A/N: This is the last real chapter. The next one is an epilogue and is similar to this one, giving a peek into their lives. Thank you for the great reviews and I hope you enjoy this latest installment. Sorry it took so long.

The title for this chapter is taken from the song of the same name by Feist.

"I want to sex you up," she sings as she finishes her pastry, sneaking a glance at him. She waits for his quizzical look which will turn into an exasperated sigh and he'll say under his breath, 'Not in the diner, Lorelai,' to which she'll reply, 'Where then, the office?' and his ears will turn a nice shade of grapefruit at the very appealing thought.

He does give her a quizzical look, but instead of sighing he laughs, a deep, rumbling laugh that carries her, quite unexpectedly, along with him.

People in the diner, especially those not accustomed to him emitting a noise other than a grunt or a snarl or, on a Sunday when the breeze is slightly easterly and the sun isn't too high in the sky yet, a faint chuckle, are in awe, so much so that they forget that food goes into the mouth and not the nose or chin.

"What? Why are you laughing? You're scaring people," she says, her laughter still in her eyes.

"'I want to sex you up'? All I could see was you in fluorescent purple balloon pants and a big silk safari shirt doing some weird hustle dance," he replies, grinning as he wipes down the counter.

"So you don't want me to sex you up while wearing bright purple pants and a huge silk shirt and doing a hustle dance?" she pouts, blinking rapidly.

He stops wiping and leans over, kissing the pout from her lips.

"Babe," he says when he pulls away, "whatever floats your boat."

She smiles and wipes her lip-gloss from his mouth. He reaches behind him for her to-go cup of coffee and a bag of donuts and hands it to her and she gives him a quick peck before getting up to leave.

She's almost to the door when she turns back like a thought suddenly popping into one's mind.

"Hey, are we taking the truck or do we want to treat April to a Bourne-esque car chase via my jeep and excellent motor vehicular handling?"

He finishes cashing out a customer before replying, "Well, sure, when you put it that way. Connecticut hasn't had a high speed chase like that in quite a while."

"I try to please, although there is a problem."

He nods, handing orders to a new waiter. "And what would that problem be, besides traumatizing my daughter not to mention terrifying other drivers?"

She sets her coffee cup on the counter, shaking her head. "No Russians. I have no Russians. Where can I find Russians? And no Luke, not in Russia."

"It's okay, I'll provide the Russians. And yes Lorelai, they will resemble the guy from Sex and the City but younger and they will be dressed in black and drive BMWs. Now go to work," he says patiently and she grins, sighing happily.

"I truly do adore you."

"Of course you do, I'm bringing the Russians," he smiles.

She rolls her eyes and leaves, waving back at him before she steps off the curb.

He watches her until he can't see her anymore and breathes deeply, still smelling her perfume.

He makes sure everything is fine in the front and the back before heading up to his apartment, well, what used to be his apartment.

Pushing the door open, he steps inside slowly, taking in the bare walls and gleaming wood floor. A few left over boxes are stocked in a corner and he goes over and kneels, taking down a couple of boxes until he reaches the one he wants. It's a medium sized box, but it is deep and it looks heavy, heavier than he remembered.

He picks it up and sets it on the last piece of remaining furniture, the kitchen table. Opening it, he rummages around, wondering why he even needs to rummage-what he's looking for isn't small.

He takes out her toothbrush, a blue sundress she left one night, David Bowie and U2 CDs, her shampoo, a towel he bought just for her, the spatula she melted while making a triple chocolate cake, the pan she burned while baking said cake, her hairbrush and a Ziploc bag of her clips and pins he found scattered throughout his apartment, a folder full of her notes and letters of apology and cards, a bottle of her perfume, the Star Trek collector's set of movies she bought as a random gift for him, a couple of pictures of the two them doing ordinary things (he stops for a while and looks through them, amazed at how a simple shot of the two of them sitting on the couch or him trying to teach her how to use a whisk or her shaving his face could be so powerful), a pair of earrings, her favorite flannel, the black belt with the classic silver buckle, the ring box, and…

He takes a second to look at the table with all her things laid on the table and reaches his hand in the box, lifting out what he was looking for.

His blue hat is a little crushed so he shakes it out until it resembles a hat and he takes off his black cap and puts it on top of her favorite flannel. He hasn't thought about old blue for a long time and now that things are moving forward and he's finally at a better place, his mind wandered back to the hat when they were lying in their bed. She had reached over and took his hat off the chair and put it on her head, backwards, of course, and mimed him and all he could think about was that it was the wrong color and the wrong fit.

He turns it in his hands, wondering if it'll still fit him, if he's changed too much for he hat. Of course it'll still fit. Your head hasn't gotten bigger idiot. And besides, it's one size fits all Luke. That hasn't changed.

