a/n: well, back again – I know I seem to be updating so fast your heads must be all blurry! I'm on my break from work at the moment so I'm taking this opportunity to cram in as many writing sessions as I can before I have to knuckle down for my exams! So far so good – or so it seems – with the story. You guys seem to be liking it. Last chapter was, granted, not as liked as the first but I held some readers attention so I'm stoked :D I'm gonna be posting pretty on and off up until Sunday when I'll start working on my major projects for the year and I'll be writing as much as I can in my free time. I'm really enjoying writing this for you all and to the ONE PERSON who guessed the ship – go Angeleyez! – I am very impressed, well done :D however, just because one person knows there is still no need to go around telling you all. I want to know who can pick where the story is headed. Anyhow – I'll stop rambling now and get on with the story. Hope you like it, and remember "If you don't review, you're such a poo!"

Chapter Three

Well? What have you got to say for yourself, missy?

Rory rubbed her stomach.

There is no way in hell you're going to make it through the entrée let alone the entire meal.

She looked down and tried to brush the stray crumbs from her shirt.

 Okay – to make matters worse you are now not only a pig, Rory Gilmore, but you're dirty.

She glanced at Dave, in the driving seat, who was dabbing a dark patch off his shirt.

Well at least I'm not the only dirty one around here.

Heh, dirty.

She thudded her hand to her forehead.

I have GOT to stop thinking like my mother.

"You alright there?" Dave smirked at her.

Rory smiled weakly, "Nah, I got hit by a thought."

He looked at her warily, "Must've been a Mack truck."

"More like a stretch limousine…"

"Oooh, a dirty thought!" He grinned, "Looking forward to meeting Troy, are we?"

Rory groaned.

Take a step back.

Trapped inside an old, rusty, red Mini Cooper, two adults are anxiously anticipating the dinner ahead. Both for different reasons. While he cannot read her mind, and likewise, she cannot read his – we can read them both. The signs on them are different. Rory, in her pristine outfit, is constantly smoothing her pants, readjusting her bra, checking her hair and makeup in the side mirror and fidgeting in her seat. Dave, with his crumpled – now stained- shirt and baggy pants, is constantly evening out his breathing, wiping his palms on his legs, brushing the hair out of his eyes and shifting his glance to the clock. They are both worried about the same person. The mystery man inside the Rygalski household, alone with Dave's wife and Rory's best friend – but, like I said, for different reasons. Where Rory is aware that tonight could be the night she meets the man of her dreams in Troy, Dave is becoming more and more conscious that he left his wife alone with a good-looking stranger. Where Rory is worried she is too dressed up for a simple dinner date, Dave is concerned that he is not up to scratch compared to this new man. "Could I find love?" "Will I lose love?" Two similar questions from, admittedly, two similar people. But only time will tell how the night will unravel.

"Lane, we're here," Dave called as he pushed open his front door, dragging Rory in by her arm, "I found this scrawny little thing stashed under her bed wielding a baseball bat – it's a wonder she still has friends with that attitude!"

Rory smacked his arm before moving swiftly into the lounge room, "Don't believe a word he says, Lane. This husband of yours is clearly delusional – I was sitting on my sofa waiting for him to pick me up. And anything he mentions to do with chocolate cake is purely ficti-," she tailed off as she saw the two on the couch, "Oh…"

Lane and someone who must be Troy were in deep conversation, or so it seemed, involving the benefits of couture design.

Dave raised his eyebrows at Rory and shrugged while she smothered a giggle. He moved in front of the fashion squad and coughed loudly, causing them to acknowledge his appearance.

Lane jumped up from the couch and hugged him, "Hello and hello! We haven't started the veggies yet, sorry." She turned to Rory, "Ah my girl! You made it out of your building – Congratulations!"

"Ha de ha hah," she snarled, rolling her eyes, "you know, you and Dave should take that show on the road!"

"Well, we couldn't fit the name 'RYGALSKI' on the side of the bandwagon so we gave up on that idea a looooong time ago," Lane smirked at her, clinging to her husbands arm.

Dave turned to his wife, "You could have kept 'Kim' it would have been so much easier for letterheads!"

"Please," she rolled her eyes, "Mama would never have stood for it. It's bad enough I keep it for work, I may as well take your name for proper stuff or she'd never speak to me again!"

"She won't talk to me ever!" Dave said, exasperated.

"But Honey," she said, sweetly, "that's because she knows for sure that you are the one that has stolen my virtue – you are going to burn in her fiery hell for the rest of eternity!"

"Oh, joy."

A small cough came from the couch. It was only then that Rory took Troy in completely. He was quite handsome, in a clean cut way – in fact looking almost as if he were too good to be true. He had none of the normal inflections one sees; scars, wrinkles, dimples…his face was perfectly symmetrical. A little off-putting. But then he smiled and warmth filled his face – his blue eyes sparkled and his glaringly white teeth beamed at them.

Lane smiled, "Troy," she gestured for him to stand, "this is Rory."

He walked over and shook her hand, beaming at her.

"Hello, Rory," he said.

