"Mr. Huntzberger?" Logan's head snapped up, turning in the direction of the voice of his executive assistant, Anna. It wasn't unusual for her to startle him out of whatever it was he was working on. He had a bad habit of getting caught up in hyperfocus mode and suddenly finding it to be three hours later than he thought. He would miss half his meetings if it weren't for her. "It's getting late, did you want me to order you some lunch?" He looked at his watch to see that it was after 1:30 already. And he'd probably starve to death too.

"Umm…" he shook his head, trying to focus. Food probably wouldn't be the worst idea. Now that he'd stopped and actually paid attention to his body's signals, it was clear he could benefit from some nutritional support. His stomach was grumbling, he had a headache, and he was getting more and more easily irritated by each pointless message he read. Of course, that might just have been because he'd spent the last five and a half hours catching up on the massive amount of emails and voicemails he'd missed over the weekend. Five plus hours of anything that tedious would put a man on edge. There wasn't even anything urgent…hell most of it wasn't even important. No, it wasn't the quality of missed messages that was the issue, it was the quantity. And he still had 73 more emails to get through. This probably was a valuable lesson in how much time he wasted on things that didn't matter.

Of course, today he was grateful for the distraction. Because if he didn't have a huge pile of crap to distract him, he might actually have to think about what had almost happened at that ridiculous Stars Hollow Carnival. And he wasn't talking about how he'd almost gotten fined by the town mayor for cutting through the hyacinths instead of taking the long way around the gazebo. No, he was taking about that insane moment where he had almost kissed Rory. Because for as much as he would love to pretend that wasn't what that moment was, he had to face reality. Thank god her friend Lane had shown up and interrupted them. He wasn't sure what he would have done if something had actually happened between them. One tiny slip of the lips could ruin their entire arrangement. And that was just a slip of the lips. He didn't even want to think about other things slipping.

No, it was far too dangerous to go mixing business and pleasure that way. God, what had he even been thinking? But he knew what he'd been thinking. Because that was the other thing he hadn't been able to get out of his head. The stupid, fucking psychic.

Why was he letting her words bother him so much? She was nothing more than a con artist. Nothing she'd said had held an iota of merit. It was just a freak coincidence that she'd hit a nerve…that and a good amount of body langue reading skills and a few pop psychology courses at her local community college, he imagined. She wasn't telling him his fortune, she was just playing off his micro-expressions.

Nonetheless, she had hit a nerve. He hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but it was pretty hard to ignore the evidence of his own actions. Afterall, one didn't go around risking an entire multinational media conglomeration worth billions of dollars when they were thinking logically. He'd been thrown off kilter. It was the only explanation for his momentary lapse in judgement where Rory was concerned.

The question was, which tragically exposed nerve was the one that was muddling with his brain? The dead, overbearing father who he'd never have the chance to prove himself too? Or the ex he'd never quite gotten over.

"Mr. Huntzberger?" Anna's voice startled him once again.

"Oh, right…lunch. Just get me my usual from 51 Maine," he requested, somewhat indifferently. He knew he needed to eat but he didn't really care so much what it was. A Cobb Salad would at least deliver a decent nutritional impact and hopefully get his brain back in the game.

"Sure thing, Boss." She disappeared from his inner office and he slumped back into his ergonomically designed yet stylish, brown, leather office chair. It would take lunch some time to arrive. He should get more work done. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to turn his attention back to the screen full of emails. There were some South American demographic statistics Henry, the VP of the International division, had sent for their meeting tomorrow about expanding into the Argentinian market. But it was no use. The bar graphs on the page in front of him were nothing more than blurry lines on a page. He wouldn't be able to get back into hyperfocus mode until he got his blood sugar up.

Logan reached for his phone. Finn had texted him a meme of the Dos Equis guy with some less than savory text overlay; something about heroin, hookers, handcuffs and clowns? Logan would bet better than even money it was a fairly accurate description of Finn's weekend activities. He closed his text messages and opened Twitter, scrolling mindlessly before accepting that his brain couldn't even focus on bad celebrity political takes and pointless Twitter feuds. Nope. He'd broken his concentration and now his brain only wanted to focus on exactly what he'd been spending all morning trying not to think about.

Rory and her lips…and what exactly he'd been thinking, thinking about her lips. It was stupid. He didn't even see her that way. She was his partner…and friend. They'd become friends in the three months they'd been married. And maybe that was what was messing him up. Because he'd never been close, completely platonic friends with a woman before. His close friendships involved drinking and debauchery…and someone to bail him out of jail (after they'd helped land him there.) He wasn't used to being this open and, well, vulnerable, with anyone he wasn't sleeping with. And there Rory was reassuring him about Mitchum and telling him he was a good person and seeing more than what he let himself show on the surface. He never felt that seen by anyone but, well…Natalie. And after all the psychic's talk about her, she was already on his brain.

