CHAPTER 12 – A Day That Will Live in Infamy
BING!
The soft chime, a gentle, almost musical ping, floated through the cabin's stillness, unnoticed by the blanket-covered mound vaguely resembling a person lost in sleep. Caught in the sweet, blurry haze between dreams of belting out Bangles hits and the unwelcome reality of morning, the only response from the lump at the bed's center was a muffled groan.
Eventually, an arm emerged from the cottony cocoon, its bronze tone striking against the crisp white of the blankets. It stretched out with lazy determination, fingers still clumsy with sleep, sweeping across the bed in a slow search and meeting only the cool emptiness where Luke's familiar warmth should have been.
The steady thud of the hull against its mooring sent gentle, relentless vibrations through the cabin, pulling her from the final remnants of her blissful slumber. As if determined to rob her of every ounce of lingering comfort, the low, droning hum of the idling engine chimed in, soon accompanied by the unmistakable creak of footsteps overhead - undoubtedly Luke, being his annoyingly productive self.
And then it hit her. A scent. Warm, rich, utterly irresistible. Coffee. Liquid salvation. Fresh, glorious, life-giving coffee. Brewed-by-the-very-man-who-had-the-nerve-to-abandon-her-in-bed coffee.
With a slow, indulgent yawn, Lorelai's eyelids fluttered open, greeted by the soft, golden light filtering through the portholes. Her stretch was half-hearted at best, carrying the reluctant energy of someone forced to exercise. Precariously arching her back, her arms reached out as her toes curled under the blanket like they were clinging to the edge of a cliff. She lifted her head from the pillow and gave it a firm shake, determined to dislodge the last, stubborn traces of sleep that were clinging to her brain.
Her hand moved with the instinct of a homing pigeon, finding her phone amongst the chaos on the nightstand. With a lazy flick, she flipped it open, the soft glow casting a warm light over her still-sleepy face as her eyes adjusted. Slowly, a smile touched her lips and a familiar warmth bloomed in her chest when her gaze landed on the sender's name.
It was her spawn, her mini-me, the one person capable of making even the most soul-sucking Monday feel slightly less Monday-ish - Lorelai the Third.
'Thinking about you today. Call me.'
The message just sat there, glowing on the screen, its weight settling over her like a damp, too-heavy blanket. Slowly, the smile that had been blooming on Lorelai's face faltered, then faded entirely. In its place, a hollow ache unfurled, rooting itself deep behind her ribs like an unwelcome houseguest who had no plans of leaving.
Today was June third.
Her thumbs hovered over the keypad, hesitating for a beat before they moved, deliberate and brief as she crafted her reply one QWERTY letter at a time.
'Call ya later. Luv ya kid'
With one last decisive tap, she sent the message into the digital void and snapped her phone shut, letting it fall onto the bed as she flopped back, her curls spilling across the pillow in a tangle of surrender.
Then came the internal cage match. A brief but brutal battle royale in her brain to ignore what this day was supposed to be - a full-blown, fireworks-and-glitter celebration of their first year of successfully not murdering each other. It should have started with the sacred ritual of unearthing a year-old, freezer-burned slice of wedding cake. Followed by a spirited debate about who was the official ball and chain in this operation. And then maybe, if they could manage to be sentimental for five minutes, a quiet date night, soft lighting, and a champagne toast to their shared insanity.
Instead, here they were, armed with nothing more than metaphorical duct tape, trying to patch up something far messier than fondant and frosting.
Lorelai took a deep breath - the kind you take before trying to talk your way through a return without a receipt. Her brain, now a hamster wheel fueled by anxiety, whirred at full speed before landing on the only reasonable course of action: coffee. Because if anything could save the day, it was caffeine - the liquid equivalent of a superhero cape.
Padding toward the kitchenette, the weight of the day pressing on her, Lorelai's steps slowed as she took in the scene. There, on the counter, stood a full pot of coffee, practically glowing like a caffeinated halo, flanked by a takeout container that promised sustenance beyond cereal, and a charmingly haphazard bouquet of white daisies and pink roses, crammed into a repurposed coffee tin.
She stood there for a beat, just staring, as the tightness in her face slowly loosened. Then, without warning, her lips lifted in a crooked smile. The gesture, simple but unmistakably Luke, wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. It was the sort of sweet that wasn't sugary, just genuine, with a touch of 'I did it because I don't want you to be sad' - and maybe that was what made it so perfect.
At the table, Lorelai's fork did a lazy shuffle across her plate, turning her blueberry pancakes and sausage links into unwilling participants in a slow-motion demolition derby. Her eyes, however, stayed locked on the bouquet, as if willing it to sprout a handy pie chart clarifying her feelings about today. Verdict? Still to be determined. Sure, there was a faint draft of 'what could've been' whispering at the edges, but no fiery explosion of rage, no bitterness gnawing at her edges, and no resentment coiling in her chest like a spring wound too tight.
Instead, something quieter had settled in - something softer, like that feeling when you realize you accidentally put on two different socks but decide to just roll with it.
With breakfast in the rearview, Lorelai topped her travel mug with coffee strong enough to fuel a NASA launch and wedged herself into the bathroom - a space so small it could trigger claustrophobia in a Barbie doll. She brushed her teeth, the quiet hum of routine offering a strange kind of comfort as emotions she hadn't quite named yet stirred just beneath the surface. Reaching for her foaming face wash next, Lorelai massaged it in like it was therapy in a bottle while her brain did what it did best - shoved every feeling she had about today onto a tiny emotional treadmill and cranked it to full speed, hoping the chaos would wear itself out.
And then - BANG!
A crash split the air, loud enough to make the walls shudder. Suds clung to Lorelai's fingers as she froze, wide-eyed, the silence afterward more unsettling than the noise itself.
"Luke?!" she called up through the ceiling, eyes darting like she expected debris to fall at any second.
Nada. Zip. Crickets.
"Great," she muttered, slapping water over her face with quick, uneven splashes. She patted herself dry with barely restrained urgency, eyes already scanning the door like it might tell her what happened.
"Luke!" she hollered again, her voice now laced with a healthy dose of panic that she was trying to downplay. "Seriously, Luke! If you've decided to pull a Weekend at Bernie's on me, I am going to be really, really, annoyed!"
