As ever, I must thank my beta, fulfilled, when I say she makes everything I write so much better, I really do mean it. Thanks so much. The mistakes, as always, are mine. Also I have to thank jujubee, for suggesting something that helped me figure out how to begin this piece. That turned out to be just the thing. And, finally, Beth, who read over this while it was still in progress and fulfilled was busy with Christmas craziness, and letting me know I wasn't just going down a crazy path. Thanks both of you, very much.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, certainly not Rory or Logan, Sadly. Never have, never will.
House Hunting
He kissed you goodbye while you were still half asleep, whispering that he would see you in a week. That was it; a week, and he would be home for good. Well, not quite home, but only ninety minutes away. Manageable. Not quite close enough to touch, but not so far that you felt completely disconnected from him. The same time zone, even, which means that instead of catching one another at weird hours you could talk every morning when you got up during coffee and around toothpaste filled mouths, every night before turning in, probably falling asleep while listening to one another breathe. You could even have lunch on occasion, albeit not at the same table most of the time. Doing things at the same time would be a huge change - a welcome one. It would be a big way to not feel so disconnected from one another. You'd even get to see each other most weekends; six months ago you never would have realized what a luxury that would come to be.
He didn't tell you he'd left a bombshell on the kitchen counter.
It was just a plain cream stationary envelope with 'Rory' across it in his familiar scrawl. Your first name should have given you a clue. Inside on two heavy pieces of rag stationary was an unexpected message. Rory, Honor tells me I should wait and surprise you, but I have a feeling if I did it with all the proper romantic bells and whistles I would end up sitting there watching you do a mental pro-con list trying to decide your answer, which would kill me. You need to plan, I need to be spontaneous. We're different like that. I love that about us. I want to love that about us forever. I know I said I wanted you to help me look for a new place in New York. The thing is, I'm hoping it will be our place. Not like the place in New Haven where everything was chosen by me, and you end up living there, but ours from the start. Something we look for together, pick out the furniture, dishes, sheets and towels, nick-knacks… everything. Decide on any renovations that might need to be done together, so by the time you graduate maybe it will be ready for us. You can get a job in New York after graduation, or maybe you could go to Columbia - you've mentioned grad school a couple of times. We can live there, work, and start building a life. I'm rambling now - I think I learned that from you. What I'm trying to get to is this: I don't see my future without you in it. I want to ask you to marry me. Not in this note, but soon, and I know that if I do it you'll freak out, since we haven't really talked about this particular subject, even though we've talked about the 'future' lots of times. Well, I wanted to give you a little time to mull it over, without me feeling anxious or like you're possibly rejecting me. Time for you to make as many pro-con lists as you need to know that you're ready, that it's the right decision for you. I know it is for me. But I've also been thinking about this for a while. I can't imagine anything I want more in the world than to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. To see your beautiful blue eyes every morning. To one day -- know I'm thinking in four or five years; I know you need to get your career established first, and we're in no hurry -- but one day to wake up to a mini version of you. A little girl with brown hair and huge blue eyes. Or maybe one that looks like me. Or maybe one that looks like both of us. I'm not saying I want three children, though that wouldn't be horrible, either. That would be up to you, since you're the one that will be carrying them. At least I hope you're the woman that carries and bears my children. Though, I know we've talked about the fact that I really would like to have more than one child, since having a sister is such a big part of my life. But really, it's about wanting to build a life with you, be able to love you and be with you -- forever. I want that more than anything, and I hope you do too. So, make your lists to your heart's content. Figure out your answer. Maybe let Honor know, so I don't make an absolute ass of myself. And just know I love you and want to spend my life with you. All my love, Logan P.S. Say yes.
"Yes."
"The kitchen was redone just two years ago, so all the appliances are new and still under warranty, which will transfer with ownership of the loft…" the real estate agent perkily recites, talking up the place just as he has since you first walked in.
"What do you think, Ace?" Logan whispers into your hair.
"It's really nice," you say, looking around at the expansive converted warehouse space.
"But do you like it? Do you see us living here? Do you want to live in a loft again? I picked the last place, so it's not like that was your taste," he rattles off.
"I don't know," you reply hesitantly, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth, looking around. "It's a beautiful apartment."
"But…" he probes.
"Logan, if you like it, then we should get it," you say after a moment.
"Can you give me and my fiancée a moment?" he asks, taking your arm, pulling you into the master bedroom after getting an affirmative nod from the man.
"Ace, this is going to be our home, and what you think matters just as much as what I do. You have to be happy and comfortable with wherever we choose just as much as me. Your name will be on the deed too. So it matters just as much what you think as it does what I do," he says.
"I…I…I…" you stutter. "I don't understand. How will my name be on the deed? You're buying the place."
"You'll be coming to the closing as well, signing all the papers," he replies very matter of factly. "You do know that the whole 'what's mine is yours' concept is part of what marriage is supposed to be based on, right? I know that, for now, the money is technically mine, but it's going to be our home, not just mine, so I want you to love here or - wherever - just as much as I do. To be comfortable and at home."
You hear everything he says, but most of it doesn't register past the part about you being at the closing and signing papers. You didn't know exactly what you thought would be happening with the two of you looking for a place to live together, especially since you won't be living there right away to begin with. What you didn't expect, though, was for it to be community property - something that you'll be the equal owner of, even though you can't fully contribute financially.
So you begin hesitantly, "Logan, are you sure? This place, any place, we…I…" you stutter again, losing your train of thought, not really knowing how to say what you want to say.
"What? Sure that I want to live here or anywhere with you? Marry you? Just name the time and place, I'm there," he says in rapid succession.
"No," you laugh, your head clearing a bit. "Are you sure about the whole, it's 'yours and mine' thing?" you say in a small voice, biting on your lip again.
"Of course I am," he nods. "Are you not planning on living with me after you graduate?"
"No, it's just that unless I ask my dad for money or my grandparents for an advance on my trust fund, I don't have a lot to contribute here. It should be in your name," you reply unsteadily.
"I wasn't planning on asking you for any money - that's not the point here," he says.
"But, then…" you flounder, frantically looking around, now utterly confused.
"Rory," he cuts in, getting your attention with his use of your proper name. "We're engaged and we're getting an apartment to live in. Maybe the money that will be used to buy it is mine, but that doesn't mean that the apartment is just mine. It's ours. I'm using the money to buy it for us; thus, it's ours, and your name has to be on the deed."
"I…just…" you trail off, overwhelmed by him, but not for the first time - it's one of the things you've always loved best about him.
"What?"
"No, I guess I just hadn't really given it a lot of thought - the whole who-the-apartment-would-belong-to thing. Since you'll be living there initially, and the money is yours, I just thought it would be in your name. Plus, when we first were talking about it you wanted me to help you look for a new place, which then became a place for us, since you did that whole wanting to marry me thing, and that led to the pro-con list to end pro-con lists, which was very stressful. I thought the multiple pro-con lists I had to do for Yale v Harvard v Princeton were stressful, but that was nothing compared to you suddenly dropping that bomb," you continue breathlessly, your voice rising. "I mean, yeah, I love you too, and I can't imagine my future without you either, but to suddenly go from that to wanting to get married, that was a huge leap. And then you asked, and I said yes. Ours, huh?" you finish, running out of breath, sticking a fist on your hip.
