Her hands come up from under the sheets to cover her face. She digs her nails a little too hard into her forehead, surely leaving a mark. Her mind, stuck in repeat of their meeting the morning before. Each time with her sinking further and further into the bed.
Oh, how she wishes for the shade of nighttime. The light of morning is so unforgiving. God, had she actually cried? She groans and hides underneath the sheets once again. Tick, tick.
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She shakes in her nervousness, or maybe arousal. He looks over her for the first time. She feels naked, which isn't at all surprising she figures. She is. And now, he really is looking at her like a porterhouse steak.
There is some sort of power that comes with wearing clothes. A power to tease and taunt with as much, or as little, as you wish. A power in which you can make another person only wonder what's behind the fabric. Leaving them wanting more and hoping to be part of their fantasies.
This was a power she was all too much accustomed to with this man. A power that was now gone from her arsenal. For years, she held the secrets that she knew he wanted her to whisper in his ear. She could see it on his face when he thought she wasn't looking, as she leaned over the counter or as she jaunted away towards the door, swaying her hips slightly. His reflection in the glass, watching her go. She'd smile to herself, taunting him with her power.
Now, here she is, and he has kryptonited her right out of her clothes. It hadn't taken much, she realizes in hindsight. From the moment he made his intentions known, she started listing the inventory of "he's going to see me naked for the first time" items. Legs shaved. Armpits. Lotion. Toenails. Eyebrows. (In)Appropriate underwear.
She sees the adoration in his face and forgets to be embarrassed. There's nothing left to the imagination now and she's powerless as he touches her for the first time. It is beautiful, as it always is. Completely removing the barriers of modesty, even if only literally. Looking and exploring each other's secrets; the moans and giggles giving up more and more of themselves in every moment of intimacy. Making faces that she's sure she'll regret, even though she never does. She'd always been good at this part. She closes her eyes at her most vulnerable, and he doesn't hear her whimper.
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She makes it to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to try and shut the movie off in her head. The one where the heroine makes a complete fool of herself and as she walks out of the scene, the room laughs and the new love reveals herself, cuddling close to the man the woman so foolishly lost.
She feels embarrassed. She remembers his face, watching her in pity as she poured her heart out, crying all over herself. And all of this with Kirk as the witness, she recalls, groaning once more.
She thinks that this isn't how she's supposed to feel after her great confession the day before. It was supposed to be liberating: finally handing over her heart. The weight was supposed to lift. The truth is out; she's no longer hiding. She is supposed to feel justified and confident. She's knows she supposed to be scared, but she's never felt so naked before in her life. Replaying his pitiful looks. Like she's helpless. Like she's lost it. She thinks that maybe this feeling, this vulnerability that she feels, is why she'd been so hesitant to give anyone this power before.
It's hard to say the feeling is regret. No. Regret is a word that Lorelai would much rather use sparingly. For all her shortcomings, it would probably start to lose meaning. Besides, she had concluded earlier in the morning, that no matter what the outcome, she would do it again in a heartbeat. Tell him that he was wrong, that it's always been him. In that, she feels a small amount of pride. The tears, however, she could have done without.
She realizes sadly, and with a small start, why her confession has left her feeling a little stilted. This was a vulnerability she was very inexperienced with.
She has to go to the diner eventually. This is the one thing she knows. She had told him she would. She would. Just not today. A relationship built on pity is not what she needs right now.
As she walks outside, her heart sinks a little seeing her empty porch. It isn't as if she had expected him there, except she did. She holds her head high and shakes down her sadness. Just work as usual.
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Rory sits patiently in her car seat. Her tiny fists rub her eyes and the yawn that follows, sends Lorelai on her own search for oxygen. She takes a deep breath and places a small kiss on her daughter's forehead. Rory giggles and Lorelai smiles. It doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she's out of the car before her daughter can notice. She hopes.
"Well Miss Gilmore, I've looked over everything and it looks good. I have a few other applicants, but," Mia pauses and eyes Lorelai nervously. She considers this young girl. There's fear in her eyes and she looks much too young to be a maid. Her well manicured hands drumming nervously on her thigh. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Lorelai sits a little straighter in her chair and mentally prepares herself. "Not at all," she replies and she wants to mean it.
"Are you in some sort of trouble?"
Lorelai breathes out slowly, "No, not trouble. Just looking to start fresh somewhere."
Mia eyes her wearily, still perplexed, "Are you running from something? Someone?"
Lorelai shakes her head again, "No."
Mia laughs nervously, biting the impulse to dig further into this young girl's life. She looks over her small resume once more. "So, you're from Hartford?'
"Yes. Well my parents live there."
"And what brings you to Stars Hollow?"