He releases a quick breath and puts it on, nestling it on his head the way he did a thousand times before. He packs her things back in the box and places it back, reminding himself to load the last boxes in the truck before they go to pick up April. He picks up the black hat and carries it downstairs, placing it beneath the counter.

The day passes by quickly and he closes the diner early. He brings the truck to the front of the diner and loads the boxes and then goes back in to get her coffee and his jacket. When he hears the chimes of the bell and her heels hitting the linoleum floor, he comes out from the back.

"Hey hon. Are you…" she breaks off in mid sentence, staring at his head.

He keeps his grin to himself and comes up to her, his amusement growing as her eyes stay glued to his head even while he hands her the coffee.

"Lorelai," he says importantly, "we really should get going. Gawking at my head won't get us anywhere."

"I'm not gawking at your head. I'm gawking at what's on it. Blue, or bluesy, as I like to call him when I'm in the shower. Bluesy," she says softly and she finally looks at him, one of her unreadable looks on her face, but he can tell it's a good unreadable look.

"Come on," he says, leading her out of the diner.

They are settled in the truck and heading out of Stars Hollow when she turns to him and says, "I still have something that belongs to you and I don't know if I should keep it or if I-"

"Keep it. I was planning on getting you a new one, anyway," he says, already knowing what she was referring to the second she said 'something'.

She doesn't say anything for several minutes and he sneaks a glance at her. Her light blue gaze is on him, assessing him in that serious way she has recently perfected.

"It's weird that I didn't notice how much I missed him until I saw ole blue. And I'm glad, I'm glad that I'm seeing him again, I'm glad that…that I'm getting a new something. I'm just glad."

He gives her a knowing smile and her hand a squeeze.

"Me too."

Normally, he would feel awkward when Lorelai's particular brand of oddness rears its head, but he is too preoccupied with trying to pick out April's brown head out of the crowd to focus on the fact that she is waving a heavily glittered, feathered, painted-in-sea-colors placard with 'April' splashed across in bubble letters.

In any other situation, the prospect of glitter and himself in close proximity, especially if this proximity ends in contact with his bodily person, would have him growling and glaring, but he is too nervous to notice the rain of glitter falling on him.

Soon, April will be walking towards them and then she will really be here. Will she be taller? Will she have a tan? Will she be cold? He should have brought a jacket and a scarf, just in case.

He checks his watch. Her plane landed thirty minutes ago. He checks the running board of flight information. Flight 56 Albuquerque to Hartford: on time.

He shuffles his feet anxiously and peers above the crowd, the knots in his stomach turning into a cheese press.

"Do you see her?" Lorelai asks, jumping up.

"No. Do you?"

"No."

He sighs and looks to her, worried.

She sets down the placard quickly and puts a reassuring arm around his waist. "She's coming. She probably has a lot of luggage. You know, rocks that have been polished, cases of water samples that need to be compared and tested, multitudes of presents for me and you and Rory and more for me. It could be that the model UFO and piece of fence from Area 51 had to be boxed and it's taking some time to unload from the plane."

He nods. "That could be the case. Although I'm skeptical about the UFO and the fence."

She rolls her eyes. "You don't believe me? Wait until I whip that fence out and me and April go over how she did it. She could very well be the next mastermind, criminal or not."

"You really love to give me little heart attacks, don't you?"

She gives him a quick kiss. "Of course. It keeps me younger."

He shakes his head and picks up her placard. "Resume your waving, crazy."

She takes it, slanting her eyes at him, and begins again, showering him with glitter.

Five minutes go by and his neck is hurting from straining when he sees a hand shoot up and move from side to side frantically.

"Dad! Lorelai!"

As soon as he hears her she breaks through a group of people, pulling a luggage trolley behind her. She lets it go and walks quickly to him, throwing her arms around his middle and hugging him tightly.

He hugs her back, relieved that she's here safely and happy that she's here and he's hugging her.

"I missed you Dad. I really did," she says, looking up at him, her brown eyes shining behind her glasses.

"I probably missed you more," he says and lightly tugs on her hair, which is straight and out from her usual ponytail, cascading past her shoulders.

He sets her away and looks her over. She is dressed in jeans, a tan pea coat, fingerless gloves, and a thick scarf that he pulls down a little from her face. Her glasses are new and she looks like the daughter he sent to New Mexico except her hair is done differently and she's wearing lip-gloss.

"See? No gaping holes, no missing pieces. I'm all here and accounted for," she says and moves away from him with a smile and hugs Lorelai, who still acts a bit surprised every time April shows her affection.

"I saw your placard and I felt so special. Thank you Lorelai," April comments as she steps back. Lorelai smiles, giving her a modest shrug.