"Yeah, ours," he chuckles, leaning in to give you a peck on the tip of your nose.
"Ours," you repeat, dropping your head to the side as the idea settles in your mind. His and yours. As usual, he's about five steps ahead of you, but fortunately for you he never hesitates to slow down and let you catch up.
"In that case," you say, looking around, "I don't like the bathroom. The fixtures are ugly."
"We can change the fixtures," he replies.
"Yeah, but the black sink and toilet are ugly," you continue, worrying your bottom lip.
"Also, able to be changed," he says. "That shouldn't be a deciding factor - things that can't be changed are different."
"Okay then, the closet in here is too small," you reply, walking over to it. "We both have a lot of stuff, and I don't think this is big enough. Sure, we could make it bigger, but that would cut into the size of the bedroom, and we don't want to do that."
"Well, that's something that can't be changed," he smiles, walking over to wrap an arm around you and guide you back out to the main part of the loft, kissing the side of your head. "Mark, I think this is going to be a no. Rory says the closets are too small."
"Logan," you hiss, slightly mortified that he's voicing your concerns. "The apartment is absolutely beautiful," you begin, apologizing to the real estate agent.
"Oh, no," he laughs, "it's fine. If you don't tell me what's wrong with the place, what you don't like, how am I going to know what you do want? This is a mutually symbiotic relationship. You're looking for a home; I want you to find the right one. We want the same thing."
"And you want a commission," Logan laughs.
"Well of course, my services don't come for free," Mark laughs too. "But really, Ms. Gilmore…"
"Feel free to call me Rory," you cut in.
"Rory," he continues. "I'm here to help you find where you want to live," he nods, heading back out the door, pushing the button to call the elevator. "And on that note, I think this next place might be great - there's a notation on the listing that specifically mentions the closets," he continues, exiting the elevator, waiting for the driver that Logan's hired for the day. "It's been a few weeks since I've been there, but I remember being positively envious of what I could do with that much closet space."
He continues to talk up the property till you get to a converted industrial building, "I know the whole freight elevator thing might not be appealing, but it's really not a reflection of what the loft looks like." You exit the elevator, allowing Mark to walk ahead of you to the large sliding steel door. "It's slightly larger than the last one by about five hundred square feet."
"Logan, look, there's a small library," you say as you step through the door and notice the small alcove lined with shelves, moving toward it. "The shelving isn't finished, but I'm sure that could be solved."
"Oh, that would be easy. Now, the appliances here are almost ten years old, so the kitchen will need some modernization, as will some of the fixtures in the bathrooms, but it has marvelous bones. You don't see windows this large very often in non-penthouse converted warehouse spaces," he points out, gesturing to the large repeating windows. "There's the first bedroom, and it has a full bath that's attached, but it also has a door out to the hallway, and then there's the master suite."
"Logan, this closet is fantastic, and the bathroom is beautiful. I think we'd have to get new sinks, and I don't like the floor, but we could get that done at the same time as the kitchen, once we figure out what needs to be done in there," you say, pulling him along with you as you chatter.
"You like this place?" he questions with a smile.
"Yeah, I really do," you smile. "The master bedroom is big enough, but not so big we'll get lost in it, and we can put a little seating area over by the windows."
"You probably won't care, but Ed Burns and Christy Turlington would be your upstairs neighbors," Mark conspiratorially whispers. "He bought JFK Jr.'s apartment when it first went on the market - so tragic. And then when they got married and had their first baby, they bought the other penthouse and turned the entire top floor into one huge space so it would be large enough for their growing family."
When Mark runs out of gossiping steam Logan turns to you saying, "You know, Ace, that's not a bad idea. We're already talking about doing enough renovations here, and given the way that sort of thing goes in the city, that it will take six to nine months. Three or four years down the road, we'll have to look for another place, do renovations there as well, and move."
"Huh?" you ask, he's lost you.
"For when we start a family," he explains.
"But…that's…years…" you stammer.
"Four or five years down the road, I know," he nods. "But if we got a bigger place now, maybe we wouldn't have to move. We could just grow into it. I'm sure Mark can show us some larger properties."
"Oh, of course I can," Mark chimes in eagerly, and you're sure the prospect of a larger commission is dancing in his head. "Actually, there's an absolutely beautiful property that I got my first look at yesterday. It's not even really on the market yet, but it might be just what you're looking for. It's not too stuffy - no pied-à-terre or triplex on Fifth. It's on Central Park South, with an absolutely gorgeous view of the park. If you don't like it, I can find some other listings in that range of square footage."
"Why don't we go look at it," Logan suggests. "We can always put in a bid here if that's what we decide we want to do."
"Okay, let's call the car. I'll call our office and have someone meet us there with a key," Mark suggests, a definite spring in his step.
"Logan, this is crazy," you hiss. "It's a huge leap to go from a place for us to some massive place for a family we don't plan on having for years, still.
"It doesn't hurt to look - nothing says we have to do anything, and we like this place," he gestures back toward the building you're exiting. "There's nothing stopping us from putting in a bid here if we think it's too much."
"Okay," you agree, knowing it's best to humor him at times like this. It takes almost an hour with all the traffic to make it the, at most, couple of miles, to the southern end of Central Park.
"Now this isn't a building with a famous history or a bunch of famous residents, but the apartments are spacious and the view is absolutely amazing. I really think you're going to love it," Mark enthuses, ushering you out of the car and into the lobby of the building. "Oh, good, Ellen, you have the key?" he asks, walking up to a slender blonde. "Okay, why don't we head up? It's on the sixth floor."
"Now, I know the stairwell is a bit small, but that also means it doesn't take away from the actual square footage of the apartment," he says, letting you step into the small foyer ahead of him. "Normally I wouldn't bring something like that up right away, but it's really the only drawback to this property.
You step inside and are assaulted by the heavy wood paneling that covers all the walls and floors. It's an entirely open main floor, one huge living area; the part in the back overhung with the second floor balcony is covered in book or display cases of the same color wood.
"It's so dark," you comment.
"I'm pretty sure we could lighten up the walls and floors," Logan replies.
"Oh, yes, this is a dark walnut finish. All the paneling is solid walnut, which you can make almost as light as you like - obviously not Swedish beech blonde, but much, much lighter than it is now. That's probably the simplest thing to do to the walls," Mark explains enthusiastically. "There are cabinets hidden in the walls as well, and if you'll come through here, the kitchen was redone about five years ago. Unfortunately, that means that none of the appliances are under warranty anymore, but the counters are Italian marble and the floors are a mosaic tile imported from Spain…"
The kitchen is a cook's dream, with lots of white cabinets with glass-paneled doors, and a double stainless steel stove and oven that even Sookie would envy. There's an island with a small sink in it and another large stainless industrial sink with an overhead sprayer. The refrigerator is full-size with a matching side-by-side freezer, stainless steel with glass-paneled doors, a large wine refrigerator, and an icemaker. You look up as Mark is pulling out warming drawers, and you realize he's been talking the entire time you've been admiring the room.