Lorelai bolted out of the cramped bathroom, her feet sliding and skidding on the slick floor like an amateur ice skater on thin ice. She stumbled toward the stairs, taking them at breakneck speed, each step a hazy blur beneath her. Bursting onto the deck, the sunlight hit her like a spotlight at full blast, making her wince and squint as if she'd stepped onto center stage unprepared.
After a few blinding moments, her vision adjusted, revealing the faint silhouette of someone crouched near the boat's stern. It was Luke, hunched over the cooler, the lid creaking open as sunlight caught on the shimmering silver of the fish scales inside.
"Are you okay?!" Lorelai's voice rang out, sharper than she intended, her breath hitching with the echoes of a panic she hadn't quite shaken.
Luke snapped upright, his eyes landing on her by the wheel - barefoot, black yoga pants, and a faded David Bowie T-shirt that somehow made her look effortlessly radiant. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of her.
"Cooler slipped," he muttered, running his palms across his jeans. "Didn't mean to wake you."
Lorelai let out a long, slow breath, relief washing over her. "Didn't wake me," she replied, her voice still a little shaky. "Just gave me a minor cardiac event, you know, the kind that makes you appreciate the simple things in life …like you not being dead. But I'm bouncing back." She crossed the deck and slid into Luke's arms like it was her designated parking spot.
After a peaceful pause, Lorelai murmured, her breath warm against his chest, "Thanks for breakfast. And the flowers …possibly the sweetest thing to ever sprout inside a recycled coffee tin." She pulled back just enough to look up at him, a genuine smile in her eyes. "Martha Stewart would probably have a conniption fit about the presentation, but honestly? They're perfect …very us."
"Should've remembered flowers don't just magically stand on their own," he said, drawing her even closer. "Pancakes okay?"
"They were decent," she teased, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "But yours are still the gold standard. Seriously though, you really got up extra early and did all that? Pancakes, flowers …the whole shebang?"
"Ah, you know …" He shrugged, his tone modest as ever. "Figured I'd get us into port early, find a decent spot to tie up. Needed to grab some stuff at the market anyway. So, yea …no big deal."
Lorelai's smile went all soft and mushy as she squeezed him tighter. "Oh, Luke," she whispered, her voice brimming with affection. "It's a big deal. It's always a big deal."
Luke knew that the way she clung to him wasn't about breakfast or the flowers. It was entirely about the heaviness of the day settling around them, unyielding but palpable. He felt it in the way her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his t-shirt and the way her body pressed against his as if grounding herself against the chaos in her mind.
He let the silence stretch, knowing her well enough to understand she needed it. But after a long moment, he exhaled, his voice low and careful. "You, uh ...okay?"
Pulling back just enough to look up at him, her eyes searched his as a ghost of a smile flickered across her lips - small, but real. "Yea, I'm okay."
It wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. The word wobbled just a little, like a tightrope walker finding her balance. Her hands skimmed down his back before finally slipping into his, her fingers threading through his rough, calloused ones like it was second nature. She gave a small tug, her grip firm despite the quiet hesitation still hovering in the space between them.
"Come sit with me."
She didn't say please - she never really needed to. Luke gave her hand a squeeze, and let himself be pulled toward the bench, because wherever she needed him to be today, that's where he'd go.
On the bench, the sunlight stretched across them, warming away the last traces of the cool morning air and casting golden ripples over the water's surface. Luke sat sideways on the bench, his legs extended in a casual sprawl, grounding them against the boat's gentle, rhythmic sway. Lorelai leaned back against him, her figure settling into his as though that spot had been designed with her in mind.
The marina carried an energy that was both tranquil and alive. Boats drifted lazily in their slips, the occasional hum of an engine melting into the soft slap of waves against the docks. Above them, gulls wheeled in lazy arcs, their sharp cries cutting the quiet but feeling oddly at home in the stillness. Others perched on sun-bleached pylons, ruffling their feathers in the breeze as fish broke the water's surface in fleeting, shimmering leaps before vanishing back into the depths. The salt-heavy air carried the vastness of the world just beyond, yet here, in their little pocket of the marina, Luke and Lorelai rested in a cocoon of stillness, unbothered by the movement around them.
The silence between them lingered, not strained, but dense with unspoken thoughts - comfortable in its weight. Luke shifted slightly, his arms tightening around her in a subtle gesture that said more than words could. "So, uh …you wanna talk or something?" he asked hesitantly. "That's kinda your department, not mine, but …just saying, if you need to."
Lorelai let out a slow breath, her fingers idly tracing patterns against his forearm where it rested around her. She didn't answer right away, just let the lull stretch like the tide rolling.
Finally, she tilted her head slightly, her cheek pressing against his chest. "You ever notice how seagulls always look like they're judging you? Like, no matter what you're doing, they've already decided you're an idiot."
Luke huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "That's where we're starting? Seagulls?"
"Well, it's either that or diving headfirst into the swirling vortex of my emotions, and frankly, I'd rather ease into that with some mild ornithological observations."
"Okay. Fine. Seagulls are smug little jerks."
She smiled - just a little - but it faded as quickly as it came as her gaze fixed on a sailboat in the distance. "I don't know what to say, Luke."
Luke was quiet for a second, then nodded, like he'd expected that. "You don't have to."
"Yea, but you asked if I wanted to."
"I don't know …" He let out a sigh, the words coming slowly. "I just thought maybe talking about it might make it easier. But if you'd rather just sit here and talk about birds or whatever, that's fine too."
Turning her face toward him, she took him in fully, her gaze steady and searching. Swallowing hard, her fingers curled slightly against his arm as she said, "It's just …today isn't what it was supposed to be. And I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel about that."
"Yea." He nodded, his grip on her tightening just a little.
A long silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt different. Not heavy, not empty - just there. Just them.
Lorelai let out a breath, her head still resting against his chest. "So, uh, this is me, acknowledging your noble sacrifice," she murmured.
"What sacrifice?"
"Not backing down from the elephant in the room," she said, tilting her head back to look at him. "A lesser man would've just let me spiral into denial, but no - you went full Brave Little Toaster and addressed it head-on. I mean, you even made sure I was fed and caffeinated first, which was a solid strategy. Very diplomatic."
