When he picked her up, she had rolled her eyes at first. Who was he to show up at her door in a soft blue pullover and faded jeans, sand clinging to his boots, like some beautiful man unaware of his own family fortune? She had been so sure they were going to meet with ritzy friends somehow connected to the DuGrey fortune. But then he had driven her down to the beach, and she had taken in the scene in front of her. A bonfire roared up into the dusky sky, sparks floating up and out. There were men and women scattered around the fire, some holding skewers into it, others just talking and laughing, some others fiddling their hands in front of them in a way she didn't recognize; some had gathered on a makeshift dance floor, with a boombox sitting on an overturned laundry basket. One couple caught her eye. The woman was laughing, head tilted back with the firelight dancing on it, and she was holding onto her partner with one hand and holding a beer bottle with the other, and the man was leaned toward her. Then he took the bottle from her hand and took a drink. A strange sensation stirred low in Rory's stomach at the easy intimacy before her. When was the last time she had had that?

She looked over at the man beside her, driving his truck out onto the beach, easily maneuvering his wheels through the familiar packed ruts of the other vehicles with his one arm. The boy she had known in high school would not have known how to drive anything but a luxury sports car on well-paved roads in nice neighborhoods.

"You're awfully quiet," Tristan observed as he put the truck into park.

"I'm just startled. Wasn't what I was… expecting," Rory cracked a smile that she suspected looked a little apologetic. His eyes twinkled understandingly.

"You thought we were going to a more DuGrey-worthy soiree?"

"Yeah," she chuckled, "But this looks…" She paused and breathed out the next word with absolutely sincerity, "wonderful."

"Good. It ought to be a good time."

"Are these your friends?"

"Some. Some are friends of friends. Mostly we're all just locals celebrating the exodus of the tourists after a real good busy season. It's a chance to breathe."

"Tourists that bad?"

"Not at all, but the busy rush of having almost all of your work happen in one fairly short season is stressful."

"Alright. Now I'm nervous. I feel like I'm approaching an exclusive club. What if they hate me?" She was half-joking, and her smile wavered accordingly. They were walking now, feet shifting in the sand. The space between their bodies was close enough that the natural reaction would have been to put arms around each other, but they were not truly on a date, so Rory did not feel comfortable doing so, and Tristan had no arm on the side where she was walking. It was odd how one second his missing limb was truly gone, not even noticeable, and the next its absence seemed way more physically present than its presence would have.

"They'll hate you if you talk DuGrey and Gilmore and Huntzberger-style. If you talk like the person you actually are, a working person with a real job and a real house, then you'll be fine," he replied.

When they got just a touch closer, people started to drop what they were doing and come over. First, it was a tall man with a dark goatee and wind-burned face, accompanied by his lovely wife, and then it was a pair of young beautiful blondes who snuggled on either side of Tristan. One tucked a beer into his hand as she greeted him, and the other tucked herself under the arm and opened the beer. Both of them looked frivolous and fun and made Rory all too aware of the fact that her twenties would be behind her in just a short time. Rory frowned through her small talk with Sarah, the goateed man's wife, until Tristan dragged the blondes to her and introduced them.

"Rory, this is Mary Malone and her sister, Hannah. They're waitresses too lazy to go to college and too young to order a drink, and they're both in love with me because they're hoping my family fortune will protect them from ever having to have a life plan," he said, waggling his eyebrows. The blonde on the right smacked him.

"Sometimes there is such a thing as being too honest, Trist," Mary Malone said with a surprisingly warm smile turned to Rory. Rory immediately felt the tension through her shoulder-blades ease. "We're sisters, and we're bums, but we're not actually in love with him. He's too serious for our taste. Now, we hear that you are Rory, an old flame of his from high school, and that we are to be nice to you or else."

Tristan colored, even in the relative darkness of the beach, at the term old flame, and Rory raised an eyebrow. Perhaps she had not been the only one whose heart had fluttered foolishly for weeks after their one and only kiss. "Please do be nice to me, which, if possible, might include letting me put my arms around my old flame so I'm not consumed with jealousy when you do," she hoped her comment sounded as good-natured and joking as she intended, and it must have because Hannah and Mary Malone both made joking hisses and meows as if on the verge of cat fight and then pushed Tristan towards her. He wrapped his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

"You can't really find two sweeter kids," Tristan said to Rory once the gorgeous sisters had floated away to talk to other people. The easy honesty with which he said this instantly confirmed what his introduction had suggested; he saw these girls as kids, not as youthful babes to lust over. She smiled, and he kept his arm around her. As if to prove his point, Hannah floated over and slipped a beer into Rory's hand and then disappeared again without a word.