"Obviously there's room in here for this to be an eat-in kitchen, and you can also put stools under the island, but there's also room for a nice cozy dining area right outside here, under the overhang," he continues breathlessly. "I also love the laundry room, not that you'll be using it yourselves."
"I do our laundry," you interrupt, not wanting him to think you're like Grandma, unwilling, not to mention incapable of fending for yourself, looking around the room with its oversized sinks, with a rod over them to hang things from, and the front loading washer and dryer.
"Oh, okay," Mark nods eagerly, not wanting to offend you. He looks back at Logan, who has been quietly following him around, and Logan just shrugs - he knows you're a great believer in fending for yourself, even if that means letting your fingers do the walking through your take-out menu selection. "Back here are the live-in servant quarters; there's a separate entrance as well, but it's fully functional all on its own, with a full bath and kitchenette. And, of course, the first floor powder room. Technically, I guess there are six bedrooms, but there are five in the family quarters upstairs. There's another powder room at the top of the stairs and then there are four bathrooms - two of the bedrooms share a walk through," he continues, guiding you back out through the kitchen. "I know I already mentioned the small staircase," he says as you get to the small winding staircase, waving a hand to urge you to walk ahead of him, "but like I said, because of its size it doesn't take away from the floor space of the apartment."
"Oh my God, Logan," you breathe, stepping out onto the landing, "look at all the bookcases." There are floor to ceiling bookcases lining the back of the balcony.
"Yes, since this is a double sized apartment, there are about sixty feet of bookcases here instead of an actual library. I know it's a little unconventional, but you could put a cozy chair in the far corner and be able to read and look out at the marvelous view."
"Or we could just choose a book and go sit on a couch downstairs," Logan pipes in, moving down the wall. "It also looks like there's room down here for a desk. I saw an open double desk somewhere once, which allowed two people to both have plenty of room but it didn't take up a lot of space."
"Yes, that does sound like a fabulous idea," Mark agrees. "The master suite has an amazing closet, plenty of cabinets and shelves, a wonderful dressing room, a few book shelves of its own, and a matching small balcony like the one off the kitchen. Then the bathroom has a separate shower and deep Japanese soaking tub…"
You wander through the various bedrooms, tuning him out. It's a dream apartment, like something from Architectural Digest. The other bedrooms all have small built-in bookcases and much smaller walk-in closets.
"How much is it listed for?" you hear Logan inquire.
"10.2 million, but I think you could get it for about 9.5," Mark replies, blowing your mind. That's more money than you can ever imagine - the thought of it puts you in a stupor and you walk back down the stairs in a daze, looking out at the beautiful view, turning back to look at the amazing open library. You can see yourself filling up all those shelves with classics, both modern and ancient, browsing to find the perfect title to curl up and get lost in. The main room is cavernous, but you know it could probably be much cozier once it's filled with furniture, overstuffed couches and chairs, and colorful paintings on the walls. Whoever ends up being fortunate enough to get this place will have an amazing home.
You approach Logan who's standing at the wall of windows that overlooks the park, wrapping your arms around his waist, "Hey you, enjoying the view?"
"Yeah," he nods, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. "I think we should get it."
"Get what?" you ask.
"This place. I think it's perfect for us."
"So, how did the big house hunting trip go?" Mom asks, not even bothering with a hello. "Did you find some fabulous place? A fantastic loft? Somewhere right next to Sarah Jessica Parker, Matthew Broderick and their kid, I can never remember what their kid's name is, Jack or something like that. Or maybe next door to Meg Ryan. I could come and visit you and we could spy on her and see what her lips really look like just before she goes in for collagen injections. I think her kid's name is Jack. Maybe next to Yoko. I would say next to Barbra, but I think I read somewhere that she sold her place in New York. James doesn't want to live in New York, I guess…"
"Mom," you interject sharply, realizing she's quickly veering off into a world that she might not come back from very soon.
"What?" she questions. "I was just…"
"You were just beginning a recitation of the entire celebrity phone book for New York," you reply impatiently.
"No, just Manhattan. Spike doesn't live in Manhattan, and Heath and Michelle live in Brooklyn," she huffs.
"Well, if it will make you happy," you sigh, knowing she'll never shut up if you don't humor her, "the loft - warehousey thingy - we liked the best is just below where Christy Turlington and Ed Burns live. If we heard little feet running across the ceiling, it would be their kids."
"Ed Burns is hot," she replies eagerly, "and Christy Turlington is gorgeous, I bet their kids are adorable."
"I'm sure, and huge. I think both of them are really tall," you reply. "But, yeah, the converted warehouse space we saw in their building was amazing. It has this alcove that we can turn into a library, and the closet is amazing. The only drawback is we didn't like the kitchen, but we can redo that, according to Logan, but it will take a…"
"Hey, didn't the place where they live used to belong to JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette?" she interjects.
"I think Mark - that's our real estate agent - mentioned something like that," you nod, even though you know she can't see you over the phone.
"You have to live there now!" she responds enthusiastically. "Wait, did you say, 'our real estate agent'?" she questions sharply.
"Yeah," you reply, finally getting to the reason you've called.
"Man, they sure taught you to bury the lede there at Yale," she shoots back.
"What?" you defend. "It's not like I could get a word in or anything."
"Oh, sure, just give me half the information," she says.
"I was trying to get to that but you had your own version of events you wanted to discuss," you reason. "Yeah, he's our real estate agent. He showed us several converted warehouse loft-like places - one in Chelsea, one in the Meatpacking District, and one in SoHo, which is the one we liked. And then we looked at this one larger place on Central Park South that we really loved, and Logan's thinking about putting a bid in on," you finish, not really telling the whole story.
"Maybe you'll live next to Yoko, and you'll run into Sean every day. You know, it's a good thing that kid has famous parents; otherwise he would never get laid. He is not attractive - Julian is way hotter," she heads off on another tangent.
"No," you laugh, shaking your head, "that's Central Park West. We looked at a place on Central Park South."
"What's on Central Park South?" she questions.
"The ice skating rink is right across the way - you can see it out of the front windows," you relay.
"Oh, that's nice. We love ice skating," she enthuses.
"I'm not very good at it," you grump.
"No, but maybe Logan will inspire you to try harder," she laughs.
"Maybe," you shake your head, thinking about how uncoordinated you are. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the city with me in a day or so and look at it with me?"
"Sure, I'd love that," she readily agrees. "But if it's as fabulous as it sounds, why do you need a second opinion?"
"I just wanted someone else to look at it before we decide to buy it," you evade.
"Sure, then, I'd be happy to."
"Mark Vandenheim was supposed to leave a key for me with you," you tell the person working the desk. "I'm Rory Gilmore."
"Oh, of course, Ms. Gilmore," she nods, turning around to get something. "The key for apartment 6c - I have it right here for you," she says, turning back around to give it to you. "Just drop it off with me when you leave."
"Thank you," you say, heading toward the elevator.
"Doorman and a front desk? This is worse than the place you two lived in New Haven for making me feel like an interloper," Mom whistles, following you into the elevator, letting you punch the button.
"You'll always belong wherever I am," you smile, waiting for the car to get to the sixth floor, exiting and going to the front door. "Now this is…"
"Wow!" she exclaims, walking through the entry around the stairway and into the main living area of the apartment. "I haven't even seen the rest of it, but this place is amazing!"