For such a tall man, he had a soft voice. In many ways he reminded her of Dean. Not just the height or the floppy, Hugh-Grant-esque hair – but from the way he grasped her hand. His stylish dinner suit and defiant stance, reminded her of her Debutant ball…

"Troy, do you know Neil Young?" she blurted – receiving a very confused glance from each person in the room.

"Uh…I believe I met him at a party once," he tailed off.

Rory blushed. An awkward silence followed. Rory could have sworn she heard Dave mutter "Ah, l'amore" under his breath before saying loudly, "C'mon Rory – how about we see to that asparagus, hmm?"

He steered her from the room leaving Lane and Troy to resume their fashion discussion.

He shut the kitchen door behind them and continued to laugh as he took out the vegetables and knives.

She narrowed her eyes at him while she adjusted the chopping boards on the counter, "And what, pray tell, is so amusing?"

He gave in to a fit of giggles, leaning against the fridge gasping for air, "Real smooth, Rory! You never head that first impressions count?"

She took the knife in hand and began shredding the carrots, "As a matter of fact, I have, what is your point?"

He mustered his strength and pulled an extremely sober face. "Rory," he said and reached for her hand, pulling her near and muttered seductively, "do you know Neil Young?" Before cracking into laughter once more.

"It's a valid question!" she cried, returning to her vegetables.

"Rory, you didn't even greet him – you launched straight into the Neil thing…"

"He reminded me of someone!"

He turned and watched her carefully, "Who, Neil Young?"

"Indirectly…" she said quietly, refusing to take her eyes off of the carrot in front of her.

He shook his head an began to pour water into a pan, "You sure are something Rory Gilmore."

"It's Lorelai DuGrey to you, Buddy," she growled, scowling.

"Oh-ho-ho!" he laughed, "Aren't we Miss little hoity – toity – I – make – an – ass – of – myself – in – front – of – strangers - lady!"

"I am NOT" she said looking up, still chopping, "Besides, if he's as nice as Lane says he is – he won't care!"

He stopped what he was doing, "Lane's talked about him to you?"

"Of course," she nodded, "I asked for the full file on him and she told me…why?"

He turned back to the pan, pouring in some rice, "No reason. Just curious."

"Good, good."

"So," he cleared his through, "what'd she say?"

Rory smiled, "Don't be worried – sounds like she's found a new friend is all. Hey, every girl needs a gay best friend – even if it is a cliché!"

He laughed, "Hey, I'm almost 56% sure he's gay – I never said anything concrete!"

"Well, they were talking about fashion when we came in…but what am I talking about – he's my date!"

He smiled uneasily, "Do you have a gay best friend?"

"Well," she giggled, "unless Paris has been hiding something from Jess and myself I don't," she broke off and sucked her thumb, "DANG IT!"

Dave quickly moved to her, "What, what is it? Rory, show me your thumb," she shook her head.

He clucked his tongue at her, "Did you cut your thumb, you Doofus?"

She narrowed her eyes at him again.

He smirked and took her hand in his, leading her to the sink, "Boy – o – boy, I'm going to have to get you a butter knife to use in future. Or better yet, you can just stir things from now on!" He ran the tap and put her thumb under it.

She winced and whimpered. He glanced at her, smiling softly, "You know for such a high-strung power lady, you sure are a big baby –it's just a nick!" He showed her the tiny scratch on her thumb and she pouted at it, tears threatening to destroy her composure. Crouching down, he took a band-aid out of the drawer and wrapped it around her thumb, "There, all better?"

She looked at the colourful band securing her cut and nodded, grinning like a child, "It's got guitars on it!"

He smiled again and pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around him and lifting her off the ground, laughing at her squeals of protest.

He took her hand, kissed her thumb and pressed it in between his palms.

"I think you'll live," he said softly and then pointed at the door, grinning, "Now get out of my kitchen!"

Take a step back.

The aroma that fills Lane and Dave's dining room is divine – spices flow in through the kitchen and the satisfied expressions on the faces inside show well enough that the quality of the food was superb. The spirits are high, both spiritually and alcoholically. Finishing off the last bottle of red wine, the four adults are seated around the dinner table, idly chatting about current affairs, reminiscing on old events and generally creating an amiable atmosphere. Rory, surprising both herself and others, is extremely relaxed and is flowing with the witty conversation that is reminiscent of another Gilmore we know and love. She gets to know Troy in an offhand way and decides that – while he'd make a lovely friend – he wasn't the guy for her. Although feeling guilty at deciding this so soon, she is almost positive that neither Jess nor her mother will reprimand her this time – and the idea soothes her. Not having to worry about making an impression she eases herself into a fun evening – the first she's had in a long time. All four at the table are chatting now. The plates are empty. The faces are grinning. Two hands rest on Lanes knees. The one on her left resides there territorially. The other, unseen thanks to the thick pine dining table, fondles her knee softly. Although similar in size and shape, the hands have one small difference between them. The left one belongs to her husband. Lane continues to smile impishly as Rory narrates her latest visit to her mothers. Has anyone noticed? Can anyone see? The adrenalin is high. The stakes are even higher.