"I retract my earlier frown. They're lovely," Rory replied, popping the top on her beer and taking a sip. It was cold and cool, and it had the familiar taste of lowered inhibitions and fun nights. Tristan lifted his arm from around her, and she felt a moment of sadness until she realized he was just taking a drink. Then his arm returned to resting comfortably around her, and she leaned into the solid, comforting warmth of his chest. For a moment, in the flickering firelight, surrounded by laughing, talking people, she did not care that she had been set up by a meddling friend, she did not care that he had just asked her here to be nice, and she did not care that enjoying that solid masculine arm was just a cheap, temporary thrill; she just relaxed against him and stopped thinking.

They ended up walking over and sitting by the bonfire for a while. Rory got to see that the people fiddling with their hands had, in fact, been picking crabs, and there was a hilarious half an hour that followed where the locals tried to teach her how to do the same. The skill was so intrinsic to them that they got frustrated trying to explain it, and then they got even more frustrated when she told them that crab meat tasted boring and that she wanted butter. All of the frustration was paired with joking about the silly Yankee Tristan had brought and pats on the shoulder when she finally picked one of the crabs all by herself. Throughout the easy conversation, she came to realize how well-liked Tristan was among these people. He might be a DuGrey in her world, but here, he was just a soldier home from war managing some real estate to make a living. The frivolous party boy of her youth did not seem to exist here, but neither did the serious, sad soldier she had encountered overseas. She felt a little dizzy from the contrasts in her mind, but she enjoyed hearing the stories about Tristan one night at some bar with some buddy shooting pool and that one time that he fell off of the boat on a fishing trip and nearly got hooked. He had a niche here, for sure.

Then, with the crab meat in her stomach accompanied by three beers, Rory let Tristan drag her out on the dance floor. The easy country music was fun to dance to, and Rory recycled through three or four partners, including one old enough to be her father. The whole time she found herself glancing over to watch Tristan. He danced as if he had no handicap, and none of the women seemed to mind, judging from the way they twirled and conversed and sang along with the music in his grasp. She remembered his off-hand comment that it could get lonely here in the off-season for him, and as she watched him, happy and relaxed, she knew he had just been throwing her a bone to help keep her from being stuck by herself. Gratitude was a fuzzy feeling across her skin. The fuzzy feeling transferred to her stomach when she finally saw him extend a hand to her again, and she gladly reached over and joined him.

It was as if she had been holding two magnets apart with all of her strength and finally got the relief of letting them fall together. She tucked herself against him comfortably.

"So are you having an okay time?" He asked, swaying to the music with her easily. She opened her mouth to reply when suddenly her phone rang. With a frown and the distinct thought that the universe hated her, she fished out her phone and opened it. It was her mother.

"Hey Rory! How's the Outer Banks? Wait, what is that awful music? Honey, are you being held hostage by rednecks?" Lorelai's voice was a little tight, but it was obvious that she was trying very hard to sound like there was nothing wrong with their relationship. It was the first time Rory had ever heard their banter sound so strained, and she immediately wished that her mother would just acknowledge that she was still upset with her instead of pretending otherwise.

"Who is it?" Tristan mouthed, and Rory mouthed back, "My mother," and he mouthed something back that she could have sworn was "You should fuck with her." Now there was the party boy she had known in high school.

"No, no, not being held hostage. I'm out on a date with just the sweetest man. His name is Bubba, and he's only missing three or four teeth," Rory replied, trying her hardest not to laugh. Tristan opened his mouth wide, baring all of his very white, very present teeth.

"Are you really out with someone, Rory? Or have you succumbed to the honky-tonk side?" Lorelai sounded genuinely confused.

"I'm really out with someone. In fact, we're on the dance floor right now, and he's looking impatient. I really hope those shirts aren't called wifebeaters for a reason…" At this comment, Tristan actually laughed out loud, the sound coming out in an awkward through-the-nose snort as he tried to stifle it.

"Rory Gilmore, if you don't explain to me what you are talking about, I'm driving down there and finding you!"

"Sorry, Mom. The Outer Banks are lovely, but I really am on a date, and I will tell you all about it tomorrow, but right now, I had better go with him and enjoy some dances."

"Okay… This all seems very fishy to me… how could you have even met someone? You've been down there less than 24 hours."

"I'm very charming. I'll talk to you tomorrow. I love you."

"I love you too."

She hung up and looked at Tristan, who just pulled her back against him. She wondered how many beers he had had that he felt so comfortable with her, or if it was just because she was a face from his past in a most comfortable location of his present. "You're on a date?" He teased gently, face tilted down towards hers.

"I'm an old flame?"

His eyes sparkled with mischievous intent as he replied, "You would have been if it hadn't been for that old fuddy-duddy Dean."