"Yea, well, figured it'd be easier to talk if you weren't distracted by low blood sugar."
"Smart," she admitted, giving his arm a small, approving pat. "Food first, emotions second. The Luke Danes way."
Luke smirked. "More like food first, everything else never."
She snorted, but the amusement in her eyes softened as she studied him. He had that look - the one that meant he was carefully choosing his words, weighing them in his head before letting them loose.
"I, uh …wasn't sure how today was gonna go," Luke finally said, his voice low and careful. "Didn't know if you'd want to do anything or just …exist, so I figured we'd stay here tonight. Keep it simple."
"Simple, huh?" she asked, nodding her chin toward the cooler. "That's why you did the whole rugged fisherman routine last night?"
Shrugging, Luke played it off. "Yeah …figured I'd fillet it. Toss it on the hot plate with some lemon butter. That's why I swung by the market this morning."
Lorelai sat up a little, intrigued. "Wait, so you're saying I have access to fresh, seared, lemon-buttery fish made by an actual grumpy sea captain?"
"I've told you, I'm not an actual sea captain," Luke muttered, shaking his head.
"Aha! But not denying the 'grumpy' part."
Luke shot her a look. "So, you want the fish or not?"
"Oh, I want the fish. I also want to fully embrace this 'frontiersman survivalist' thing you've got going on. Do we have flannel-lined napkins? Should I be whittling a fork out of driftwood?"
"Would you just say thank you like a normal person?"
"Come on, hun. When have I ever been a normal person?"
"Fair point."
She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his as her teasing softened into something quieter, something real.
"You did good," she said, her voice steady. "Really."
Luke glanced down at their joined hands, then back at her. "Yea?"
"Yea." She nodded before taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this. Let's talk about today. I mean, today isn't some mystical, life-altering, cosmic event. No prophecies were written about it, no planets aligned. It's just us, on your boat, talking about a day that we've been dodging like it's the plague."
She hesitated, glancing down at their joined hands, tracing lazy circles with her thumb. "Okay, confession time - I had this whole dramatic 'doom and gloom' expectation for today. Like, full Titanic-level disaster, minus the fancy dresses and the Celine Dion soundtrack. But now that it's here, and you're just …" She huffed out a soft laugh. "Just you, being all …steady and Luke-like, I don't know. June Third is feeling surprisingly …meh. Not great, but not the apocalyptic nightmare I'd prepped for."
Luke gave a small nod. "Yea, well …I never put much stock in dates. They're just numbers on a calendar."
"Says the guy who remembers the exact day the diner opened, the day I first walked in, and probably the time and temperature, too."
"That's different."
"Oh sure, totally different," she teased. "Selective date sentimentality. Got it."
Luke sighed, but the tiniest hint of a smirk betrayed him.
Lorelai squeezed his hand. "Look, this past year? It was basically a master class in what not to do when life goes sideways. But if I learned anything, it's that the big stuff - the stuff that actually matters - is this. Us. Being here now and moving forward together, even if we're doing it like newborn deer on ice."
"Right," he agreed with a nod. "Still moving forward, even if we're tripping over our own feet."
"Hey, tripping forward is still forward," Lorelai pointed out. "That should be our motto."
"Let's get that on a bumper sticker."
"Ooh, or a cake. A big one. With sprinkles. And sparkles. One that says 'We're Still Here, Despite Ourselves'."
"You want to commemorate today with sugar?"
"Uh, have we met? Of course I do."
Luke shook his head, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that said he understood exactly what she was trying to do.
Snuggling closer into his side, she tilted her head with a playful glint in her eyes. "You know, I've been thinking. About us. And I gotta say, it feels kinda …epic. Like, inspirational '80s power ballad epic. Big hair, wind machines, dramatic key changes - the works." She smirked up at him. "I mean, I know the whole 'fate, destiny, meant-to-be' thing makes your eyes roll so hard they practically do a full lap around your skull, but you brought me pancakes and flowers. And you murdered an innocent fish in my honor. That has to mean something, right?"
Luke glanced at her, then back at the water, then back at her again. "Yea."
Blinking, she tilted her head. "That's it? Just 'yea'?"
"What?" He shrugged. "You want fireworks? A marching band?"
"I'd settle for a monologue."
"Not happening."
"Alright, fine. But just so you know, your 'yea' just sent my stomach into full butterfly disco party mode. There's probably even a DJ."
"Just, keep it contained, okay? If I see any glitter on this boat, you're cleaning it."
Lorelai let out a chuckle, then exhaled slowly, tilting her head back like the wispy clouds might suddenly offer up an answer. "You know," she said, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile. "This thing we've got? It's huge. Like, tip-the-Earth-off-its-axis huge. It's amazing - completely, ridiculously amazing. But it also terrifies me. It's like handling a dragon. Thrilling, powerful …but one wrong move, and suddenly we're extra-crispy."
"Well, isn't the looming threat of total incineration a cornerstone of every epic love story?" Luke quipped, his sarcasm hanging in the air for a moment before giving way to a more subdued tone. "Yea, it's huge …this thing. And sometimes it freaks the hell out of me too." His thumb brushed along the side of her hand, slow and steady. "But it's the kind of big you fight for," he said, voice lower now. "The kind you …lean into. You know, when things get complicated. I learned that the hard way. And I'm not making that mistake again."
Without thinking, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then let it settle again between them. His gaze met hers - tentative, but open. "You know I suck at this. The words. The feelings. Saying important things without sounding like a complete idiot," he said with a short, sharp exhale. "You and Rory could turn this into a five-part TED Talk, and I'd still be stuck debating how to sign a birthday card."
Luke's jaw worked for a second before he finally got the words out. "You're ...everything. That's the damn truth." He paused and swallowed hard, then continued, his voice a little rougher. "And no matter how many stupid dragons we've gotta slay, or how many times we almost burn the damn thing down - I'm here. I'm in it. With you." He shrugged, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. "But, I'll keep a fire extinguisher handy. Just in case."
Her eyes didn't move from his. There was something so raw in them, something so beautifully unfiltered it made her breath hitch. She leaned in, closing the space between them with a kiss that was slow and certain, like she was pouring everything she had into it - every piece of fear, love, promise.