So that was it; of course he'd gotten momentarily confused. It wasn't really Rory's lips he was thinking about. But was that any better? That he was thinking about the lips of a woman who'd broken up with him five years ago? No, that was just Maeve messing with his head; telling him he hadn't lost her love forever. Would he even want it back if he could get it? After all the pain and humiliation she'd put him through? The answer should be unequivocally no. But the truth was, he wasn't so sure. He'd dreamed about it more than he cared to admit.

His finger paused over an icon on his phone. Maybe…maybe he should test it out. He'd spent so long trying to avoid thinking about her. Avoiding anything that might remind him of her…like pictures. How could he know how he really felt if he kept avoiding the subject.

He felt his body tense with anticipation as he tapped on the little pink and purple camera icon, opening Instagram to his feed. His teeth clenched as he clicked on the magnifying glass at the top and typed in her name.

Natalie M

#Expat and experimental #physicist.

Living in #Switzerland

Working at #CERN

It was her. If the bio wasn't proof enough, the image in the pink circle at the top of the screen was. He knew every detail of her face like he knew his own; the perfect cupid bow of her lips, her soft, round, amber eyes, the tilt of her chin. Her once long hair was cut short, and her makeup was lighter giving her a more European look. But it was her.

He scrolled down and clicked on the first photo. It was an AI generated image of her in her lab coat holding a beaker. Next was a reel. She was sitting at a small, cluttered desk in a tiny office, explaining the concept of time dilation. A sensation he couldn't describe rolled through him as he listened to her speak; the memory of a lazy morning in bed—at least for him—while she eagerly explained to him the difference between the strong nuclear force and the weak nuclear force. Spoiler alert—it wasn't just that one was strong and the other was weak.

While he'd always been able to muster up the image of her, he'd thought he'd forgotten the sound of her voice. But listening to her speak, the lilt of the words was unmistakable despite the faintest hint of a French accent she'd picked up.

The emotions rolled over him as he scrolled through the posts, though he wasn't quite sure exactly what those emotions were—nostalgia, sadness, love—until he accidentally double tapped on a photo of her in front of a fountain.

Shit! He knew this emotion. This emotion was definitely panic. What was he supposed to do now? He should undo it, right? Delete all evidence of the fact that he was creepily looking at pictures of his ex. But if he unliked it she could still get the notification, couldn't she? Then she'd know that not only had he been looking at her page, but that he was doing it secretly and that he cared if she knew. It would be a giant, red flag with the words "STALKER" written in big block letters. Maybe it was better to leave it. Like it was just any other casual red heart. He took a closer look at the screen and noticed something—a lifeline.

Liked by FinnFlamFlan and others.

Finn had liked the photo. He'd worry later about why his best friend was still in touch with his ex, even if just via social media. For now it was a blessing. And the photo was less than two weeks old. It was completely conceivable that the algorithm could have presented the picture to him unprompted. So that was it then. Just a casual like from someone she used to know who happened to run across her post thanks to the interference of invasive big tech.

In fact, maybe he should lean into it. Make it even more causal. Like he was over her and fully into the 'let's be friends' stage. He could give her a follow. Or send her a DM…Hey, just ran across your post on my feed. Switzerland looks like it agrees with you. Anyway, just wanted to say 'hi.' Hope all is well.

No. Not the message. Exes didn't just casually message each other out of the blue. But a follow wasn't unreasonable. To show that he wasn't bothered by coming across her photo...that he was a grown up now. A married grown up who was over his ex and able to coexist casually in a digital world. He was pretty sure the word casual was starting to lose all meaning to him..

He tapped on the follow button and then quickly navigated away from her profile before he could accidentally like any other posts…or do something stupid on purpose. In fact, maybe it was best if he just got out of the app altogether. He was just about to switch back to Twitter when a notification appeared in the upper righthand corner of his screen. He paused, his heart pounding in his chest. It couldn't be. He clicked on the notification and was brought to a DM from none other than QuarkyGurl93.

Hey stranger. Long time no talk.

I heard about your Dad. I know things were strained between you two but still…it's got to be rough losing him. I'm sure he'd be proud of the job you're doing for the company.

I hope everything else is going well.

~Nat

PS-congrats on the nuptials.