"Yeah, I know," you say tightly.
"Look at the view!" she enthuses, racing up to the windows. "You're above the trees! It's so beautiful. I can't believe you might live here. I'm going to look around," she says, turning around to race toward the kitchen.
"Oh my God, Rory, the kitchen is to die for!" she yells back out.
"We'd probably make some changes in there if we decide to get this place," you call back. "And we'd definitely lighten up the walls in here."
"I think that's a good idea - it has the feel of a men's club, like a cigar smoking club, and lightening up the paneling would help that," she yells back, her voice waxing and waning as she goes through the various rooms. "But I definitely would keep the paneling; it's beautiful. I'm heading upstairs," she says whizzing by where you're standing in the middle of the cavernous empty room. "That powder room is absolutely amazing, and even the laundry room is fantastic!" she jabbers, heading up the winding staircase. "Rory, this master bedroom is wonderful, and all the bookcases all through the apartment…that's got to make you happy. It's like it was made for you.
"Oh my God, the closet and dressing room! It's just like Oprah's closet when she redid it. We'll have to go shopping just so you can fill it up! And the bathroom…this soaking tub is amazing. I could stay in here for days," she chatters. "Actually, I think I could never leave this place and be quite happy. I might have to persuade you and Logan to let me housesit for you! Oh, and there's a small sun balcony off the back, which is really cool," you can hear her moving around. "And I love the other bedrooms as well - I assume you're going to redo them, but they're great.
"Rory, this place is amazing," she says when she reappears. "I love this library, I guess that's what you'd call it, that overlooks everything. I know it's kinda big, but it's still cozy, and when you get furniture in here it will make it even more so."
"You act like this is the place we're going to buy," you say over your shoulder, moving toward the windows to look out at the park.
"Isn't it? You both seem to love it, and it's big enough that you won't have to move any time soon, though maybe you don't want to feel like you're rattling around in here with just the two of you?" she questions.
"No, I think once we do some renovations and get furniture in here it will be rather homey and cozy. I love all the bookcases - there's plenty of room for both of our books, and then some. Plus, there's places in the paneling where it's really a hidden cabinet for stereo equipment or pool cues, or there's one that's for holding dvds and cds."
"That's very cool," she says, running her hands over one of the panels, making it pop out. "Oh, that's so ingenious!"
"Yeah, it's very user friendly. The whole place is, really," you reply.
"Why do I get the feeling there's a huge but? There has to be or you wouldn't have asked me to come here," she returns, moving over toward you.
"It's just kinda big, and real estate in New York, Manhattan in particular, is really expensive," you begin, pulling on the sleeves of your sweater.
"Well, Logan does come with a very large trust fund," Mom says. "So he can probably afford it."
"I know, and I'm fine with it," you reply, sitting on the bench that runs beneath the front windows of the apartment, drawing your knees up to you, setting your chin on them. "That's not the problem. I wasn't expecting him to tell me that my name would be on the deed, but that's so Logan. He's always been incredibly generous ever since we got together. From jewelry to the Birkin Bag to trips to special dinners and such, it's just part of how he tells me how he feels about me. It seems weird to say I expect those things from him, but I kinda do," you say, looking out at the southern end of Central Park. "Because I know what they mean. They're not just things he buys me to placate me."
"They're his way of telling you how much he loves you," she replies, coming over to sit next to you.
"Yeah," you agree softly.
"I get that," she returns.
"When he told me the place would be in both our names, I was floored. I hadn't expected that, not at all," you shake your head. "But it just seemed an extension of his normal generosity - his way of telling me not only that he loves me, but how much the fact that we're planning our future together means to him. Once I figured all that out I was fine with it. I knew that wherever we ended up agreeing to buy would be out of my price range, but that's okay. It's supposed to be both our place, our home. So if we got somewhere I could afford, that would be silly. I was fine with the whole thing, 1.5 to 3 million, more than I could imagine spending, but fine for Logan.
"And then Mark starts talking about Ed Burns and Christy Turlington's kids and how when they started a family they ended up buying the other penthouse across from the the Flatrion building and expanding so they would have the entire top floor.
"Have the two of you already talked about having kids?" she asks, surprise evident in her voice.
"Not in anything more than a conceptual way," you reply with a small shake of your head. "As in, we want them together someday, and that he wants more than one. Having Honor as his sister is a really big deal in his life, so he wants his kids to have that same experience. But, no, not for four or five years, at least. Not anytime soon."
"Oh, okay," she nods; letting out what you think is a sigh of relief.
"But that doesn't mean it's not happening at some point," you return.
"I know," she nods again. "I just don't want you to forget all the hard work you've done at Chilton and Yale…"
"Mom," you interrupt. "I'm marrying Logan, not giving up who I am and becoming a trophy wife. I'm still having a career. I want a career, Logan wants me to have a career. Probably the most annoyed and disinterested in me he ever got was when he thought I was pissing my future and potential away, back when we weren't talking."
"Really," she replies, perking up.
"Yeah, really," you affirm. "There's several reasons we broke up, but the two main ones were his own panic about his future and his frustration about my loss of focus and drive and his thinking I was blaming it on him. He stood by me during all of that, but it was completely frustrating to him. He thought I was wasting my potential."
"I have to agree," she says softly.
"Mom," you whine, not wanting to get into this right now.
"So, Logan wants you to have a career," she reiterates.
"Yeah, Logan wants me to have a career," you verify. "And for us to have kids, in a few years."
"Well, that is the natural thing that people do when they get married," she chuckles, trying to bring some levity into the conversation.
"I know, and I want to have kids too. I even think I agree with him about having more than one, since it's such a big deal to him. But I had my mind straight with the whole idea of a loft, and then we would move in a few years - you know, when we start a family or really begin to talk about it. I mean, the place by the Flatrion building has two bedrooms, so one could be turned into a nursery once we need one, and we could start looking for a bigger place at that point. I was fine with that."
"And then…" she interjects.
"And then," you cut her off, "Logan starts talking about how maybe since that apartment needs quite a bit of work to begin with - we were talking about totally redoing the kitchen and second bathroom - it would be impractical to put all that work into a place we would only be in for four or five years, so why not at least look at something bigger with more bedrooms so we wouldn't have to move.
"That is practical," she chuckles. "And this place is beautiful."
"It's 9.5 million dollars," you tell her.
"It's what?" she questions sharply.
"9.5 million dollars," you bob you head. "And we'd still have to get approved by the co-op board, though I'm sure we'll have no problem with that unless Mort Zuckerman or Rupert Murdoch are on it. Plus renovations."
"9.5 million dollars," she repeats. "That's dollars, U.S., not Canadian, because if it were 9.5 million Canadian that would be like fifty cents."
"I think they did something a couple of years ago to try to normalize the exchange rate, or maybe I'm wrong," you chuckle, welcoming her distraction. "But it's a lot of money."
"You know that Logan has a lot of money, right?" she questions with a dry laugh. "You did realize that?"