When she finally pulled back, her fingers lingered along his jaw, tracing the familiar curve like she didn't quite want to break the contact just yet.
"I got my monologue," she said softly, a triumphant little smile tugging at her lips.
"When don't you get what you want?"
"Okay, fair," she said, tilting her head playfully. "But this one had nuance, drama, a beginning, middle, and an end."
He shook his head, bemused. "You've got a real gift for following up emotional declarations with …whatever this is."
"This," she said, squaring her shoulders theatrically. "Is a segue. A noble segue. Possibly the most noble of segues." Her eyes danced with mischief. "Because now, Sir Knight, it's time to armor up. Sword, shield, steely gaze - maybe a protein bar. There's a dragon that needs vanquishing."
Luke's eyes went wide. "Okay, hold on. Are we still in metaphor land, or did you seriously just pivot from monologue to medieval fantasy quest in under ten seconds?"
"That's the magic of me," she replied, flashing a bright grin.
"Yea, and it's exhausting," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
But the humor didn't last. The playful spark in her eyes flickered, then faded entirely, leaving behind a steadiness that made his chest tighten. Her smile softened, then vanished, as her posture shifted, the weight of something unspoken settling over her.
"Luke," she said, her voice leveling out into that firm, no-nonsense tone he'd come to recognize as a precursor to the serious stuff. "We need to talk."
"Aren't we doing that? Words are happening. Back and forth. It's the definition of talking."
"Not that kind of talk." She paused, like the next part tasted wrong coming out. "We need to talk about that night."
The air between them changed instantly, like someone had sucked all the warmth out of it. His posture stiffened, the playfulness in his face wiped clean.
"Oh," he said. Just that. Quiet. Heavy. Like the word was carrying more weight than it was built for.
"It's just …sitting there, you know?" she said, her tone softening. "Like that one sad container of leftovers in the back of the fridge. You think, 'I'll deal with it tomorrow', but tomorrow becomes next week, and then suddenly you're hosting a mold colony. We haven't ignored it. We've just been opting for the easier, less suspicious leftovers. But we've let it sit there long enough. It's time to dig it out, pop the lid, and face whatever horror show is growing inside before it sprouts limbs."
Her eyes locked on his, calm and unflinching. "We've got to face it, babe. No more dodging, no more looming leftovers. Just us. Cleaning out the fridge, so to speak."
"Right," he said, voice low, uneven. His eyes dropped to their hands. "Cleaning out the fridge. I, uh, guess it's time for that. Whenever you're ready."
"I'm ready," she said, then paused with a wince. "Okay, ready-ish. Ready-adjacent. Like, mentally limbering up while the emotional soundtrack swells in the background. But first, I've got to head below deck and finish becoming the very best version of myself. You know - moisturizer, deep breaths, self-actualization. Then I'll take a walk around the dock, have a heart-to-heart with the horizon, maybe pop inside the marina gift shop and purchase something overpriced and nautical."
He said nothing, just watched her with that look that always made her feel both ridiculous and seen.
"Oh, and I've got to call Rory before she assumes I've been eaten by a rogue pelican."
She glanced back at him, eyes locking onto his. The lightness in her voice did nothing to erase the seriousness in her gaze - it just made it easier to carry.
"So, in the meantime, you, brave Sir Lancelot, have your own noble task - conquering whatever crime against refrigeration is currently festering inside that cooler. Think of it as battlefield prep. Slay the beast. Gut the fish. Face your scaly, smelly destiny."
"Great," he deadpanned. "Fish guts first, emotional gut punch later. Makes perfect sense."
She grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Call it multitasking," she said. "You gut the fish, I gut my soul. Then we meet back here for the big emotional disembowelment. Romance at its finest."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the cabin. No dramatic pause, no lingering glance - just a quiet certainty in her steps, like someone who'd finally stopped running from the thing that needed facing.
He watched her drift away across the deck, that quiet emptiness settling into its usual spot in his chest. Then he turned, flipped open the cooler and scowled at the fish like it had personally wronged him. She got the soul-searching stroll. He got the chum bucket. Seemed about right.
The albacore looked up at him like it knew all his secrets and wasn't impressed.
"Mock me all you want," Luke muttered. "You're still dinner."
Luke was mid-tinker with the fish finder - frowning at a screen that looked more like a malfunctioning Etch-A-Sketch than anything helpful - when the soft thud of footsteps on the pier caught his attention. He didn't need to look up. Some people had Spidey senses. Luke had Lorelai radar.
A second later, he glanced up and there she was - striding toward him with the sun lighting up her hair and a shopping bag swinging like it had its own personality.
He stood, wiping his hands on a rag he wasn't entirely sure was clean, and met her at the edge of the deck. Wordlessly, he reached for her hand, helping her aboard. The second her sandals hit the deck, he pulled her in and kissed her cheek - quick, warm, and very much Luke.
"Hey," he said, with a warm smile.
She gave him a pirate salute, all swagger and mischief. "Ahoy, Captain. How be ye? Any scallywags to report or barrels of rum in need of rescuing?"
"What?"
"Pirate-speak. I'm adapting to the culture."
He let out a resigned huff, though the hint of a smirk betrayed him. "Right. Well, I filleted the tuna, hosed down the murder scene, and started dinner prep. So no mutiny yet."
She nodded, dropping her bag with a dramatic thud. "Solid work, sailor. I took a long walk. Made it all the way to that lighthouse yonder …" She waved vaguely over her shoulder like she'd crossed treacherous terrain instead of a scenic coastline. "Sat in the sand, had a moment. Then I found a gift shop. Because, obviously."
"Of course you did," he said, voice dripping with mock suffering.
"Had a call with Rory on the way back," she added, tugging off her sunglasses. "She's in Seattle for a couple days. Claims I'd love it there. Coffee as far as the eye can see. She also says 'hi,' and that she's sorry she once convinced you to try almond milk."
He gave a small laugh, head shaking. "She's forgiven. Barely."
For a second, the breeze filled the quiet between them. She looked out over the water, then back at him, a nervous smile playing on her lips.
"So …" she started.
"So …" he echoed, already bracing for whatever came next.
She bent down, grabbing the shopping bag. "Be right back. Got something I wanna show you. Don't worry, it's not a novelty mug. Although now I'm regretting not getting one."