How does she begin to explain why she's here? Starting over, starting anew. Leaving the high and proper Gilmore world with her two-year-old daughter, hoping to give her more than she had. It's not the best plan, but it's something. She needs this job.
"This job," she replies simply and Mia gives her a once over. She looks at her resume again, trying to put the pieces together, when finally her small-town snoop ability comes into play. She lowers her glasses on her nose and asks slowly, hoping not to offend, "Do you have any children?"
Lorelai is startled and looks down briefly before returning her eyes to Mia, ashamed.
"A little girl. Her name's Rory."
"Aww, a little girl!" Mia exclaims excitedly, a complete 180 from her soft tone moments earlier. Off of Lorelai's startled reaction, Mia continues softer, "Little girls are amazing little things. How old is she?"
Lorelai mentally prepares herself and with a look of shame, tells Mia, "Two." She watches as Mia does the calculations in her head, as so many often do.
Mia watches her as she looks back into her lap. "It's nothing to be ashamed of dear."
As Mia reaches out and gently touches her hand, Lorelai feels herself quivering. She wants to blame it on hormones, or the fact that she didn't have a single drop of coffee this morning, but she knows what it is. To hear those words, nothing to be ashamed of. That's what catches her throat and makes the tears well up. To hear those words, for quite possibly the first time in her life. It's the mere fact, she realizes, that until this moment, no one has ever been quite so understanding about her situation. That's what makes the tears come. She fights it, and tries to keep her mask of fearlessness on, but Mia senses her apprehension and squeezes gently.
"You left your parents?"
Lorelai nods.
"With your daughter?"
She nods again, quickly wiping her eyes.
"And you need a job."
Lorelai breathes in deeply, regaining her composure. "Yes ma'am."
Mia looks her over again and reaches beside her and hands the young woman a tissue.
"So where is she?"
Lorelai sniffles and wipes her eyes once more. "In the car."
"By herself?" Mia asks puzzled.
Lorelai nods and Mia's on her feet. She grabs Lorelai's hands gently and gives her a look over. This strong young woman is fragile and scared. Condemning her decision to leave her child in the car alone does not seem to be a good option. She herself is still a child, she reasons, and probably just doesn't know any better.
"Can I meet her?'
"Of course."
When they get to the car, Mia watches the two interact. Her daughter claps and squeals when she sees her mother coming towards the car. Lorelai lights up when she lifts her from her car seat and kisses her gently on the forehead, turning her towards Mia proudly.
Mia smiles. Maybe it's the fact her own son had just left for college, or maybe because she wants to keep on eye on these two girls, but later that day, she offers Lorelai the job, and more importantly, a place for them to live.
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At the end of the day Lorelai goes home and collapses on her couch. Between the emotional turmoil and getting back to her daily life, she finds herself spent much earlier in the evening that usual.
Naturally she thinks of coffee, which reminds her of her impending visit. The words that filter through her brain make her irritable at her own cluelessness of what to do or say next. She had been so nervous about going there in the first place, proclaiming her love and just asking for him to serve her coffee again, she forgot to plan for after that. In a small way, she guesses, she hoped that he would take her back right then and there. Tell her that he loves her too. Never stopped. Rationally, she knew that wasn't going to happen, and didn't expect it to. But it would have been nice. Now what?
Now she's the costumer, she chides herself. Just as she promised.
Her instinct is to avoid the diner until her pride is healed. To stay away until there's a possibility that he has had time to mend as well.
But she wants to see him, and can't avoid the nagging in her heart, of just wanting to hear his voice. Even if it's just him asking, "For here, or to go?"
Tomorrow morning she decides. A quick cup to go.
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Riding in his truck, his mind is on everything but the road. He hopes that a police officer pulls him over so he can unleash his anger and not feel like a complete fool. Yelling over a speeding ticket would be a great release and one that his pride would allow. He hits the steering wheel and with his feet, angrily adjusts his floor mat at a stop sign he barely sees. He fights the urge to cry. He fights the urge of imagining them together. He fights the urge to admit his heart is broken.
At one point, months ago, days ago, he held her on his arm proudly. He knew he was the envy of any red-blooded male that saw her. Her love, it made him proud of himself, that she could love him. That he was good enough for her, despite years of telling himself differently. She touched him. He made her moan his name. She was his, and he, hers. Then, he would hold his head up high, knowing that he had found his. That he was hers.
At some point he forgot to appreciate her. It. Them. Something that happens when you become too secure. An oxymoron, he thinks. Moron, he thinks.
He fixes things. He knows his place. His duty. And if he weren't gripping the steering wheel so damn tight he'd have to fight the urge to salute. That's why he came to her house this morning. He could fix them. They could fix this. He poured his heart out; he was seconds from hitting the ground and begging. He winces as he imagines himself wrapping himself tightly around her legs, kissing her thighs, hoping she doesn't notice the wet marks he's leaving in his wake. Hoping she does. It makes his stomach turn and he replays her words over and over in his mind.
