He heard her words before he saw her face. What was up? Why was she pink and sweaty? What was she doing here? Glad she was here, always glad to have her sitting with him here, but Lorelai was wild-eyed and panting. Sexy, but not now.

"Lorelai, are you okay? Is something wrong? Did something happen to you, to the inn?"

"The inn, no it's fine, yes, fine, I am fine just winded, I need coffee pleeeease."

He poured her a cup and watched her gulp it down like a shot.

"Should you be drinking it that fast, do you need a glass of ice water?"

Lorelai put her face in her hands and slumped on her stool.

"Luke, is it okay if I just sit here for a while and we don't talk?"

"Yeah, as long as you like. Do you want some food? A salad? Vegetable soup?"

"Glazed donut and some fries."

"Coming up, though I don't think it would hurt you to have some protein to give your diet some semblance of sanity."

Luke ducked into the back, handed the order to Cesar, and puzzled over why she was at the diner, acting erratic, breathless. Obviously this was not the time to give her a bouquet and definitely not the time to ask her to see a movie. This couldn't be about that Jason guy. He sensed that she was almost relieved to be dumped earlier this morning. He thought offering to catch some corny film in town might be the way to lay groundwork for the relationship he'd waited so long to start. He knew time would never be on his side and if he blinked she'd be dating some new idiot who wasn't right for her, keeping her unavailable for something that could be great.

She was all he wanted. Her mind so unlike the other women who Luke tried to date, her crazy comments and stories that he barely understood but it didn't matter because he got to hear her talking. She would run her own business, no doubt successfully due to her business acumen, and fled a life of privilege so she wasn't a gold digger hoping for a man to 'take care of her' in the way that some of his dates implied. Her beauty unparalleled by any woman he'd ever seen. She knew she was beautiful, but she didn't let that define who she was. He wanted Lorelai. No one else measured up.

"Luke, fries are up."

Luke set the plate down in front of a calmer Lorelai. She was no longer flushed. He casually glanced around the diner to keep his eyes busy. She looked almost angelic in her white pleated sundress, except for the plunging neckline which was rather evil because Luke couldn't help but see her breasts, partially covered by the white fabric and partially uncovered, teasing his eyes and making him think dirty thoughts when he looked at her.

Lorelai mindlessly chomped on the fries. Luke was being so sweet while she was acting so crazy. Dean. Dean. Man, what was she thinking thinking about Dean? She had feelings for him that weren't friendly. This was crazy. She couldn't be interested in Dean Forester. Once boyfriend of her daughter, too young for Stars Hollow to accept even if Rory weren't a factor. This town was historic, Puritanical, not plastic and surgical like Hollywood where men could be 30 years older than their girlfriends and women could get away with being 10 to 12 years older than their boyfriends.

You're losing it Gilmore. The inn is almost finished and soon Dean's duty will be finished and he's off to college where he can meet some nice tattooed bimbo with a tramp stamp, grinding to Ke$ha in a darkened bar...no no NO!

She knew he was approaching her in the stable by the sound of his gait - more relaxed than the other workers. When you're as tall as Bunyan your strides allow for a slower pace. How many times had she seen him with that toolbelt, oh cliche, the creased canvas carpenter pants, a soiled henley shirt that hugged the muscles in his long octo arms? She wanted him to take her in his arms every time she saw him.

Last week. Unbearable sitting next to him at the movie house where they independently ended up after a grueling day to watch Casablanca. Why did he have to be sitting on the red couch, handsome, alone? He saw her and it would have been too weird to sit in a chair behind him since the place was empty if you didn't count Kirk, and why would you count Kirk? Torture. Not Midnight Express torture, or Justin Bieber Baby torture, but torture to sit next to him, feeling his weight shift on the seat, watching the light reflect off of his cheekbones and thick chestnut hair. Lorelai wished he would swing an arm over the back of the couch and casually, "accidentally" rest his hand on her shoulder. She definitely caught him stealing glances at her too. Each time it made her blush, but she was sure he couldn't see that.

When he crouched down before her in the stall and placed his hand on her knee, she thought she might spontaneously combust. Why? Why was his touch doing this to her? She was, up until today, having sex on a regular basis with Jason, so she wasn't some neglected housewife type in a bad marriage who needed to be touched. Dammit. Dean wasn't some goofy teen she could ignore. Dean was a smart, kind, sturdy, sexy man. And it seemed he felt something for her too, she thought, because he noticed her, he could be attracted to her, she was pretty enough, smart enough (and gosh darn it, people like me) or at least he appreciated her female attributes, that much was clear. But she didn't want some tawdry little fling. Did she? With Dean? Who could she talk to about this? No one.

At home, in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the high school playlist on her iPod, she sheds a small tear when Somebody by Depeche Mode spills from the speakers:

I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings

I'm carefully trying to steer clear of those things

But when I'm asleep I want somebody

Who will put their arms around me, kiss me tenderly