Before heading below deck, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Might wanna get comfy. You know, emotionally. Maybe stretch first. There's gonna be feelings involved."
Not long after, Lorelai climbed back up onto the deck, curls wrangled into a messy bun, dressed in yoga pants, a pink tank, cradling her laptop like a fragile bomb. She beelined straight for the bench where Luke was sitting hunched over, elbows on knees, fidgeting like a man waiting for a root canal.
He looked up, immediately suspicious of the laptop. "That for movie night or are you staging a coup?"
"I need to show you something," she said, settling next to him and flipping it open with mechanical precision. "But before I do, you have to tell me how much you know - if anything - about Lane and Zack's wedding."
Luke cocked his head to the side. "Lane and Zack's wedding?"
"Yes, the event where they publicly vowed to love each other forever. The very same event where I may have, possibly, caused a tiny scene."
"The Endless Love thing?"
"Fake news. That was the sanitized Stars Hollow version. The bedtime story they tell so no one cries themselves to sleep over my very real, very emotionally charged toast."
He sat up straighter. "Why would anyone cry over a toast?"
"Well, if they were drunk enough to give it and oh, I don't know, battling some unresolved angst with their emotionally stunted fiance at the time - purely hypothetical, of course - it might've leaned less 'heartfelt toast' and more 'slightly buzzed self-help seminar'."
"What exactly did you say?"
"Getting there," she said, typing something quickly. "But since we're in full disclosure mode, I need to tell you one thing first." She winced. "Christopher was my date."
His entire face stiffened. "He was your date?"
"Not on purpose!" she said quickly. "Michel bailed for Celine. Mrs. Kim had ...rules. Apparently if you show up solo to a wedding and you're a woman of a certain age in a cocktail dress, you're signaling that you're open for business."
"Business?"
"She meant I'd be mistaken for a wedding crasher slash floozy. Her words, not mine."
"Unbelievable," Luke muttered under his breath.
"I couldn't miss Lane's wedding, Luke. Rory suggested Chris. It was a last-minute thing. Strictly platonic. There was no hand-holding, no romantic music swelling in the background, I swear."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he growled. "Go on."
"At the reception, I saw a photo on Rory's phone. A picture of her and April. Together. From Jess's thing in Philly."
Luke froze.
"We talked every day, Luke. Several times a day. It never once crossed your mind to mention that our daughters had met?"
"I didn't know Rory would be there," he said, voice low. "It was Jess's event. I didn't even think - "
"Exactly. You didn't think," she said with a sharp tone. "And I unraveled. Hard."
Luke turned to her slowly. "Unraveled how?"
"Well, I did the angry Tango with Mr. Cuervo and you know how lethal I get when I dance with José. Eight shots later, I grabbed the mic and said a few words."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." She plopped the laptop into his lap like it weighed fifty pounds. "And now, thanks to Lane's cousin who possesses some very fancy computer skills, I have a full, HD, surround-sound memory of that moment. Press play."
She curled in on herself, knees hugged to her chest, forehead resting on them like she was bracing for impact.
Luke eyed the screen, then glanced at the human armadillo beside him. With a sigh that could've powered a wind turbine, he tapped the touchpad.
"Hello. Everybody, hello. Some of you know me as Lorelai Gilmore. And some of you know me as Cher. But either way, I wanted to say a few words about our girl. I've known Lane forever. And I'm just so incredibly happy that she has gotten married. I mean, I am just so HAPPY that this adorable, twenty-two-year-old girl has gotten married. Because it's amazing, you know. It's really hard to get married. Believe me, I should know. I mean, seriously, because Lane is married. And next thing it'll be my daughter. And then my granddaughter but not me. I'm not getting married. No, it ain't for me. It's not in the cards. But - Hey, do you know what date I'm not getting married? June Third. Do not "save the date." Do you hear me? Do whatever you want on June Third because there's nothing at all happening on that day. If there's anything you need to book, or anything, it's totally safe to book it on JUNE THIRD. So, congratulations Lane, and Zack. Who else here had eight shots of tequila? Anybody? Hands. No? Oh my gosh, who misses the yummy bartenders? I know, me too. They were so great. I was going to ask them to not work on June Third, on my not-wedding. Just thought that would be so fun… Hi, Chris. And Rory, hi."
Luke stared at the laptop screen like it had just punched him in the gut. The video had ended a full minute ago, but he hadn't moved. Not a twitch. Not even a blink. Finally, without a word, he set the laptop aside, stood up, and started walking toward the cabin.
Lorelai's head snapped up. "Wait, Luke? Where are you going?"
"I need a minute," he said, not bothering to turn around.
And just like that, he disappeared down the steps.
Lorelai stayed frozen on the bench, legs tucked beneath her, heart thudding like a kick drum. The sun suddenly felt a lot hotter, and she didn't know what to do with her hands. Or her stomach. Or her lungs.
After a few minutes - five, ten, a hundred - she stood up and paced a few tight circles, muttering half-thoughts to herself before finally tiptoeing down into the cabin to find the bathroom door shut.
She knocked gently. "Luke?"
"Gimme a minute," came the answer - low, hoarse, barely Luke.
She backed off. No more knocking. No more pushing. When he finally returned to the deck, he was holding two bottles of water, looking like he'd gone a few rounds with an emotional prizefighter. Eyes red. Shoulders slumped. Totally silent.
He passed her a bottle, settling down beside her in silence. Twisting off the cap, he took a deep swig, his throat working as he swallowed, before leaning back, his gaze fixed on the sky above - searching it like it might offer answers.
"Everyone knew?" he asked flatly.
Lorelai closed her eyes. "Yea."
"The whole town?"
"Yes."
"My town?! My entire town knew, and they all just ...made up a cover story?"
"Yes."
"To protect you ...from me?"
"They thought if you found out what I said, if you heard how far I'd gone off the rails, you'd walk away for good."
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes as if he could scrub the memory away. "God, Lorelai," he said, his voice frayed and uneven. "I knew it was bad, but I didn't realize it was that bad."
"I was wrecked, Luke," she whispered, her voice trembling as she placed a hand on his knee. A single tear sliding down her cheek. "I couldn't feel anything but pain. That was it. Just this constant hum of hurt. And then, not long after Lane's wedding, Anna says to me, all casual - 'People get engaged all the time and never get married'." She let out a shaky laugh. "It was like I was already down in the ring, and she came flying in off the ropes with a folding chair and just went full WWE on me."