She felt her eyes widen; so Tristan had liked her. The old fuddy-duddy as he had just been called had been right. "Did you really just say fuddy-duddy?"

"I'm as surprised as you," he echoed, "Now shut up. You're trying to trick me into confessing some long hidden secret of love when all I want to do is dance."

"Fine," she feigned a pout, but then laid her head on his shoulder and swayed to the soft ballad that played. He mumbled along with the words, not to her but just in gentle appreciation of the moment, and she felt light and happy.

Maybe she would hunt Mari down and kill her after the month had ended, rather than cutting it short.

X

By the time they loaded up in his truck and headed back to her beach house, Rory was exhausted. The alcohol and dancing and conversation into the wee hours of the morning were not part of her usual routine anymore, and she could barely keep her eyes open as Tristan navigated back to the house. They were quiet, peaceful, and there was the unspoken air that they were not going to speak about anything, not tonight. Something unspoken about not speaking seemed remarkably vague and mysterious, which in this circumstance suited Rory just fine. She was not ready to make this fun, somehow romantic evening concrete; she was not ready to make it just "a casual outing between friends" or a "welcome from an old friend" or whatever it actually was. Right now, it was lurking the strangely magical realm of the unknown, and she liked it that way.

He walked her to the door, their hips casually bumping against one another as they walked up the steps. When they reached the top, she put her key into the doorknob and unlocked it but did not immediately push it open. "Thank you for taking me out tonight. I had a good time," she said quietly, pushing a bit of her bobbed hair away from her face. He smiled immediately.

"I did too," he put a hand on her arm, and the light touch made her shiver. It seemed somehow so different after dancing with him for hours in the glow of the bonfire. "I'm not so upset to have some company for a while, even if your friend did set it up with nefarious purposes."

"It'll be nice to have a friend here in the Outer Banks," Rory agreed. Her statement was immediately countered with a chuckle, and Tristan reached toward her, tucked her against him and looked right down into her eyes.

"Tonight was a date, Mary. Maybe next time won't be, and I sure didn't intend for tonight to actually be one, but it was a date," his voice was calm, his smile twitching at the corners just a little, but his eyes were serious. "That was our first date, and it was pretty damn good."

Rory felt herself blush bright red and was grateful for the darkness. "It was pretty good."

"Pretty damn good," Tristan repeated.

"Yeah, but we're not going to go for a date next time we see each other. We're not going to get involved. Mari cannot be rewarded for her meddling, and besides," Rory hated herself for the lie she was about to tell, "I'm not interested in getting involved with anyone right now. I'm all about my career."

"I didn't ask you for anything. I'm just telling you what tonight was, so you don't do that girl thing and go to bed tonight and wonder over it for hours," The trace of that old arrogant playboy was so evident in this statement and the sparkle in his eyes that Rory had to laugh.

"Gee, thanks."

"Any time. Now go get some sleep." He turned their easy embrace into a somewhat awkward hug, they both said good night, and he headed down the steps and she headed inside. It wasn't until she closed the door behind her that she realized the ridiculousness of the whole situation. An unexpected first date at nearly thirty with one of her high school crushes, at least somewhat arranged by the wife of her college boyfriend (who had once proposed to her), was hardly a normal development in adult life. Her head was spinning from the improbability of it all, and by the time she crawled into bed, she was just grateful not to have to think about it anymore.

X

Getting dressed was a much more arduous chore the morning after a date than Rory had remembered. Partly that was upsetting because it meant it had been far too long since she had been on a date, and partly it was upsetting because she felt way too lazy to put forth effort into looking nice in the mornings. She had woken up, taken a shower, run some mousse through her damp hair, and then slapped on a bathrobe and called her mother. Casually leaving out the name of the man she had gone out with the evening before, she had painted a picture of a pleasant but casual and non-sexual evening and hung up feeling a little guilty. It was not like her to keep things, any things, from her mother, but things seemed to be a-changing lately, especially with Lorelai being so smitten and happy in her first successful marriage.

Finally, Rory decided on what to wear. It needed to be very casual, as if she was not anticipating seeing Tristan, but it also needed to look nice so that if she did see him he did not think that it was just the consumption of alcohol the night before that had made her seem appealing. She decided on a lightweight blue Henley and dark wash jeans with a pair of open-toed flats that were a touch impractical for the cool weather but perfect for the beach. Now that she was dressed, it was time to explore the area, take her Prius out for a spin, and see what sort of little shops were around where she could blow some money she couldn't quite afford to blow. That was what one did on vacation, after all. Putting her purse, a hulking tote-style bag, on her arm, she checked the time. 11:00 a.m. She headed to the door and pulled it open only to see something unexpected sitting on the doormat.

