Author's Note July 2024: Edits and updates to all chapters. New chapter (23: The Family) uploaded, chapters after that renumbered.

AUTHER NOTE: AU story takes place after Lorelai and Christopher get married — happily or not, that's up to you. Luke and Lorelai stayed friends. I always thought their strongest moments came from their deep friendship, not their romance. But everybody needs someone to love, maybe that's why I dreamed up a woman who would bring out the best in Luke. Ongoing edits for clarity and continuity.

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you can spare a minute or two, i'd love a review. I'm a new author, this is my first story every and i want to improve.

-x-

Chapter 1: The Storm

(Thursday)

The snow had been coming down thick and fast for the past hour, relentlessly and mercilessly.

Wiping the ice out of her eyes yet again, Jen was regretting both her fondness for back roads and the recklessness that got her in this situation in the first place. She flexed her frozen fingers over her hand grips and had started to internally scold herself—again—when the road suddenly widened and she found herself passing a number of stately old Colonial homes that gave way to a New England postcard main street. She had never been so grateful to see civilization as she circled slowly around a quaint little town square. There was a green space, with a gazebo in the center, surrounded by shops that all appeared to be closed. No hotel, she thought to herself. Rotten luck.

But there was no choice —she had to get warmed up. Jen angled her motorcycle to the curb in front of a hardware store. It looked like a good enough place to ask for directions. As she killed the motor and twisted the front wheel to park, Jen heard the muffled jingle of the door opening. She kicked the stand down as a man hurried past her, his hood up against the weather. She lifted her helmet off as she opened the door and the bell jingled again, clearer now, and a blessedly warm curtain of air enveloped her. Jen looked around in surprise. It wasn't a hardware store — it was a diner. Even better. I'm starving.

The restaurant was empty. Jen glanced at her watch — 3:30. She was only there a moment before a man walked in from a back room and barked, "Seat yourself. I'll be with you in a minute." He never looked up from his clipboard before he picked up a stack of papers and disappeared around the corner again.

She chose a seat next to the window. Jen could see the snow already piling gently on the red and white tank of her 1959 Triumph Bonneville and swore under her breath again at her bad luck. She set her helmet down on the chair next to her and took off her riding gloves. She wore a pair of fingerless gloves underneath that she kept on, along with her jacket. Snow. Damn.

A menu hit the table with a flap and Jen jumped in her seat.

"Something to drink?" She hadn't heard him come up to the table, and her eyes lifted to the man who towered over her, looking at his order pad with a thunderous look on his face.

"Oh. Coffee. Please," she stammered. The man moved to the counter and quickly poured her a cup, then swung back and set it down in front of her without looking down. She wrapped her cold fingers around it and audibly sighed as the warmth spread into her hands.

The man glanced out the window. "What kind of idiot rides a motorcycle in this weather?" he muttered under his breath as he walked off. Jen followed his movement with her eyes, a bemused expression on her face.

Jen sipped at the hot coffee as she waited for the man to return and felt her body thaw a little, even as she gazed out the window at her small bike being slowly buried in snow. Beyond it spread a picture-perfect, old-fashioned town with brick facades and well-kept homes. Movement caught her eye, and she turned her attention to the reflection in the glass of the man behind the counter, muttering to himself and shuffling through a pile of receipts. He looked fit and strong … it was hard to tell with the loose jeans and flannel shirt he wore, but his shoulders were broad and his hips narrow. He wore a baseball hat backwards on his head, but it looked like his hair was on the longer side, and dark. He moved athletically and efficiently, and as his reflection approached, she turned toward the inside of the room.

"Did you want anything to eat?" he asked, in a slightly calmer voice. Jen noticed his eyes flicker to the helmet on the seat next to her, then briefly to her face.

Oh. Luke was surprised to see a helmet next to the girl. The pretty girl, he thought. He felt a little flush of embarrassment rise on his neck.