"Yes, Mom," you roll your eyes. "I realize Logan has a lot of money. And the weird thing is, he's right - this apartment is amazing. I used to dream about living somewhere that has a library like this one. Maybe not like this, since it's all open and such, but I rather like that better. And Logan's been talking about trying to find a double desk, instead of changing one of the bedrooms into an office. That way we'll be right there together if we need to do work and we'll have this amazing view," you turn to look out at the park.
"It sounds like a fantastic plan," she nods.
"And practical," you agree, looking back out the windows. "The whole idea reeks of practicality."
"Have you done a pro-con list?" she queries, knowing you well.
"Oh, about six. I thought the one to get married was hard, but at least that one was a little confusing. This one, there's just no cons, except the 9.5 million ones I can't seem to wrap my head around," you mumble.
"Rory, you're marrying Logan Huntzberger - you do realize that?" she questions softly.
"Yeah, I do," you nod. "I was just unprepared for him to go from a place for the two of us to this massive apartment that costs more than most small countries' GDPs in three seconds. It was overwhelming."
"I thought you love that Logan tends to go at warp speed," she points out.
"I do," you nod slightly. "I just…" you trail off. "I don't know what my problem is."
"Hon, not that you should be taking relationship advice from me, but those 9.5 million reasons come with Logan. They're part of the package. And if you love him and want to build a life with him, you're going to have to deal with them," she says.
"I know," you reply.
"And you're going to have to make peace with them," she continues.
"I know," you repeat.
"And talk to Logan about your fears or hesitancy," she advises.
"I know."
"That suit of armor would look great sitting next to the stairs."
"So, Christmas in January - novel concept," Logan says, helping you out of his Porsche.
"It is," you nod. "The whole family Christmas at the Crap Shack is a little bizarre. Mom, Dad, Gigi, me, and you of course, then add in Grandma and Grandpa…it's a little too surreal and Donna Reed Show-ish. Grandma's finally getting exactly what she's always wanted. Well, not Gigi, but that's beside the point. She always wanted Mom and Dad to get married, and now they have. I mean it's after I'm grown and out of the house, but they're married nonetheless. And then there's Gigi, which is weird in and of itself; since I've never really been close to her, I barely know her. When Dad was together with Sherry, he lived in Boston, and I didn't have a car, so it wasn't like I could go visit all that often. If I'd gone to Harvard, I'm sure I would have gotten to know her better, but Harvard became Yale, so that never happened, and then Sherry left and Mom was with Luke and then that exploded and now they're married, and I'm happy for them, but there are times when I still have no idea how I'm supposed to feel. Isn't this every kid's dream?"
"The what shack?" he laughs, picking out one odd thing from your ramble.
"Crap Shack," you giggle, thinking back. "When Mom and I first moved there we were trying to name it, we have a tendency to do that…"
"I'm aware," he laughingly interjects. "I lived with Rupert the exploding cappuccino machine, Henry the suit of armor, and Nelly the toaster, remember?"
"I think Rupert was defective," you pout.
"He worked just fine for me, but I actually read the manual," he replies cheekily. "I'm being pulled into your madness, I'm referring to an inanimate object as 'he' now!" he shakes his head.
"Just think what you'll be like after five or ten more years of living with me?" you smilingly laugh.
"Incoherently babbling my name," he grins, pulling you in and capturing your lips for a lazy kiss. He nibbles at your lip, opening your mouth before pushing his tongue inside to tangle in a familiar dance with yours. He pulls away once he needs air, peppering kisses along your jaw line, stopping to lap and suck at the spot just under your ear that he knows turns your legs to jelly. "But happy as a pig in mud," he murmurs hot in your ear, pulling back to nibble at your lobe. "Where are we?" he mumbles.
"Oh!" you exclaim, remembering why you've brought him here, suddenly becoming nervous all over again. "When I was a little girl, Mom and I used to sit here and watch the partygoers across the way, people that could afford to go to parties," you say, pointing across the pond, leaning into him. "We would imagine what they were talking about or where they were heading. Sometimes I would imagine that the party was in Paris or Moscow or Rio or Johannesburg, maybe even Sydney, anywhere exotic would do, but always places I wanted to go - maybe get the chance to attend a party there."
"This is the inn where she worked before she bought the Dragonfly with Sookie?" he asks, looking around.
"Yeah," you nod, turning a little bit in his arms, looking out. "Everything you know about me, all my hopes and dreams, they were formed here. I learned to read sitting next to this pond, under that tree over there," you say, pointing. "I think my first steps were right about here. And Lane and I used to play tag all around here, catch fireflies in the summer, and feed the ducks and swans. There are ducks and swans in the summer - it's the wrong time of year right now; they've all flown south. We'd try to build snowmen in the winter, we were always too small to do it without help. I remember running and jumping into the big piles of leaves that the groundskeepers would form in the fall after all the leaves fell."
"You were here a lot," he says, smiling as you tell stories of your childhood. "I would have loved to have seen you - I need to ask Lorelai for pictures. I'm sure you were a beautiful little girl."
"I was extremely shy, and always had my head buried in a book," you murmur, letting your head fall back on his shoulder blade. "But yeah, I was here a lot. We lived here."
"You lived here?" he questions.
"Yeah," you nod, taking one of his hands in yours, threading your fingers through his, "we lived here. Right here, to be exact," you say, turning the knob of the door to the potting shed, hoping it's not locked. Fortunately for you, it's open.
"Here?" he questions, looking around in the hazy winter light.
"Yeah, here," you confirm. "You know Mom ran away when she was seventeen, got a job, and raised me on her own with little contact with Grandma and Grandpa and even Dad, really."
"Uh-huh," he mumbles.
"Well, her money got her as far as Stars Hollow, which is how we ended up here. But she didn't even have a high school diploma, no job skills, and now, no money. I guess she was pretty desperate, but she had no plan. She got a job, here, well there," you point back toward the inn, "as a maid, and Mia - she used to own it - took a bit of pity on her with her year-old baby and gave her a place to live, this place. It's the potting shed."
"You lived here," he says again, looking around the one room that is your former home.
"Yeah, till I was eleven," you nod. "We lived here. Mom made this curtain so it would seem like we had a real bathroom and have some privacy, and this was our bed. Her sewing machine was set up over here," you point over toward the large window, "and I had my little library over here," you point toward the cupboard. "They were all from the library, so the contents were always changing. I would just pretend I had acquired new things that made me need to get rid of some old ones to make room," you walk around the room continuing to point things out to him, glancing back every so often to try and gauge his reaction. He hadn't bolted, like Grandma did, as of yet. Mostly he looks confused, as if all of this just isn't quite registering for him. "She put these pictures on the walls to make it seem homey and nice."
"I know that to you I'm the girl whose grandparents are building her an astronomy building, and who has a trust fund that I'll get in a few years," you segue, trying to really explain why you brought him here. "I like pretty things, and I don't mind having money. I was valedictorian at Chilton, I had a coming out party at the DAR, and I'm even a member of the DAR in good standing. I'm graduating from Yale in May; I was the editor of the Yale Daily News. I'm a Gilmore, and I'm very proud to be marrying you," you continue, going over to run your hand down his arm and lace your fingers through his, needing contact with him.