It was a dog, a big, floppy-eared hound dog with skinny sides and matted brown and white fur. It was sitting there on the doormat, looking straight up at her. Then its tail started thumping wildly against the porch. She looked around in confusion. No one seemed to be anywhere nearby.

"Hello? Anyone missing their dog? He ran this way. He's right here… or she… It might be a she!" Rory hollered out, looking around. The dog just smiled up at her, big mouth wide as it panted happily and wagged its tail against the floor. "Anyone?"

She stood awkwardly looking around until it finally became clear that the dog did not belong to anyone and that it was not going to go away. She was pretty sure she had heard hundreds of times never to feed a stray unless you intended to keep it, but this stray looked hungry, and she was a sucker. "Well, let's see… I haven't really gone grocery shopping, so unless you want a cereal bar…" She spoke to the dog as if it could understand every word. "How about this? I'm headed out to do a little bopping around, and I'll bring back something in case you're still here when I get back. Deal?"

Since there was still no response, she started down the steps, glancing back awkwardly with each step to see if the dog was still there. Better than just being still there, the dog was following her down the steps with dogged (pun intended) determination. Rory heard herself chuckling at her own thoughts. When she reached the Prius and opened the door, the hound happily jumped in and settled itself into the passenger seat. During its ungainly leap, Rory noticed its gender; it was a he, not an it. "No, no, no no… you're not allowed in the car!" She said, but he paid no attention to her admonition, except to give her a doe-eyed sideways look that seemed to ask why she too wasn't getting in the car. As she looked at his sandy paws and dirty, smelly body rubbing against her car seat, she groaned. He was going to have to go. She crawled in and shut her door, nearly gagging from the proximity to his nauseating smell.

Digging out her GPS, she searched on it for the local animal shelter. Taking a stray into the shelter was really the only feasible and kind option, after all. Once she had the address punched in, she started up the car and down the road. As she drove, she tried to ignore the stench and pressed forward towards the destination. "It is nothing personal, you have to understand, and I am very glad you seem to like me, but I know nothing about taking care of a dog, so it is better that I put you in capable hands and let you find a good, stable home," she told the drooling canine as she drove. When the GPS finally told her to turn, she was headed down a gravely back road, pulling up to a clean but clearly old building. The sounds of barking filled the air, some of it plaintive, some excited, and her companion started up a loud, rude baying in response. She hopped out of the door quickly, shutting it before he could follow her out and potentially run off.

Following a crooked sign that said "Office This Way," Rory pushed a creaky screen door to enter a small office. Cramped in the small space was a white board with seemingly unintelligible writing on it, a desk with piles of paperwork, and one very petite, very frazzled-looking woman about the same age as Rory.

"Hi. Can I help you?" The woman looked up from her paperwork with a tired expression. Just then, an officer stuck his head into the office from another door, presumably the one that led to the dog runs, and shouted in, "Make that sixteen, Shan."

"Fuck." The woman, probably named Shannon, said. "Sixteen." She scribbled something on the white board and looked back up. "Sorry. What'd you need again?"

Rory couldn't resist the pull of curiosity, no matter how many cats it had killed. "Sixteen what?"

"Sixteen dogs we've gotten from a hoarding situation today alone. It'll be a legal nightmare, and the psychological problems of the animals coming out of those situations are enough to keep you up at night."

"Hoarding situation?"

"You seen the TV shows on A&E and shit?" Rory nodded to answer the question. "Like that but with animals. Now what do you need?"

The woman was a little brusque, but it was easy to understand why. Rory thought of the droopy-eared, doe-eyed hound dog in her Prius and suddenly knew she could not burden this woman with him. She, and by extension, this shelter obviously had a lot on the plate right now. Instead of saying something canned about finding a stray she couldn't keep, she tried another angle.

"I've found a dog, and I don't know much of anything about him except he's friendly. Thought you guys here might know how I could go about starting to take care of him," Rory said quietly. Shannon's facial expression instantly softened, changing so dramatically that it made Rory smile too.

"First time dog owner?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Why don't I hand you a slip leash and you bring the lucky boy on in here? I'll look him over and let you know how to get started taking care of him. I'm Shannon, by the way," she extended her hand, and Rory took it and shook it.

Starting out her time in the Outer Banks had certainly been eventful. First, it had been an unexpected date, and then an unexpected dog… what was next? She knew that things tended to go in threes, but she could not for the life of her think of what other D thing could unexpectedly happen next.

She grabbed the leash and headed out to the car to get her new hound dog.

AN: It's here! Enjoy it, and let me know what you think. Remember that reviews help me to know what is working and what isn't. Thanks.