He's stopped at a stoplight that he doesn't remember seeing.
"I slept with Christopher"
As the light turns green he hits the accelerator harder than necessary and momentarily shuts his eyes, when images of them together cloud his mind.
Driving. He opens his eyes quickly.
Her kissing his chest and jaw and opening her mouth for him. His hands running down her sides, chill bumps in his wake. He knows her routine. He knows how she works. He knows how she would use her body against him and he sees Christopher smiling and kissing her neck, and he wants to scream when he hears her gasp.
He feels like an idiot for ever thinking he was good enough for her.
And he can't understand why his mind won't turn off the images, as they flicker her gasping, and moaning, and an illicit name slipping from her mouth. He sees her fingers white, grasping his back and there's not a relaxed muscle in his body as he is reminded that he's no longer the one who makes her moan.
Minutes ago he stood there, baring all for this woman he loves. This woman he would do anything for. But anything wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. His heart on his sleeve and now he wants to stomp all over himself for being such an idiot. Of course this is the way it ends. This is what he had always been trying to avoid. She had assured him, he had her heart. That he always would. And for some reason, he can't comprehend right now, he believed her. It's too much for his pride to take, and he needs a release.
He throws his truck in park and is out of the car before the engine has completely shut off. He focuses on his hands and his purpose and anything to get the images of her out of his head. He whips open the elevator screen, and sees her chin rising above an unknown shoulder. The slow elevator makes his blood boil and he's not sure rather or not he cares that his heart is beating so fast now that it might explode.
As he walks down the corridor, he can hear her moaning and gasping and when the door opens, she shutters and his fist lands squarely on his jaw.
He shakes his hand in relief. This pain is much better.
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He turns towards her, watching as her hand runs through his hair. They lay in a comfortable silence, eyes on each other. Lorelai smiles.
He recognizes the mischief in her expression and asks carefully, "What?"
She brushes her hands through his hair, sweeping the lazy pieces from his eyes. "Can I cut your hair?"
"Excuse me?"
"Just a trim."
"You're kidding me right?"
"Nope."
He smiles at her, "I'll call and make an appointment with my guy."
"It just needs a little off the ends. I can do it." She places her hand over her heart sincerely, "I want to do it."
"You want to cut my hair?"
"I love your hair."
"My hair is thin and definitely not my best feature."
She runs her hands through his hair, as if to emphasize her sincerity, "I love your hair."
Luke sighs and turns his body towards her explaining, "I've had the same barber for twenty years. He knows what I like, he knows my head. I can make an appointment for next week. He keeps me from looking so damn old."
Lorelai eyes him, "I know your head. Are you telling me your barber knows your head better than I, your very sweet and attentive girlfriend? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
He grins, "Sweet?"
"And attentive." She punctuates by sweeping her hand lightly along his face. "Plus, I used to cut Rory's hair all the time. I have satisfied customers that will give you references."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. I'm sure Rory would be more than happy to vouch for my skills."
"No. I mean you seriously want to cut my hair that badly?"
"Trim. Trim your hair."
"Just a little?"
"Just a little," she confirms.
"And you won't cut it too short?"
"Of course I won't."
"And not too much off the top?"
"Luke..."
"What?"
"I love your hair," she adds again meaningfully.
He regards her, and then finally gives into her pout, "After breakfast?"
Lorelai's eyes light up excited, "Well of course we have to eat. We'll need stamina!"
"I'm scared to know why you're so excited about this."
She kisses him on the cheek, jumping off the bed and pulling him up with her.
They sit in a comfortable silence; the sounds of silverware scraping the bottom of plates and John Hiatt playing softly from the living room, fill the void nicely. Lorelai smiles at Luke as he reads a paper, and then stuffs another fork full of pancakes into her mouth, refocusing her attention to her food.
His hand rests on her knee and he absently rubs circles there, only pausing to spoon more oatmeal from his bowl.
"My boobs are getting saggy."
It's not the broken silence that startles him, it's the content and the serious manner in which the line is delivered that catches his attention. Confused, he turns to her astounded, "What?"
She barely pauses as she pours a little more syrup on her pancakes, "My boobs are getting saggy."
He eyes her curiously, "If by 'boobs' you mean pancakes, and by 'saggy' you mean soggy, then yes, your boobs are getting very saggy."
She looks up from her pancakes and laughs gently, "That too I guess."
He smiles back at her and squeezes her knee assuredly, "Your breasts are not getting 'saggy'."
"Well they certainly aren't as perky as they used to be,"
"Hey, they're fine," he assures her dismissively.