"But this is also me," you continue in a whisper. "This tiny room with its faded rose print wallpaper, where Mom hung a curtain across the tub so it wouldn't seem like everything was in one room and we could have some privacy when we took a bath. I'm the girl that proudly wore a dress her mother made to her first dance at Chilton; I wore a lot of things Mom made for me through the years, because she couldn't afford to buy things from a store. I learned to read from library books because Mom couldn't afford to buy me ones for myself. I dreamed of going exotic places because this was my whole world. Part of why I dreamed of becoming a journalist was because I thought that way I would get to go all those places that were just dots on a map to me.
"But like anyone that has dreams, I was never really sure, or believed that they were going to come true or turn out the way I'd hoped," you finish, hoping he understands.
"Does this have something to do with the apartment? I have a feeling this has to do with the apartment," he questions softly. "You've been quiet about it since I suggested we put in a bid."
"No…well, yes," you nod, burying your head in his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him. "Partially, at least," you mumble.
"It's just…you know that little boy whose father had a meeting on the West Coast and was too busy to get to his birthday, how he's still a part of you?" you pull back to look in his eyes. "And what that did to you and your relationship with your father?" you ask, trying to get him to understand.
"Yeah," he nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Just like that little boy will always be with you, the little girl that couldn't afford souvenirs on the school trips, who lived in a one room potting shed for the first eleven years of her life, her life will always be a part of me," you explain. "And because she'll always be a part of me, sometimes I get a little overwhelmed. And, yes, the apartment was one of those times."
"We can get the smaller one," he offers, "if that will help."
"No," you laugh, squeezing his hand, leaning forward to lay your head on his chest, letting him encircle you in his arms. "I'm not sure 2.75 million is really all that different. Call Mark in the morning, put in a bid for us. No, it's just we were standing there, looking out at Central Park, I felt like I was in a movie, in the middle of one of my dreams when I was a little girl. I felt a little overwhelmed and it all seemed surreal, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this might really be my apartment, my home, that I'm standing in, with its amazing view of Central Park, that this is really my life. And then you started talking seriously about really getting it…"
"Well, then if you want me to put in a bid…" he interjects, pulling back, brow furrowed, obviously confused.
"I'm just…" you reach for words, trying to figure out how to explain what you're feeling to him. "You know how you've told me that one thing you love about me is that I help you see the world with fresh eyes?" you say, settling on a course. He nods and you continue. "Well, this is why. Because till I was five and went to kindergarten this was all I knew. I had a mother that loved me and devoted her life to me, but this little room and the grounds surrounding the inn this was my entire world. When I was five it expanded a little - I went to school and met Lane. But I still played hide-and-go-seek in the corridors of the inn, stole food from the kitchens when the cooks weren't looking, tried to keep out from being underfoot. I wasn't supposed to really be heard. And I read - a lot - of extraordinary lives, of happiness and tragedy that I couldn't imagine, and dreamed that someday I would have a life someone would want to remember. I worked hard and got to Chilton, but that was really as far as I got till I was eighteen. All those places I help you see new again…it's because they are new to me, because this was all I knew. I never got to be jaded or cynical because there was nothing to be jaded or cynical about. There was just this," you say, extending out your hand, sweeping across the room.
"Just like you love that I help you see things new again, I love that you help me experience new things, push me to live life, not just observe and record other people's," you smile, reaching up to kiss his lips before snuggling back into his chest. "But there are times when I'm going to need you to slow down, when I'm a little overwhelmed and confounded. I never expected my life to end up how it's turning out. I never planned on you," you smile into his chest, giving it a little peck. "You're wonderful and amazing, but not at all who I ever expected to see myself with. There will be times, and the apartment was one of those times, when I'll be a little besieged by everything that my life has become. I'm still the little girl that slept in one bed with my mom for years and dreamed of doing big things. And sometimes, to her, Rory Gilmore's life is still a little scary."
"Do you have any idea just how much I love you?" he says, putting a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to capture your lips in a soft kiss, before pulling back to rest his forehead on yours. "You are the most extraordinary person I know, and I'm so thankful that you love me, that you've chosen me."
"Logan…" you breathe.
"No, Rory," he shakes his head, making both of yours shake back and forth. "I'm the kid whose life was decided for him before he was even born, whose family rejoiced at the prospect of a son who would continue the family line, name, and business, but then let me be raised by nannies. Maybe you didn't have money, but you had other things that really matter, like a mother that loved you and gave you everything she was able to give you, who helped you dream and imagine a future bigger than the present you were in.
"You said that one of the reasons I love you is because you help me see the world with new eyes, and you're right. But that doesn't just mean London or Rome; it means what I saw the day we were standing in that apartment. I know we've talked about stuff, sofas and lightening the walls and double desks. But I looked out the front windows and saw myself with a young girl who had brown hair and blue eyes, and she had a cleft in her chin, just like her mother," he smiles wistfully, brushing his forefinger across your chin. "We were crossing the street, heading to the ice rink in the park, and she was holding tightly to my hand, both of us with ice skates across our shoulders. And then I turned around and saw you sitting on a couch, curled up with a little tousle-headed, blonde-haired, brown-eyed boy, with a book across your laps, reading to him," his voice soft and filled with emotion, brushing his lips across the side of your head. "Then I turned to the stairs and saw a little girl with blonde ringlets and shining blue eyes, in feetsie pajamas with little chicks on them, her teddy bear dragging behind her."
"Logan…" you whimper, tears forming at the beautiful picture he's painting.
"See, it wasn't just a place to me; it was the idea of the life we're going to build there one day. I know that's the type of family we'll have, because that's what your mother taught you. I wasn't just seeing four walls, but a place filled with love and warmth and laughter. A safe place where a child is welcomed just for the joy of having created a life together, where he or she is encouraged to dream of being whoever they want to be.
"You see, the life I saw there the other day is the life I know we can have, and that's because of you. You won't ever let me turn into an unfeeling asshole like my dad, and when I veer into that territory, I know you'll tell me and pull me back. It's a life I know nothing about, but I dreamed of when I was a little boy, a life with a loving and nurturing family, and a dream I forgot somewhere along the way, because that was easier than wishing for something I couldn't change. But you know about that life - maybe you didn't grow up with any Velasquezes on the walls, or private jets and helicopters, but you grew up with something money can't buy either - love and warmth and a parent that you always knew loved you just because you exist.
"I'm so glad you brought me here today, because now I really feel like I know you, the whole you," he finishes.
"I was always so scared to bring you here," you murmur.
"Why?" he questions softly.
"Because when I brought Grandma here she was appalled," you relay. "She couldn't believe this was where we'd lived, that we could have lived in a one room shed most of my life."
"Rory, that's not going to happen with me," he tenderly replies. "Do you want to know why I asked you to marry me now?"
"Yes," you mumble, nodding both your heads up and down.
"Because you're my insurance policy," he replies, reaching up to cup your cheek. "I'm scared to death that if you get out in the world that we'll drift apart. Not because we mean to, or because we stop loving each other, but just because of distance and a lack of time and the fact that our lives would intersect on occasion, but not really merge. I felt that, sometimes, when I was in London - that disconnection. We worked really hard to keep things going, but I'm scared that if we're both working things will change, and you and me…us, I know we're what stands between me and a life like my father's.
"Logan…" you breathe.