Luke slowly lowered his hands from his face, eyebrows drawn. "Seriously?"
She sniffled, wiping her cheek. "What? I had a thing for Macho Man Randy Savage in the '80s. Sequins, drama, designer sunglasses - he was so totally my type."
"Lorelai …" Luke muttered, unamused.
"I know, I know," she said, her tone softening. "I'm sorry. I just …I'm trying to tell you the truth. After Anna hit me with that whole 'you can't be around April unless you're married' thing, I just knew. That was it. That was the death knell. There was no version of us that survived that. So, I started avoiding you. And the town. And everything."
She swallowed hard and continued, "Then came Friday night dinner. Ultimatum Night. And guess who was there? Surprise! Christopher."
"Oh, come on," Luke groaned, flinging his hands in the air. "He's like a goddamn foot fungus - you think you're rid of him and then he just flares back up with a vengeance."
She winced. "My mom invited him. She was trying to set him up with a friend's daughter, Lynnie. She was a therapist or psychologist or - "
"Wait," he cut in, shaking his head. "Your mother was setting him up? With someone else?"
"Luke," she exhaled. "My parents were literally buying us a house. Like, actual walls and a roof and central heating. They had way more faith in us than I did at that point."
Luke squinted at her. "Sounds …suspicious. Didn't you say your mom knew we were, you know, mid-crisis?"
"She did. And now that you mention it - yea, it was totally shady. Very Emily. Like, classic Emily. Dangle Christopher in front of me like some Ivy League carrot and hope I hop the fence."
Luke blinked. "I'm sorry - what now?"
"Forget it, bad metaphor. Point is, she may have seen that I was miserable and figured Chris was the emergency exit. But I was too far gone to notice the neon sign over the door. Everything felt foggy by then. I wasn't connecting dots. I was just trying not to fall apart."
Luke yanked off his cap, ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then slapped the hat back on like it personally offended him. "Alright. Keep going."
"So, after dinner, I was a mess. Like, capital-M Mess. I ended up crying in the back seat of that poor therapist's car in the driveway, unloading every unprocessed feeling I had like it was a therapy speedrun. I don't even think she knew what hit her."
"Let me guess," Luke said flatly. "She told you to give me an ultimatum."
"Not exactly. She said it didn't sound like I had you, and if I wanted something, I needed to ask for it. So, in my brilliant grief-stricken logic, marriage became this magic fix. If we were married, Anna couldn't keep April from me. If we were married, I could finally stop feeling like I was on the outside of your life. I just wanted back in. I wanted you back."
She took a breath and looked down, her voice cracking. "And the pain was so loud, Luke. So constant. I thought if I just asked you to elope - if I made it this a now-or-never thing - you'd see how desperate I was. That maybe you'd feel it too."
He stared at her, the muscles in his jaw working.
"And you," she finished softly. "Chose never."
"I didn't say never."
"No!" she snapped, voice cracking. "You did nothing! Just like you'd been doing for six damn months, Luke. Nothing!"
His hand flew up, eyes wide with frustration. "What did you think I was gonna do, Lorelai?! You stormed into the diner like a hurricane, talking a mile a minute about eloping. How the hell was I supposed to keep up?! I had been looking for you for days! Then you show up outta nowhere, demanding we run off to God knows where, and I'm just supposed to say 'sure, let me grab my keys'?!"
"I was a wreck, Luke!" she cried. "I wasn't thinking clearly, I was unraveling right in front of you and you didn't even flinch! The only thing you reacted to - the only time you even saw me - was when I said I'd talked to Anna!"
Tears spilled over as her voice rose. "I needed you to see me! You hadn't seen me in months! And I thought if I laid it all out, if I threw all my cards on the table, maybe - maybe you'd care. Maybe you'd say something. Maybe you'd fight for me."
She shook her head, gutted. "But that guy in front of me …that wasn't my Luke. My Luke would've fought. My Luke wouldn't have let me walk away like that."
Luke's jaw clenched as he stared at the sky, then tipped his head back until it hit the bench with a soft, weighted thud. "I should've gone after you," he muttered, his voice cracking at the edges.
"Yea," Lorelai whispered, the word slipping out sharp and bitter.
"I thought …" He swallowed hard, blinking fast. "I thought you just needed air. Some space to …I don't know. Breathe. Think." He rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub that moment out of time. "I didn't realize when you said 'now or never', you meant it."
"When you turned me away that night," she said slowly, every word thick with pain. "It felt like the ground opened up and swallowed me whole. The man I loved - my best friend - just …shut the door. It was like when I was fifteen, staring down that stupid pink plus sign and realizing my entire life had just been rewritten. Only this time, I chose to leap. I chose you. But you didn't catch me."
Luke silently swallowed the lump in his throat before he rasped, "Why him?"
Lorelai's brow furrowed.
"Of all people," Luke said hoarsely, the color draining from his face. "Why'd it have to be him, Lorelai? You could've gone to Sookie, or Rory, or …hell, anyone else. Anyone. Why'd it have to be him?"
"You know …" Lorelai began, staring at her hands twisted together in her lap. "I don't think I've ever really explained Christopher to you. Not like I should've. And I owe you that."
He didn't say anything - just kept looking up at the sky like he was trying to find a way out of his own head.
Lorelai sniffled and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "We had these …messed-up childhoods, Chris and I. Same kind of cold, suffocating homes. Same empty houses, different wallpaper. Then we go and throw an unplanned pregnancy into the mix when we're just kids ourselves. We were trauma-bonded before I even knew that was a thing." Her voice cracked. "We were each other's escape hatch. Always have been. When things got too real, too hard, too painful - we'd find our way back to each other. Then …disappear into each other."
Luke's lips were a thin line. He didn't look at her, but his body tensed like he was bracing for impact.
"After we broke up," Lorelai went on, "I started seeing him. It wasn't because I was in love with him, or even because I wanted to be. I was just …I was drowning, Luke. And he's always been the raft I reach for when the waters get too rough. Not a good raft. Not a reliable raft. A leaky one with a history of capsizing. But it's what I knew."