"Any chance I could get breakfast this late?" she asked. He nodded, brusquely, his eyes back on the order pad. "Two poached eggs over sautéed spinach." He nodded again and his eyes flickered back to her face—in all the years he'd been running this diner, Luke was sure no one had ever ordered sautéed spinach before. He stepped back behind the counter for the coffee pot and brought it back to refill her mug.

"Do you know if there's a hotel nearby?" Jen asked, looking up at him through a thick layer of wet bangs. I hope. There was already a layer of snow hiding the motorcycle tracks she had made.

Luke regarded her evenly. Most of her hair was pulled back in a wet and bedraggled ponytail, and a heavy mass of bangs all but covered her eyes. He thought she looked tired and a little forlorn. "The Dragonfly Inn. Not far," he replied as he pointed out the window, "at the top of Third Street." Where was she going? She didn't have heavy riding gear on … her jeans were soaked through. She was probably caught in the storm. It was early for snow, and the storm had rolled in without warning—even the weatherman was caught by surprise. She must be freezing.

"Thanks," she replied, and the corners of her mouth shifted upward slightly in a weary smile. She shivered a little in her wet clothes, then clutched her mug again and resumed her gaze outside as the man walked into the kitchen. She watched a lone figure hurry across the square and out of sight. The town was empty.

A few minutes later, Luke set a plate down in front of the girl. "I … uh … I made some Hollandaise sauce for you. It's there on the side … if you want it. If you don't, no big deal." She declined the coffee refill he offered so he retreated behind the counter. What is she doing here?

Jen picked up her fork. As she ate mechanically, she returned her attention to the falling snow. What now, Jen?, she asked herself, over and over and over. She occasionally glanced at the reflection of the man who had returned to the papers on the counter. Handsome. A bit grumpy.

Luke shuffled through his receipts. He briefly wondered what this girl — woman, he corrected himself — was doing out in this weather. She was turned away from him, but he thought she had a pretty face with delicate features, high cheekbones and big brown eyes. At the moment, she looked more than a little worried, and maybe a little sad. Why is she alone?

It was still snowing. Jen desperately wanted to stay in that warm haven, but she had to find somewhere to stay before her situation got even worse. Solve the problem, she told herself. She resolutely drained her coffee, then turned over the bill and dropped some cash on the table. When she stood up, the man looked up from a stack of papers on the counter and watched her pull on her riding gloves. She snatched up her helmet, threw him a quick "thanks," and walked out the door. The bell tinkled, muffled again as she pulled her helmet over her ears. She brushed the snow from the seat before she threw a leg over the motorcycle, kicked it to life, twisted the grip and let out the clutch. As she rolled off, Jen could see the man leaning over her table and watching her out the window.

An hour later, Luke was still thinking about the woman … he was curious about why she had been out in the snow in the first place, and if anything, the storm had worsened. She went to the Dragonfly, right? She wouldn't try to ride in this?

He dialed the phone and pulled the cord as long as he could around the corner, away from the customers that had started to trickle into the diner for dinner. "Michel."

"Oh, hello Luke," Michel droned in his irritating French accent, "What do you want? Lorelai is not here."

"Michel — did a girl on a motorcycle check in today?" The conversation went — predictably — badly, but ended with no. No motorcycle. He slammed the phone with a crash. It was getting dark, and he didn't like the idea of her — anyone really — being on the roads in weather like this.

Luke made it through dinner in a temper. He was preoccupied, and being preoccupied made Luke surly. Fortunately, only his regulars ventured out in the storm, and just a few of them — and the regulars were used to his moods and rants. What is wrong with me? The girl — woman, he reminded himself again—had seemed so melancholy. And she had asked about hotels, after all …. and was she alone? What's it to you, Danes? He could call the Dragonfly again but the idea of repeating that conversation with Michel made him kick the oven.

The last table lingered until just after 9:00. Luke shut down quickly and was in his truck and had it started before he knew what he was doing. He thought he would just run up to the Dragonfly and ask the night manager if the girl had checked in. Or better yet, sneak a peek at the register. You don't even know her name. He shook his head and pulled into the road.