The Reunion

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs Edwardes." To execute my getaway, I grasped the lady's plump, pale hand and gave it a firm shake, all the while flashing a smile.

"Oh the pleasure's mine, Mr Huntzburger." The middle-aged woman threw her head to a side, and let out a high-pitched hyena laugh, which was thankfully drowned out by the chatter surrounding us.

Politely, I maintained the smile on my face and nodded at her husband standing beside her. He was some sort of Chair at The City Gazette, the company that I would be working with once I moved to New York.

Rick, I believed was the name, extended a hand and said, "I look forward to working with you, Logan. You're a bright young fellow."

"Thank you, Mr Edwardes. Maybe I'll catch you later for a drink."

And with one last smile, I escaped the business small talk, at least for a few minutes. Desperately needing another glass of scotch, I located the carpeted stairs leading to the second floor of the enormous venue. Straightening my tie, a habit that I'd acquired after years in the business world, I weaved through the crowd, aiming for the stairway.

When I was near, my glance was caught by a woman making her way down the steps. Her presence snatched every bit of my focus, directing it towards her. Even though she was looking down and her face was shielded by light brown curls, undeniably, it was her beauty that caught my eye. But something else hit me, something unexpected. Her tall, slender frame, the way her hair flowed effortlessly pass her shoulders, and the way she walked with utmost care as if noticing every fiber of the carpet underneath her feet, caused a sense of familiarity to strike me.

A name that I'd buried made its way into the front of my mind. Shit. It couldn't be.

Inexplicable emotions rolled through the pit of my stomach as I watched her. Her lean figure was hugged by a black dress that accentuated her waist and hips. Her waist - how I had held it whenever I had pulled her into my arms. It couldn't be that very waist, that very girl. No, she was a memory far in the past. Yet, without a doubt, everything about her was etched in my mind since the day we met in the Yale dormitory hallway. I wouldn't mistaken her anywhere.

Slowly, she lifted her head to scan the crowd, and my heart stopped. Her bright blue eyes, porcelain skin and soft profile confirmed the knot in my chest. It really was her.

Rory Gilmore. The girl who stole my heart six years ago. The girl who crushed it years later.

Before I could fathom a reaction, her eyes landed on mine. Those sharp blue eyes pierced through me. They held more power than I had remembered. Goosebumps traveled along every inch of my skin and, just like that, I was a statue, watching her watch me. She stood there like the day I proposed, like the day she said goodbye.

With each second that ticked by, I managed to compose myself. She broke my heart, yes. But, I was a different man. I could face her. Or so I told myself.

With great effort, I relaxed my posture, hurriedly shoving my hands into my pants' pockets. Widened baby blues stared back at me as I stood my ground. Hell, I wasn't going to get any closer. She probably hated me. Shit, maybe she barely remembered my existence. The thought made my skin boil, like I wanted nothing more than to revive her memory. To prove that I was once an integral part of her life. I hated to think I had faded into an insignificant memory. The pathetic bitterness jolted my brain to function properly, and I arranged my expression into a smile, waiting for Rory to make the first move.

It was too long before she continued down the stairs, her eyes never leaving mine. Images of her in a black and white suit with her hair tied up, dancing so close to me during the night of our first kiss flashed across my mind. My face relaxed as my lips curled further at the memory. Stopping a few feet before me, she cocked her head slightly to a side, as if judging whether I was an illusion. I didn't blame her, as I was doing the same. For the next few seconds, we examined each other up close, forgetting to speak. I noticed her dark lashes, contouring the electric blue of her eyes, and the smallest freckle on her left cheek, exactly how I had remembered it. How I had kissed it, and she would giggle, while we held each other in the morning light. She was the same - the most beautiful, astonishing woman I had ever laid eyes on.

At the thought, my face broke into a smile as words left my mouth. I acknowledged her but the sound of my voice was drowned within the hundred thousand thoughts crossing my mind. Frankly, I had no idea what I had said and couldn't care less.

In response, her eyes widened. "Indeed," she muttered, her voice ringing in my ears.

A faint pink touched her cheeks, causing me to inhale at her beauty. The space between her brows wrinkled as she licked her lips, a nervous habit I was familiar with. Our first kiss somehow took over my thoughts. I remembered how her voice shook as she leaned towards me with eyes glimmering with anxiety. She was the same - a million rants going through her mind amidst awkward situations. I tried to hide the smile threatening to round my face, but a chuckle escaped nevertheless.

Watching Rory blush, I couldn't help but grin. Just like that my nerves were gone. It was like all the shit I went through in the last few years didn't matter. I just wanted to talk to her. If I was really honest, I wanted to grab her, carry her off into my car and kiss the hell out of her. Unfortunately, my head was clear and all I could do was make conversation.

"So what brings you here on this fine evening, Ms. Gilmore? Business or pleasure?" I began with my expertise of looking like I've got my shit together. The thought that she might be living in New York, where I would be relocating to, terrified me. The fact that we could be living in the same city brought dread and hope all at once.