"You know," she continued, rubbing her palms on the thighs of her yoga pants. "I had to grow up fast when Rory came. I didn't have a choice. Diapers and formula and day jobs don't really wait around for you to get your act together. But in a lot of ways, I never really stopped being that scared fifteen-year-old. Still obsessed with Caboodles and Lisa Frank folders and completely incapable of dealing with real adult pain."
"That night," she said shakily, "I wasn't trying to sleep with him. I wasn't even thinking. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to stop feeling like I was invisible to you. And I thought if I went to someone who did see me - even if it wasn't healthy, even if it was stupid - I could find some kind of relief. So I went. And yea, we drank. A lot. I cried, he held me, and somewhere in the middle of that mess …he kissed me."
Luke froze, every muscle in his body going rigid as his jaw tightened. His nostrils flared, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "He kissed you?" he said, his voice low and sharp. "He took advantage of - "
"I didn't stop him," she said, the words spilling out fast, raw. "I let it happen. Because I thought if I could control the pain, then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. If I could be the one hurting me, then it wasn't you anymore. But it didn't work. I woke up the next morning and felt like I'd burned our entire life to the ground."
Luke's hands trembled, his eyes shining as he tried, and failed, to keep the emotion from spilling over.
"I wasn't going to tell you,"she confessed, her voice breaking under the weight of the admission. "I knew how much it would destroy you. But when you came back to the house with your truck packed, asking me to go to Maryland with you …I knew I had to say it. Because I knew you. You would've kept trying. And I couldn't let you do that without knowing the truth. Without knowing what a horrible person I am."
At that, her voice crumbled, and so did she. Full-on, soul-shaking, ugly crying. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving, the sobs wracking her like a tidal wave.
Luke didn't hesitate. He was there in an instant, wrapping his arms around her like he could somehow shield her from the pain. Like he was trying to put her back together. Like she wasn't broken glass but something sacred. Something worth saving.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered against the chest of his gray t-shirt, her words broken and pleading. "I'm so sorry, Luke. I'm so sorry."
Eventually, as Lorelai's breathing slowed, she eased away from his embrace. She wiped the remnants of her tears from her swollen eyes, then glanced at Luke. She could see it - the love, the compassion, and the doubt dancing across his face.
"Lorelai …" Luke's voice was tight, his hands slipping down her arms to find hers. "How do you know that the next time I do something stupid, you won't just go running back to him?"
Her heart twisted. She squeezed his hands, holding them to her chest. "I guess you'll just have to trust me," she said, her voice soft, but steady. "Just like I have to trust you won't push me away again."
Luke didn't respond, but he nodded slowly, his eyes still not quite meeting hers.
Taking a deep breath, Lorelai gave him a small smile, though it wavered at the edges. "Do you remember a few months ago?" she asked, her voice growing more wistful. "After my dad had the heart attack? We saw each other through the diner window."
He raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Pink hat."
"Yea," she chuckled softly. "My marriage was falling apart and I was scrambling, trying to figure out how to salvage it. I thought if I could make things work with Chris, then maybe ending us wouldn't feel like such a massive, colossal waste. He knew I still had feelings for you - of course he knew - and his jealousy went into overdrive. So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided the only way to fix everything was to cut you out completely. And I actually thought about it, Luke. Because, let's be honest, we weren't exactly swapping Christmas cards at that point, right?"
She squeezed his hands, her voice shaking as the words tumbled out. "So, that afternoon, I'm walking past the diner. And for whatever reason, I looked in the window. Now, I'd passed the diner a hundred times over the past few months, but I just couldn't make myself look inside. It hurt too damn much. But that day? I looked. And there you were, standing behind the counter, wearing that god-awful black hat. And after all the stupid crap I'd put you through, after every way I'd messed up, you gave me this smile. This sweet, kind smile. And you waved."
Her breath hitched, but she pushed on. "And let me tell you, mister, that was a huge moment for me. Because in that one, tiny second, I went bam! Right back to that night. And I realized something that stopped me cold. I was, in a way, in the exact same spot again. Staring down the end of a relationship that was clearly a lost cause, and trying like hell to hold onto something that had already slipped away. And then I thought, if I were to storm into the diner right now, a total mess with my marriage imploding, what would you do? And honestly, the answer was easy, because you've done it a million times before. You'd throw me a cup of coffee, make me a burger, listen to me completely lose it, talk me off the ledge, and then, like always, you'd make sure I got home in one piece. That's what you'd do, Luke. The exact opposite of what he did. And right then, it all just clicked, and I knew. That's when I chose you."
His gaze drifted to hers as something shifted inside him - like a storm finally passing, leaving behind a fragile, bittersweet stillness. A faint breath escaped him, steadier now than it had been in hours.
"See, that's how I know I'm not running back to him," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "Because even though I couldn't have you the way I wanted, I'd still choose a wave and a smile through a window from you over a lifetime with him. It's always been you, Luke. It took me a long time to see it, but it always was you, and it always will be."
She locked eyes with him, her voice unsteady but determined. "I'm sorry. For all of it - for every time I messed up, for how much I hurt you. You didn't deserve any of it. I ended things in the worst possible way, and I don't know how you could ever forgive me, but ...I swear, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right."
Luke didn't say anything at first - he couldn't. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind right out of him. He just stared at her for a second, heart pounding, jaw tight. Then, without thinking, he pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that said everything he didn't know how to put into words. It wasn't neat or careful - just raw, real, and a little desperate. His arms locked around her like she might disappear, holding on like he was finally allowed to breathe again.
When the kiss broke, he stayed right there, his forehead pressed gently against hers. "I should've seen it," he muttered, his voice rough. "I should've known how much you were hurting."
Lorelai, still catching her breath, let out a wobbly half-laugh. "You're not psychic, Luke."
"No, but I should've paid more attention. You deserved better, too."
"Maybe, but I didn't make it easy on you, did I?"
Leaning back, Luke cast a glance at the water, then looked back at her. "Look, we've both done some stupid things, okay? But we're here now, and that's what matters."
"Yea, here we are. Stuck in the middle of the world's most awkward emotional conversation. But hey, at least I'm not sobbing uncontrollably anymore, so ...progress?"