"No, Rory, you. I don't want that life for myself, I never have, but I've never been able to see a way out. But I'm not sure I'm brave enough to leave everything I know behind. I like the business I was pushed into; I'm good at it. I don't really know what the hell else I would do. The thing is, since I've been with you I've realized I can be good at the family business, but I don't have to be my dad. I don't have to let my work consume me because I don't have a hell of a lot else, and my home life is crappy and I have nothing in common with my wife.
"Instead I can marry someone who makes me want to be home by 7:30 instead of ten, who I adore, and who I want to have a family with, not just create heirs. Someone that is one of my very best friends in the entire world, and I have everything in common with. I'm just as happy sitting at home in my pajamas mocking cheesy movies with you as I am out at a fabulous restaurant or opening or philanthropic event where our names can end up in bold print. That's why I asked you to marry me. Well, that, and I love you," he laughs softly, making you laugh too. "I don't want to lose the possibility of that being my future and I'm scared that it could happen if I didn't go ahead and seize on the opportunity.
"See, your mom and me, we have something in common to motivate us."
"You do?"
"Yeah, you," he pulls a small smile.
"I'm not that powerful," you deflect.
"Yeah, Ace, you are," he disagrees gently. "You inspired your mother to leave everything she knew behind and create a happy, safe life for you here. You've inspired me to grow up and accept my responsibilities with grace instead of resentment, to leave a life I enjoyed, but was totally empty, behind. You've taught me about love and made me love you all that much more for it."
"I think Honor taught you a few things about love," you demur.
"Yeah, but until you I still felt trapped," he disagrees. "Honor helped me be someone who wanted the things I dreamed of. You're the person that has helped me realize those dreams can really come true. I got a renewed view of life and what it could be when I found you," he says, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.
He nibbles around, seeking entrance that you'd never think of denying him. You allow him into your mouth, meeting his tongue before drawing it further into your mouth, sucking on the tip.
"I love when you do that," he breathes, pulling back, touching your foreheads together.
"What?" you mumble, catching your breath.
"When you suck on my tongue. It's like when you're drawing me into your body - I love that feeling," he replies softly. "I also love the sound you make when I suck on your pulse point where your clavicle meets your neck," he mumbles between kisses down your neck, ending exactly where he's said he loved, sucking lightly, causing you to emit a throaty moan. "That one," he smiles into your skin.
"You know what I love?" you ask breathlessly, pulling your head forward, looking up into his cloudy eyes. "I love the sound you make when I suck on the lobe of your ear," you smile, reaching up, pulling his lobe into your mouth with your teeth, biting down lightly and sucking hard, making him to return your throaty moan.
"I love how your waist fits right between my hands, and how your breasts fit perfectly in each of them," he says softly, moving his hands under your coat, up the front of your body, cupping both your breasts, running his thumbs across the nipples, then pinching each, making them erect. He runs his hands up to your shoulders, pushing your coat off.
"Logan, we can't…" you gasp, turning to look out the large window, realizing what he's wanting to do.
"Why not? Who's going to know?" he asks, drawing you back toward the bed, shucking off his jacket.
"I slept in that bed with my mother when I was little," you hiss.
"I know - it's a total turn on," he laughs, smiling wickedly, pulling you back toward him, tugging your sweater over your head in one smooth motion. "It's like making out or doing it in my dad's study."
"I can't believe I'm going to do this," you whisper, shaking your head, but you know you're going to let him do what he wants when you look up to see that irresistible combination of lust and love in his eye.
"Take a walk on the wild side," he laughs, unbuttoning your shirt, pushing it off your shoulders.
"You're going to be the death of me," you mutter, pulling his sweater over his head. "It's cold," you complain when the air hits your exposed skin.
"Hold on, I think I saw a blanket over on one of the shelves," he says, moving away from you, retrieving a blanket and throwing it over your shoulders, and getting rid of his shoes. "That should help, and I'll keep you warm," he whispers in your ear, kissing under it. "Come here," he says, sitting down on the bed, pulling you over toward him. "I love how soft your stomach is," he keeps going, sprinkling kissing across it while he unbuttons your jeans, pulls down the zipper and hooks his thumbs into the waistband, pulling them off you. "I love how soft all your skin is." You toe out of your shoes while you undo his khakis and pull them off.
"You know what else I love?" he asks as you climb on top of him.
"What?" you question, reaching down to suck on his bottom lip as his hands go behind you to unclasp your bra and draw it down your arms.
"I love this little freckle on the side of your breast," he says, his tongue flicking out to lick it before his lips latch on to suck it, kissing his way over to the tip, biting down, making you groan his name. "I love that sound too, and the way your eyes get very dark blue and you give me that hooded half look with lust pouring out of them," he mumbles, sprinkling kisses along your chest between your breasts. "Most people only see the wide innocent bright blue eyes. I love that I'm the only one that gets to see this side of you, the side that's wanton, naughty, a little wicked, and very open for adventure."
"I love that you sometimes treat me as this delicate fragile thing that's going to break, sometimes you go slow and easy, and yet sometimes you just fuck the shit out of me," you breathe, biting down hard on his earlobe.
"You like not always being the good little girl," he laughs.
"Mmmmm," you moan as he sucks hard on a nipple.
"Lay back," he instructs, helping you turn over, laying back on the bed, pulling your panties off you, settling between your legs, pulling them over his shoulders, kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, making them quiver. One of your feet settles on the plane of his back, the other on the round of his ass, each clawing at his skin as his teasing makes your toes curl.
"I love how you smell," he nudges at your clit with his nose, "and I fucking love how wet you get for me," he says, his fingers moving from your hip to your aching center, rubbing your clit between his thumb and forefinger before inserting two fingers inside you. "But as much as I love how wet you get, I love even more how you taste," he murmurs before burying his head between your legs, taking one long lapping lick with the flat of his tongue before drawing your clit into his mouth and sucking hard. His free hand goes up to your ass, pulling you even more snugly into his seeking lips and flicking tongue, his fingers rapidly pumping in and out of you, giving you more stimulation, your muscles clamping down on them, one hand going down to hold tightly onto his head, yanking at tendrils of his hair, the other clawing at the sheets. He pulls one finger forward to the spot where you can't resist anymore, sucking hard on your clit, making you moan out his name over and over as your muscles hold tightly onto his fingers as your body convulses and releases.
"Gah," you pant as he crawls up beside you.
"Do you have any idea how much I fucking love to make you moan my name like that?" he sniggers into your ear, his hand trailing back up your body settling to cup a breast, playing with the nipple. You open one eye to see him smirking just above you.
"I love when you do that to me," you reply breathlessly, slinging a leg over his hips. "My…what do you call it?"
"Clit…vulva…pussy?" he suggests, causing your entire body to flush red. "Any of those work?"
"I guess," you slightly nod. "It feels like it's going to explode."
"I love that I can still embarrass you, even after all this time," he chuckles.
"I know," you laugh, knowing he still says certain things just to get a reaction from you. "I think you still need some attention," you say, reaching to run your fingers down his hard shaft, pushing his boxers off his hips.