The crisp, starchy deliciousness washed over her as she bit into a fry. The hand not covered in a thin sheen of grease, scrolled through her Instagram feed, pausing periodically to read a caption or silently watch a reel. She still had about an hour to kill before her interview with Professor Heath on the impact of climate change on the Republican Party's attempts to win over Gen Z voters. She'd taken an early lunch in order to escape the still tense environment of the office and wound up at Blackbird's, a little café by the Wesleyan campus. There was a cute little patio outside, but it was still a bit chilly for eating alfresco. Inside was cozy too, with artwork by local artists adorning the wall, lots of plants, bookshelves to borrow reading material from, and a combination of tables and cozy armchairs to sit at. It was the perfect atmosphere for students to get out of their dorms and study for a bit…or for her to prep for her interview. Or it would have been if she weren't so preoccupied.

No matter how hard she'd tried to convince herself that the moment she and Logan had had at the carnival was all in her head, she couldn't stop wondering what would have happened if Lane hadn't shown up. Was he really going to kiss her? Had she really wanted him to? It was absurd. They couldn't just go around kissing each other—well, other than the orchestrated PDA they had to put on for the masses, but that was different. Besides the fact that any romantic or physical entanglements could ruin their whole relationship, Logan was still clearly in love with Natalie. And she, well, she hadn't been on a date in closing in on a year now. Sure, she was allowed to, but it was a little hard to arrange when everyone knew she was married to a media mogul. And besides, where could it lead? Finding someone to scratch an itch was one thing but she just couldn't fathom having some one-night stand. And finding someone content to be her side piece and wait it out for years before they could really be together was an entirely different story. So, it was no wonder she had let herself get caught up in the moment. That's all it was. She needed to forget about it and move on.

She double tapped on a photo of Paris standing in front of the New York County Courthouse. It was the first day of her summer internship clerking for State Supreme Court Justice Elizabeth Garry. Paris had been talking about it non-stop for weeks. Not that Rory could blame her, it was a major career opportunity and she'd earned it. Honestly, Rory was a little jealous. Her career opportunities these days were all tainted by her…affiliations. She missed the beaming feeling of pride that came from a well-earned professional achievement.

She shoved down her envy and kept scrolling until something made her finger stop swiping. The photo was of a woman she didn't know. She was pretty in that annoyingly effortless way that every female protagonist in a novel is always described. Her chocolate brown hair was cut in a lightly overgrown French bob with bangs that were somehow both blunt and choppy. She was tall and slender, wearing a cropped, burgundy sweater layered over a white tee and paired with skinny jeans and Converse sneakers. Rory wasn't sure what made her stop. Maybe it was instinct. Or more probably, it was the fountain in the background; the one she recalled from her backpacking trip the summer after high school, as the Jet d'Eau…in Geneva Switzerland. She looked below the photo…QuarkyGurl93 was the name of the account. Liked by LHuntz, FinnFlamFlan, and others. She wasn't sure why her chest suddenly felt tight. What did it matter if this was who she thought it was. And so what if Logan was still liking her photos? She should just scroll on…

She tapped the little pink circle with the face inside instead and it took her to the main profile page.

Natalie M

#Expat and experimental #physicist.

Living in #Switzerland

Working at #CERN

She bit her lip and started scrolling through the profile page. Natalie's posts were eclectic…a few images of her at brunch with friends or on the shore of Lake Geneva, or taking a weekend trip to Paris, interspersed with pictures of science-y looking equipment Rory couldn't identify. There were some educational reels reposted from TikTok where she explained basic concepts of physics and talked about current scientific breakthroughs. She was smart and beautiful and witty—everything she would imagine the woman Logan loved to be. Rory fought the clenching feeling in her stomach; it wasn't jealousy. No; she was just upset for Logan. This was the girl who had such a hold on him…who was keeping him from moving on and finding someone who loved him just as much as he loved her. She wanted Logan to be happy, that was all. She'd feel just the same if she was looking at the profile of some guy who'd broken Lane's heart.

She stuffed another fry in her mouth as she swiped through some more images of Natalie at a club…eating lunch on the lawn outside one of the buildings at CERN…

"French fries and coffee. A combination that's still as weird and unpalatable as I remember." Rory's head shot up with a fry still sticking halfway out of her mouth to lay eyes on a familiar head of slightly rumpled, curly, brown hair.