"Oh, well, I made sure to use two bottles of glitter so that you could see it from a mile away. Did you see it from a mile away?"

April nods. "Oh, yeah, I saw it from the runway. In fact, I saw Dad getting a glitter shower-I shuddered for you Dad."

He grins and Lorelai shakes her head. "Shuddering over glitter? The both of you-eerie. "

"You're one to talk about eerie, the way you and Rory are basically two halves of a whole," he says, getting April's trolley and pulling it over to their little group.

"But I'm the better half, right?" she asks jokingly and April picks up the placard and the bag that was resting next to Lorelai's feet.

"Oooh, what's this?" she asks as she picks through the bag.

"Food that Lorelai insisted you must have as soon as you were in our presence," he replies dryly as they walk out the airport.

April takes out something that's wrapped in wax paper. "Tacos?"

"See Luke," she puts an arm around April and gives him a mournful look, "they have no tacos in New Mexico. She's been starved of the wonderful sustenance gleaned from a hard taco shell and meat filling. No tomatoes and lettuce and cheese hanging out with ground beef tossed with Pedro's secret spices. Look at her face," she puts a hand on April's cheek.

April looks at him mournfully, easily fitting into Lorelai's little play.

"No tacos, Dad," she whispers and he manages to keep a straight face.

"No tacos, Luke, taco-less. And fajita-less too, right April?"

She nods and looks through the bag, pulling out what must be a fajita.

"Oooh, fajita," April says, mystified.

Coupled with their mock-sad faces and April's mystified voice he can't help but chuckle.

"Okay, re-acquaint yourselves with the wonderful world of tacos while I get the truck," he says and they wave to him as he jogs to the parking garage.

When he's out of sight, April turns around and fixes Lorelai with her investigator look. Lorelai's only been privy to this look once before, when they told her they were together again and she asked to talk to Lorelai alone for a moment. And when that moment ended, Lorelai knew that Luke had a terrier in the form of his daughter.

Now that it has shown itself again, Lorelai is nervous. April did seem to like her, really like her. Was that all for her father's benefit? God, she does not want to be the wicked stepmother here.

"Dad told me that he moved out of the apartment. I asked him if he was living with you now and he acted coy. Why would he act coy?"

Lorelai mentally releases a relieved sigh. "Oh, well, it's a surprise. One that will be revealed to you in an hour or so. In the form of a structure. Where there's a yard. And a garden that yields real vegetables."

April doesn't say anything, but she can see the excitement bubbling up in her face. "A structure, huh, and a real garden?"

Lorelai nods and unwraps a taco, holding it to April's face. "Now eat because I haven't found a way to steel myself against your Bobby Goran stare yet and I've already revealed much more than I should've."

April smiles happily and takes a huge bite out of the taco.

"Whoa," she exclaims as she chews, "this is good. I might have to change my mandate on Mexican food."

When he comes back with the truck they load April's luggage and help him cover it with tarp, then they hit the road, talking about random things and eating tacos and fajitas-well Lorelai and April partake in the taco-fajita smorgasbord while he lectures them about the dangers of meat mixed with processed cheese.

They arrive in Stars Hollow and he rolls down his window so April can smell 'Hollow air'.

They pass the diner and Miss Patty's dance studio and he can see that April is waiting for something, as though she knows it's coming, but she doesn't want him to know. He looks to Lorelai and she just smiles.

When they pass Lorelai's house, April's face turns from false surprise to genuine confusion. She turns around and watches as the house becomes smaller and casts a quizzical look towards Lorelai, who has her head turned away purposefully as to not give anything away and then she turns to him, her brow creased.

"You passed Lorelai's house."

"Yep," he responds, trying not to grin.

"Why did you pass Lorelai's house?"

"Because that's not Lorelai's house anymore."

She gasps and turns to Lorelai, who shrugs.

"What happened? Eminent domain?" April asks the two of them, concerned.

"Unless Lane, Zach, and the twins are governmental henchpeople, then no," Lorelai says mildly and April gasps again.

"Lane and Zach? They live in your house? I mean, they, uh, they live there now? Really?"

"Yeah, Lorelai rented the house out to them," he responds and turns onto a street April's never seen, with houses tucked behind tall trees heavy with foliage.

April watches silently as they pull up on to a short gravel road and park in front of a house a little bigger than Lorelai's.

He turns off the engine and leans back, looking down at April's turned head. Lorelai is looking at her too, and the both of them appear to be anxious.

"Well," he says at last, "what do you think?"

April doesn't say anything, but motions to Lorelai that she would like to get out. Lorelai opens the door and they step out of the truck. He comes around from the driver's side and watches as April walks up to the front steps and looks up at the house.