She pursed her lips while clearly holding a smile at bay. It was like she saw right through my facade. I was nervous as hell, and she knew it. What was worse was that I didn't care.

"I'm here to ensure that I don't wake up in the middle of the night to my boss standing over me, holding a knife," she joked.

"Ah, business it is then." I didn't miss a beat as our eyes locked, with a smile never leaving my face. Damnit, how I had missed her and her quirky, unexpected replies.

I probably stared for a bit too long, as she tore her gaze away and cleared her throat. "Um," she stuttered, while glancing at the top of my head, "I like your hair. It's pretty." Her cheeks turned a shade redder as she continued, "I mean, it goes with your suit. You have on a pretty suit and pretty hair."

Shaking my head, a heartfelt chuckle left my throat at her embarrassing, but painfully adorable ramble. This was the girl I had remembered. It felt like we were meeting for the first time again, though my failed proposal and her cold rejection were never too far in my mind. Expertly maintaining a smile to shield my pained thoughts, I replied with whatever I could come up with - something about how there were big and important people to impress, hence the neat, parted hair.

Nodding awkwardly, Rory crossed her arms in front of her chest. Seeing her obvious nerves, I was relieved. She must have felt something for me, the way her lips played at a smile, and her cheeks reddened with every gaze. Quickly, before my thoughts went further into dangerous territory, I looked down. My heart pounded in my chest as I returned her gaze once more.

With as much courage as I could muster, and the fear of rejection shoved away, I softly teased, "I know you've always liked my hair."

It was pathetic how loud my heart pounded, waiting for her reply.

"Well, you're no David Hasselhoff." She laughed breezily at the reference of an inside joke we shared years ago.

"Yeah, I can't compete with that." I shook my head, feeling a familiar skip in my chest that only she could elicit.

Masking my emotions, I started to ask about why she was here, to which she replied with more nervous, unfiltered ramblings. And of course, I couldn't help but take it all in with a huge grin on my face. I had never felt less of a man than I did when I was with her. Whether from how ridiculously happy she made me, or how she cruelly threw our relationship away. Watching her sweet expression now, all the resentment I carried was overshadowed by the tenderness seeping out. Perhaps it was too much for her, because she broke our eye contact once again. This subtle act of rejection hurt me more than I liked to admit. Hell, I was turning into a big wuss after just minutes in her presence.

Straightening her back slightly, her voice was firm as she asked, "Why are you here, Logan?"

The question caught me by surprise. I was relocated from my company in California to New York to collaborate with The City Gazette. The position offered me twice the money I'd been getting. Also, I wanted to get away from my life there, particularly someone I had history with and something I couldn't forget. It seemed like I was running from my past no matter where I was.

As usual, I deflected her question with humor, and without any trace of the truth. "Open bar," I said.

"Logan," she scolded, not buying any of my crap.

"Olive platters, cured Italian ham, peel-less grapes, chocolate almonds with gold foil," I continued, refusing to give it up.

"Logan…" her eyes widened slightly, as if worried.

The expression did me in, and I contemplated telling her some part of the truth - maybe just the job offer. Taking a slow breath, I examined Rory's sincere expression, her brows furrowed gently above those puppy dog eyes. As I opened my mouth to answer, the sound of glass clinking came between us. And like the honest moment we shared, Rory and I were carried away in the crowd, no longer alone with each other's thoughts. We ended up in the elaborately furnished atrium with hundreds of bodies standing close to one another. Peter Morand, the department head I would be working with was at the podium, with drinks in both hands, ready to give a speech. I knew what Peter was going to say. He must have had a big talk prepared, welcoming the son of Mitchum Huntzburger into his company, and ready for some ass-kissing.

Rory was going to find out I would be working in New York, and soon after, I planned to find out whether she was too. Quickly, I stole a glance at her, standing beside me with our arms almost touching. The smell of her perfume, different from what she used to wear, was killing me. All I wanted to do, in that instant, was to reach for her hand.

Here I was, in the same room as Rory Gilmore, after three years of trying to get over her. This has got to be some shitty joke.

Thanks for reading and I would love some feedback!

For those of you who followed Leap of Faith (LoF), I know I've got some explaining to do. I had said I would continue the story in January, and it is now June. I'm really sorry about the huge delay, but lots of things came up: school, work, new relationship, which all took up my time.

Each review/PM I got regarding the story reminded me to get back to writing. Finally, I decided to write this scene of Logan and Rory's reunion at the end of Ch 3 + Ch 4 of LoF in Logan's POV. Since I started LoF, I had planned to write this scene from Logan's POV as well, since I thought it would be cool to see what was going on in Logan's head when they reunited.

It's been so long and I needed it to get my feet wet, get into the character's thoughts and flow of writing. So this two-shot is hopefully going to help me get back into finishing LoF. I hope you will all bear with me as I try to get back into writing and finish up LoF :) Thanks for reading the story so far.