"Brendon!" she gasped, swallowing down the lump of potato in her mouth. The tightness in her chest from moments before was suddenly replaced by a combination of excitement and mortification…both from the unladylike way she was shoving fries into her mouth as well as the fact that she had been completely consumed by cyberstalking her fake husband's ex. "You're back!" She hadn't realized he'd returned from Madrid, though she probably should have, the school year was over. Her eyes roved over him; he was dressed in slightly wrinkled dockers and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing a tantalizing hint of firm, tanned forearm. He was unshaven, as usual, the sexy scruff covering the lower half of his face accentuating his square jaw. His green eyes were slightly magnified by the square framed glasses he wore. She felt her stomach tingle at the sight; she'd forgotten how good looking he was…in that disheveled, kind of nerdy way. Every co-eds sexy professor fantasy.

"Got back two weeks ago," he informed her. "I'm teaching a summer session course on the Spanish Renaissance." The mental image of him standing in front of a classroom passionately discussing the poetry of Garcilaso de la Vega and the art of Diego Valasquez had her practically swooning on the spot.

"Well, welcome back."

This. This was what she wanted. She wasn't sure what she'd even been thinking of, contemplating if that almost kiss with Logan was anything. Logan was no schlub, that was sure. But he wasn't her type. Whereas Logan was blonde, and suave, and all business, Brendon was dark and deep and a little reserved. He was the kind of man she could imagine herself curling up with on the couch, snuggled under blankets and reading on a cool, crisp Sunday morning. When Logan wasn't working on Sunday mornings, he wanted to do crazy things like go for a run in the park.

"Can I?" He motioned to the empty chair across the table from her.

"Oh, of course." He took a seat.

"How was Madrid?" Had she seriously asked that? How was Madrid? It was amazing, of course. It was Madrid.

"It was beautiful." His eyes went a little glazy. "The art and the architecture was amazing, and the atmosphere was so laid back. Everyone there took their time to really enjoy life, you know? Not like here where everyone is in a rush all the time. I'm going to miss my afternoon siestas. And the students were so much more engaged."

"That sounds amazing. If I were you, I would have stayed forever."

"Yeah, well," his gaze returned to the here and now, looking a little disappointed, "it was…nice but, there were things about home I missed too."

"Oh yeah?" she asked disbelievingly. "Like what?" He looked at her; that deep, penetrating stare that made her understand the cliché 'weak in the knees' on a visceral level. It only lasted for a second, and then he blinked and it was gone. "I don't know," he shrugged. "The beach? The bagels? The…congested highways?"

"Yes, it must have been a shame to miss out on all that smog."

"My lungs didn't know what to do with themselves and all that fresh air." He reached across the table to pilfer one of her fries and Rory did a double take as his sleeve slid up even further revealing the edge of black ink.

"You got a tattoo?" Dear god, please don't let it be something stupid and cliché like some random Chinese characters that don't actually mean what people thought they meant. Or like, an anchor or a compass.

"Oh, uh, yeah," He popped the fry in his mouth and then went to roll up his sleeve to reveal the image of Don Quixote on horseback riding away from a windmill.

"Wow."

He shrugged. "I got it to remind myself not to waste time tilting at windmills."

Tilting at windmills. The irony wasn't lost on her, that if anything were to happen between them, he'd be tilting against one seemingly mighty windmill. But she was getting ahead of herself. She didn't even know if he was interested in starting things back up. And even if he was now, he surely wouldn't be once he knew she was married. Brendon was smart and sexy and kind; he had plenty of options, he wasn't about to agree to be her mistress...mister? But god, she wanted him to be. She'd forgotten just how hot he was, and how much she enjoyed spending time with him…and how goddam horny she was.

"It looks good on you." It looked better than good. Rory was practically drooling, and it wasn't over her fries. Her eyes took in his lightly tanned, solid but not overly built form. "Sabbatical agrees with you."

"Thanks," he smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And marriage agrees with you."

Crap! "Oh, umm…you heard about that?"

"I may have heard something about it…" She supposed he had a point. Logan was big news, and so was his marriage. There had been wedding announcements in every major paper, magazine, and tabloid. Plus, there were pictures all over social media…hers, Lane's, a couple of her other friends Brendon had gotten to know. But somehow, she had just assumed that Madrid would shelter him from what was going on in her life…like Spain was some alternate universe or something where Facebook and Instagram didn't exist. How foolish she'd been.

"Right."

"Plus, that ring is kind of hard to miss." He nodded at her left hand

"Oh, umm…" She fingered the large, ornate diamond on her left ring finger. It was strange how she could so easily forget about something so extravagant and flamboyant being attached to her hand.

"I gotta say, it doesn't really strike me as your style." Rory tended towards a more simple elegance. She'd always hated standing out—at least personally, though professionally was a different story. She thrived on accomplishments, and he hadn't pegged her as the kind of woman who counted bagging a billionaire as an accomplishment.