"I was letting you recover a little," he says, sucking on your clavicle, running his hand down your side to cup your ass and pull you into him, your groins grinding together. "I also love how curvy you are - most of the girls I was with before you were so obsessed with their figures and never ate, so they had no curves, just flesh covering bone. You're nothing like that. You're soft in all the right places, like Shakespeare or Lawrence wrote about women being soft and womanly. You have curves, which, of course, are why you have an ass that would make Jessica Alba envious, and which I worship," he smiles wickedly, giving your ass a squeeze, pulling you even closer to him. You throw a leg back over his hip to give him better access, his cock just pushing at your entrance.
"I love how it feels when your cock teases at my clit," you rush out, feeling your body flame in embarrassment again.
"I love that too," he chuckles, capturing your lips, plunging his tongue into your mouth, dueling his tongue with yours. "And I love how tight you are still. I'd never been with anyone till you that was that tight," he whispers, kissing up your jaw line, massaging your ass. "You're not quite as tight as when we first got together, though when I came home that first time you were. But now it's like…"
"I was made for you, you just fit snugly into me?" you interrupt, and he nods in response, making you capture his lips again, sucking hard on his tongue. "Can I be on top?" you ask, ripping your lips off his, just as he's beginning to thrust into you.
"Yeah, you never have to ask if you want to be on top. I love it when you take charge. I'm your very willing slave," he laughs, carefully pulling out, causing you to gasp from the over stimulation to your nerve endings, situating himself at the head of the bed, letting you crawl up him on your knees. When you're positioned above him, he parts your folds and guides himself home, causing your eyes to roll back in your head from the sensation.
You settle on him for a moment, his hands going to your breast and ass, running one thumb over your nipple, scraping with a fingernail, pulling you forward with one hand, grinding his groin into your clit, and then you start to slowly rock on him.
"I love this, it's the best part of you being on top, the rocking," he puffs out, letting you settle your hands on his shoulders, setting a slow pace. "I also love that your breasts are right at the same level as my mouth," he mumbles, reaching out to capture a nipple, sucking hard.
"You know what I like best?" you moan, the stimulation on your nipple from his mouth and center from his cock and groin making your head fuzzy. "I love that I can see us," you gasp, pulling back to where both of you can see where your bodies meet.
"You love that?" he questions softly, watching with you now.
"Yeah, I do," you nod, continuing to rock against him. "I love that it's you inside me, I love being able to watch you invading my body, and I love how your cock is all wet and glistening from me," you pant. Both of you look down where your bodies intersect, causing you to hit your head into his, making you both laugh.
"God, that feels good, the way you're laughing makes you clamp around me," he moans. "I love this," he says, reaching to take your hand and pull it around to your belly, drawing it down, pressing your fingers against your skin so you can feel him hard inside you. "That's me," he mumbles, and you caress his hardness through your skin, fascinated by being able to feel him on both the inside and outside.
"Logan," you whisper, pulling his earlobe into your mouth. "As much as I'm very much enjoying this adult version of My Favorite Things, I really want to cum now."
"Okay," he nods, leaning forward to attach his mouth to a nipple, sucking hard and drawing it between his teeth, and rubbing the other in his hand, pinching down hard, making you gasp and throw your head back. He reaches between your legs to rub your clit between his fingers, moving his hand from your breast to your hip to grind your groin into his. "Come on," he groans.
"I'm trying," you whimper, pulling his face up to meet your lips in an urgent kiss, sucking on his tongue hard, feeling your release building. "I…" you moan as you feel your body start to quiver, your orgasm coming, causing you to clamp down hard on his cock. Your release vibrates through your body, every nerve ending standing at alert, your head light, and the bliss makes you moan his name over and over as you hear him grunt your name into your ear, feeling him spill into you.
"I love this," you smile at him, breathing hard.
"I do too," he agrees softly, smiling in return, gathering your body into his, reaching behind you for the blanket and drawing it over your shoulders cocooning you both inside. "I think it's what I love the most, the familiarity. I never expected to love it like I do. I thought variety was the spice of life, never realizing that fully satisfying one person is far more fun and gratifying than all the diversity on the planet.
"I think your dad might even enjoy our version of My Favorite Things," you giggle in his ear after a few minutes.
"Do not mention my father when I'm inside you, ever! Very verboten," he pants out.
"I think that's at least partial payback for making me play this game with you in my childhood bed."
"Did I tell you yet that you've never been more beautiful than you are today?" Logan whispers into your hair.
"Isn't every bride supposed to be her most beautiful on her wedding day?" you smile back at him, reaching up to give him a peck.
"I have something for you," he says softly, with a note of what you translate as nervousness in his voice. "It's been burning a hole in my pocket all day, but I realized when we decided to spend our wedding night at home that this is where I should give it to you. Come here," he wraps up, pulling you to the bench across the front of your apartment, sitting at the windows overlooking the park. "This is for you," he says, handing you a slim envelope.
"Logan, you already got me…" you stammer.
"I know, but those were for the sake of giving you something pretty to wear today. This is different," he murmurs, pulling you back into the safety of his chest, encircling you in his arms.
You open the envelope to find legal papers. It takes you a few moments to realize exactly what he's given you. "Logan," you breathe.
"It's a good thing we waited for the May after you graduated to get married, otherwise I never would have gotten them to agree to sell it to me in time. It took a while to find the corporation that had bought it, and then convincing them to sell it to me took forever," he laughs.
"But…it's…how…I…" you stutter, not knowing what to say.
"I know that place means a lot to you, and I wanted you to have it if you want it," he explains, fingering the papers. "I'm going to offer the main property to your mom, and she can either just run it or I'll give her a deal she can't resist and she can begin amassing her empire. But the little potting shed…it's yours."
"Logan," you breathe, stunned by his thoughtful generosity, tears starting to leak out the sides of your eyes, "I don't know what to say, this…it means…"
"You don't have to say anything - the look on your face is enough… and the tears - I'm not supposed to make you cry, not in that way, on our wedding night," he laughs quietly.
"They're happy tears," you laugh, wiping furiously at your eyes.
"But I wanted you to know, always, but today of all days, just how much I love you, the whole you. I couldn't think of a better way of showing you than giving you this," he says in a low voice. "And I thought this was the perfect place to give it to you, here where we're starting our life together."
You're quiet for a moment, overwhelmed by his gesture, unknowing how exactly to tell him how much this means to you when you look across and see people at the out-of -season skating rink.
"Do you see them?" you ask softly.
"Who?" he replies, he's the one confused now.
"The blonde man with two pairs of ice skates slung over his shoulder. He's holding the mitten-clad hand of that little girl in his glove-covered one. She's about five, with brown hair woven into French braids that stick out of that adorable cap with ears on it, and they're waiting for the light to turn," you explain.
"It's the wrong time of year for skating, Ace," he chuckles.
"Doesn't matter, I still see them," you reply, letting your head fall back on his shoulder.
"I do too," he murmurs before kissing your clavicle.
"I love you, Logan," you sigh, moving your head to allow him more access to your neck. He follows your lead, kissing across your clavicle to find your pulse point at the base of your neck, sucking softly.
"I know," he mumbles, kissing up your neck to pull your earlobe between his teeth, nibbling. "I love you, too."
"That vision, it's going to happen," you moan, before coherent thought becomes impossible.
"I know."
FIN