She smiles at him, "Oh I know you think so mister."
He smirks, "I have no complaints. I think they are perfect," he adds for good measure.
She smiles good-naturedly, "Good answer."
He grins proudly, "I'm a highly trained specimen of a man."
She whacks his softly on the arm, "Yeah, yeah. Back to my boobs for a second..."
He sighs emphatically, "Lorelai, you know I never thought I'd want to stop talking about your-" he waves his hand in the general vicinity, she grins, "But this," he pauses, and then continues down a different path, defeated, "I love your boobs."
"And I'm glad you think so."
He frowns, confused, "But you don't?"
She laughs, "Oh no, I like them just fine. Love them even. I think they could definitely hold their own in a wet tee-shirt contest," Luke gives her a look and she adds properly and as if scripted, "That I would most certainly never participate in. Again," she adds guiltily.
He smiles and rolls his eyes. She grins wickedly and he squeezes her knee once more and then returns to his paper. After a second he looks up and watches her as she dips her bacon in the syrup on her plate.
She feels his eyes on her and looks up, "What?"
He smiles at her for a long second and finally, "Nothing." He leans in and kisses her gently. She smiles back at him and wipes syrup off of his lip. "Thanks," he says.
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When it comes into her sight, her stomach tumbles forward. She takes a calming breath and reminds herself, coffee to go. In and out.
She walks in with confidence she had forgotten she had. With no Luke in sight, she continues to the counter, sitting beside none other than Kirk.
"Well hello Lorelai."
"Hi Kirk," she speaks quickly and keeps up her facade.
He leans in conspiratorially, "How are you doing today?"
He speaks in low voice and Lorelai doesn't know whether to be pleased or disturbed. "Good Kirk, thanks."
"He's in the back."
"Who?" Fruitless, she scolds herself.
"Luke."
"I'm just here for coffee Kirk."
"What about that whole, 'This customer lo-'"
"Thanks Kirk. I remember."
"Well you're acting like you don't," he leans in, and if she thought she was uncomfortable before, she decides to redefine the word when he places his hand on her thigh, "I'm here for you Lorelai. Love is hard. It picks you up and knocks you-"
She begins to think of things she'd like to knock, one being her counter-buddy. She's about to test the theory when Luke comes from behind the curtain, stopping Kirk in mid-sentence and her hand in midair. It falls back to her thigh because really, that's the last thing on her mind when he says, "Oh, hi."
She smiles warmly, "Hi. Just a coffee to-go please."
He's a little uncomfortable and she wishes it wasn't so awkward. She was certainly doing her part in ignoring the elephant.
He characteristically wipes his hands with his rag and, a nervous tick she remembers, readjusts his hat. "Sure." His voice sounds a little funny, and she knows she isn't alone in thinking that when he repeats it a little firmer, "Sure."
She smiles again, and his back is already towards her fixing her coffee.
She glares at Kirk, realizing she hadn't gotten the chance to chide him for his inconsiderate words earlier. Hadn't he realized she was moving on? Pretending it didn't happen?
She prays that her embarrassment is over for this trip, and watches as Luke finishes preparing her coffee. As he places the lid on, he lifts his eyes to her and gives her a reassuring smile. She smiles back briefly and would almost define it "a moment", until Kirk interrupts.
"I've been meaning to tell you Luke,"
The moment is officially over and Lorelai holds her breath praying that Kirk uses some common sense in his next few sentences.
Luke looks at Kirk warningly but he continues undeterred, "You really shouldn't put the lids on like that."
"Like what?" Luke asks incredulously.
"With your hand over the mouth piece. People have to put their mouths on those lids. I dabbled in hygienic arts," he explains authoritatively. "It's not sanitary."
Luke glares at him and Lorelai stifles a laugh, "My hands are clean Kirk."
"You know, most people believe their own hands are clean, when in fact, they aren't. No one wants to believe they are a disease carrier."
"I'm not a disease carrier Kirk."
"You may say that now, but have you ever looked at your hands under a microscope?"
Luke sighs, "Can't say that I have." He turns back to Lorelai, "I'll get you another lid."
"It's okay," she smirks.
"No, I will. Wouldn't want you to fret over the diseases on my hands."
"It's okay," she assures him again with a smile. "I trust your hands." And it wasn't supposed to be flirty, but it's so natural, it slides out without hesitation. She's relieved when he doesn't seem effected.
"Okay," he leans in slightly, "But your putting your life in your own hands."
"Actually," she returns with a smile, "I'm putting it in your hands." She puts her money on the counter and light-heartedly continues, "And I'm okay with that."
With the way that he looks at her, she knows he's touched. It's a brief moment, before he glances at Kirk and adds, "Well, you've been warned."
Without a word, she smiles and turns to go, coffee in hand.