"Well, it's…" she glanced down at the garish display of wealth on her finger. She knew that there were millions of women who would kill to be able to wear such a rock on their fingers. Despite her distaste for it herself, she knew it wasn't ugly. It just wasn't…her. "It was a family heirloom," she shrugged, using the best explanation she could come up with to explain why her husband would bequeath her an engagement ring that had absolutely no resemblance to anything that she would remotely pick out for herself. Brendon wasn't the first person to notice, after all. It would have been easier to just let Logan exchange it for something more her taste, like he'd offered to do on numerous occasions. But for some reason she'd always turned him down. She supposed there was something…grounding about wearing a piece of jewelry that was worth the entire GDP of a small nation. Something almost reassuring. Because every time she looked at it, she was reminded that this was not the ring that would be on her finger for the rest of her life. This was not her 'til death do us part.' One day, she would give this ring back. And one day, she would receive the perfect ring from the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She should have taken a good, hard look at the ring last night. Then maybe she wouldn't have spent the better part of a day obsessing over what had or hadn't happened at the Carnival. This thing with Logan wasn't real. But Brendon could be…maybe…if he still wanted to be.

"Well, it's nice, I didn't mean…" Brendon stumbled, looking a little embarrassed for having said anything.

"It's fine. You're right. It's not my style. But marriage is about compromises, you know?" In her case especially. Her entire marriage was based around one giant compromise. That was literally all it was. "And jewelry isn't really important to me, so…" She trailed off, really wishing they could stop talking about her being married right now. It was kind of a mood killer.

"Yeah, I guess." It didn't really seem like he did understand. But she couldn't exactly blame him for that considering all the missing context. There was some awkward silence.

"So…how'd you two meet?"

"Mutual friends from college." God, her life was just a series of lies these days; they really needed to get off this topic. "But enough about me. Tell me more about Madrid. How was the food? The architecture? Did you travel through the rest of Europe at all? Did you get peanuts or pretzels on the plane ride home?"

Brendon laughed. It was a low, husky sound that made her lower stomach curl. "The food was amazing. There was this little place by the river that had the best paella…"

Logan had learned to make paella during his semester abroad in Barcelona when he was in high school. It was surprisingly good. But god, no, this wasn't about Logan…she needed to focus on the man sitting across from her who she might actually get to have sex with. "That sounds divine."

"It was amazing. And the architecture was so incredible in person. No photo can possibly do justice to the Palacio de Cristal. I travelled a lot but not as much as I wanted too. The plane ride home came with a disgusting meal of Salisbury steak and peas and the woman in the seat next to me took off her shoes and socks…and, I think that answers all of your questions."

"I'm sorry…her socks?" Rory repeated with complete horror. What kind of monster would do such a thing?

"I'm pretty sure she had a toenail fungus. Fortunately, my podiatrist assures me I didn't catch it."

"Well, presumably you kept your socks and shoes on like a civilized human being, so that probably helped."

"It might have played a role."

"When Mom and I went backpacking through Europe, every hostel we stayed at, the pillows smelled like feet. Like, seriously, do people not know that pillows go under their heads? We had to sleep on our balled-up jackets. It was less than ideal."

Brandon laughed again. "How is Lorelai?" Brendon had met Rory's mother a couple of times while they were dating and they'd gotten along well; Lorelai was definitely a fan. She'd probably be thrilled to hear he was back. And she'd definitely use it as an opportunity to remind Rory why she shouldn't have agreed to this fake marriage business with Logan.

"She's good. She and Jason are still together. The Inn is doing great."

They chatted for a little while longer until Rory glanced down at the clock on her phone. 'A little while' seemed to be a bit of an understatement. She'd completely lost track of time talking with Brendon.

"Crap, I've got to go. I've got an interview I'm going to be late to." She started gathering up her stuff.

"Duty calls," he said, his mouth curling up into a lazy, lop sided grin that made her heart speed up. "It was good catching up, Ror."

This was it. She had to go but this was her chance… She stopped to look at him, fixing the strap of her purse on her shoulder, her Burberry trench coat draped over her arm. "Yeah, uh…maybe…maybe we could do it again sometime?"

Brendon's eyebrows raised, his lips pursed together in a look of contemplative surprise. "Umm, yeah, sure…" he said after a moment. "I've still got my old number."

"Great," Rory beamed. "I'll give you a call."

AN: The exes have returned, dun dun dun...How much of a wrench will out European antagonists throw in the love lives of our duo. Will Logan respond to Natalies DM? Will Rory and Brendon have a real date? Will the green eyed monster rear their ugly head? And if so, will it be Logan or Rory that lets their jealousy get the best of them?