"It's a start," Luke said with a playful smirk, gently nudging her leg with his knee. "We're a work in progress, but at least we're making progress."
"Well, hooray for progress," Lorelai said, her tone brightening just as her stomach growled loudly enough to make her wince. "But, uh, minor detail - you realize I'm borderline starving over here, right? You did promise me fresh fish, and you know the disaster zone that is me when hangry."
"Of course you're hungry." He rolled his eyes. "It's practically a given with you."
"Oh, excuse me? Emotional eating is a time-honored survival skill. You should be grateful I haven't gone full-on raccoon and shredded that sad excuse for a kitchen downstairs."
"You're gonna have to be patient. The fish's not gonna cook itself, and unless you want sushi, it's gonna take a few minutes." He stood up with a grunt, brushing off his hands. "How about I grab you a glass of wine?"
Lorelai's face lit up. "Wine? Oh, now we're talking."
"You do know wine's not some kind of magic fix-it potion, right?" he said, brow raised with a smirk. "It's not gonna cure the bottomless pit you call a stomach."
"Oh, please. It's not supposed to fix anything," Lorelai said with a dramatic wave of her hand. "That's what the fish is for. The wine is just emotional scaffolding until the main event."
Luke glanced toward the cabin, then back at her. "Alright, I'll be back in a minute. Try not to gnaw on the wheel while I'm gone."
Lorelai chuckled, lounging back on the bench. "No promises. If it starts smelling like garlic bread, you might come back to a nautical disaster."
"You're impossible," he muttered, throwing the words over his shoulder as he headed down the steps.
"And you love it," she called after him, her grin smug and satisfied.
From below deck, his reply floated up, warm and unguarded. "Yea ...I do."
By the time the stars shimmered overhead, the cabin was steeped in a serene stillness - the kind that arrives when the day has truly come to rest. The boat rocked in a gentle rhythm, its creaks blending with the soft thud of something brushing against the hull, the sounds barely disturbing the quiet embrace of the night.
Moonlight filtered through the porthole, spilling a soft, silvery glow across the rumpled sheets, casting a light that danced over her messy hair, tangled in every direction. Luke lay there, shirtless, his arm wrapped around Lorelai, her back pressed into his chest, her skin warm and soft, just like it always felt. Her breathing was slow, steady, and calm, the kind of peaceful rhythm that made the world outside feel miles away.
"You still awake?" he murmured, his fingertips drawing lazy circles on her arm.
She made this low, sleepy noise - somewhere between a hum and a sigh - not really awake but not totally out either.
"Yea." His lips twitched into a half-smile. "Didn't think so."
His thoughts drifted back to June Third, a year ago. The quiet ache of loneliness that had taken over his life. Hurt. Regret. He'd spent the day numb, just going through the motions. Alone. But now, with her there, it was different. He could breathe again. He squeezed her tighter, hoping he could hold on to this feeling - this moment, forever.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, the words slipping quietly into the fragile space between them.
His fingers found the silver chain around her neck. The one he'd put there at Rory's party. She hadn't taken it off. That meant something. He didn't know exactly what, but it did.
"When you came back to the diner, I …God, I didn't even know what to say. I was just standing there like an idiot, grinning like I'd won the damn lottery, and all I could think was, 'Don't screw this up again, Danes'."
He exhaled hard, shook his head a little like the memory still rattled him.
"I missed you. More than I want to admit. Missed pouring your coffee, hearing you talk about whatever popped into your head. Half the time I didn't even know what the hell you were saying, but I missed it. Missed your noise. Missed your chaos. Hell, I missed shoveling your driveway. That's how bad it got."
He brushed a kiss against her freckled shoulder, then her neck, the cool metal of her necklace brushing his lips. "I can't do that again, Lorelai. Missing you ...it wasn't that I was just sad, it was like a damn hole opened up inside me. Like half of me just ...disappeared."
"Even now, just the thought of sleeping without you? It messes with my head. It's like I can't breathe, and everything goes gray, and my heart starts pounding, like I'm drowning or something." He let out a shaky breath. "And I keep thinking ...what if I wake up, and you aren't here? Like all of this - the past month, everything - was just some dream. And I don't know what the hell I'd do if it was."
Then, as if she'd subconsciously decided to make herself the comic relief, Lorelai shifted in her sleep, yanking the sheets completely to her side, leaving Luke shivering in nothing but his boxer briefs.
"You're a damn blanket hog," he muttered under his breath.
"Mmm?" she mumbled, half-asleep.
"Nothing," he grumbled, tugging the covers back over his legs as he sank against the pillows, the lingering trace of vulnerability still shadowing him.
His gaze drifted to her again, illuminated in the moonlight's gentle glow. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Like she belonged there, like she was the one constant in an ever-shifting world.
"You know," he continued, quieter now. "The last time we talked like this, I told you I bought the Twickham House. Thought I was doing something right, making a move. But I didn't do it with you. I didn't ask. I just acted. Like an idiot."
He ran a hand over his face, sighed.
"That other house - the blue one, with the white picket fence? The one your parents found?" He paused. "You loved that place. I saw it. It was all over your face. You saw our life in it, didn't you?"
He looked at her again, soft and steady in sleep.
"I did too," he admitted. "Didn't say it at the time, 'cause …well, you know me. But I saw it. You, me, the girls. Sunday mornings, coffee on the porch, you decorating it with all your crazy ideas. I saw it."
The silence stretched for a bit, as his mind swirled.
"There's this idea in my head," he said, low and steady. "Been rattling around in there for a few days now. It's a step. A next step. Something that says we're building something special. Something that's ours."
He paused, swallowing again, a little rough.
"Look, I know I've said stuff before and didn't follow through. I know I've pushed you away. But I'm done with that. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm not losing this. I'm not losing you."
Just then, Lorelai stirred again and mumbled, "Are you …monologuing?"
Luke froze. "No."
She cracked one eye open. "Sounded monologue-y."
"I was thinking."
"Out loud?"
"Go to sleep," he muttered, cheeks burning.
She snuggled closer, her arm flopping across his chest. "Okay. But only because your chest is warm and fuzzy and your monologues are kinda cute."
He rolled his eyes, his grip on her tightening. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"Worth it though, right?" she murmured, her breath warm against his chest.
He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to her hair. "You bet."