The house itself is what can be best described as a moderately bigger version of Lorelai's house painted cream with grayish blue trim. The paneled door is a cayenne red with a bright brass mail slot, handle, and peephole. There are more French windows than the other house and a few of them have sills, where planters are sitting. She can see curtains with bright colors and patterns hanging from each window, each one of them saying that Lorelai Gilmore lives here.

She looks away from the house and at the yard, which they had a lot of. The ground is lightly covered with burned reds and golds and oranges and over in a corner near the garage is a pile of leaves with two rakes resting beside it. Two rakes? Lorelai was raking? She probably thought it was a tool one could use to play Shuffle.

Different varieties of trees dot the premises, maples, and hawthorns, even a yellow buckeye here and there. They are all in the process of turning and the world looks like it is caught in a blaze, especially as the day turns to dusk.

She turns back to Lorelai and her Dad and they are standing together, leaning against the truck, watching her expectantly.

"I love it," April says, sincere.

They unload April's luggage and trudge into the house. The foyer already feels cluttered with things, from Bert to two coat racks and a tall bucket full of umbrellas, brooms, and, oddly, fabric swaths.

"Okay, get ready for the tour," Lorelai says, putting a hand out to stop them from entering the living room.

"I already know what the house looks like," he says, making a move to walk around her, but she wags her finger at him.

"Yes, you do know what the house looks like, but not from my POV, so," she pushes him back besides April, "stand up, relax, and let Tour Guide Lorelai do her job."

He sighs and tries to looks moderately interested.

"Okay, hello there and welcome to the home formerly known as a house! If you'll follow me," she says in her best Vanna White voice.

They move into the living room, which is a mish mash of furniture and looks like it's in the process of a design implosion. The only sense of agreement seems to be on the color of the room, which is a super light cappuccino color.

"As you can see, the current owners of HFKAAH are having a tug-of-war over what the room where living happens should look like. Personally, I prefer to have couches and pillows and rugs and monkey lamps and potpourri hanging from the walls, but whatever."

"She wants it to look like Arabian Nights in here," he whispers to April and she looks up at him, partly horrified.

"And what do you want it to look like?" she asks.

"A hunting lodge in Minnesota named the Rustic Salmon," Lorelai answers in a sweet voice and he narrows his eyes.

"Okay, so I wanted a log type structure in the living room-"

"You want a log type fireplace and rustic cabinets so rustic that whatever inhabits rustic would inhabit the cabinets."

"It's better than having some Victorian era fireplace with wood nymphs carved into the wood. Wood nymphs! With harps and flutes and frolicking. Who wants to see frolicking on a fireplace?"

April raises her hand and Lorelai laughs in triumph.

"Ha! Two to one, bucko. And I haven't even told Rory yet, so, frolicking wood nymphs it is."

"Actually," she says, "I wanted to comment on the entertainment set up. Wow."

On the walls is an assortment of custom made espresso colored cube and angled shelves displaying DVDs, VHS tapes, CDs and a set of speakers. The entertainment unit, also the same color of the shelves, is modern, with a medium sized flat screen HDTV/DVD combo concealed in a hutch and a sleek stereo system displayed through glass doors.

"Oh, well, thank you, April. Your Dad actually did all of that," Lorelai says, proud, and they watch as he ducks his head, modest.

"No big deal. Lorelai gave me ten rough sketches of what it should resemble, so I could never really go wrong."

"Awww, he's so cute when he blushes," Lorelai coos and April bites back a laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, let's move on Tour Guide Lorelai. At the rate we're going, it'll be Sunday and we'll be writing odes to the tile," he grumbles.

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea. Ode to Spackle. How you make me cackle. Especially when we tackle…something, okay, nevermind, let's go on and ponder the mysteries of our three, yes three, eating places," Lorelai rambles, leading them to the completed dining room.

"This is a Lorelai Gilmore Almost Danes production. Notice the sea green paneled wall to my right, your left. Do you feel a slight tropical breeze with a hint of coconut and a fruity drink?"

She waits for them to nod and April nudges him until he does.

"Good. The dining table, although it doesn't look it, is an octagon table, meaning it can hold eight people. It's a nice dead banana leaf color ("Dead banana leaf?" April asks softly and he shakes his head and shrugs) and there is an extra table on the wall adjacent to the tropical one, which is we like to call 'Mini Survivor Island'."

She makes further remarks on the daffodil color of the remaining walls and they move into the kitchen, which is massive and bright, despite the beige painted walls. It reminds April of a country kitchen, clean and white.

"Um, okay, there's the refrigerator, which Paula Dean stocked herself," she points to a big white fridge with a bottom freezer, "there's uh, the stove, where his Lordship of the Good Stuff works his magic, the sink, cabinets, something my mother has in her kitchen- the second eating area, more cabinets, a pantry, which requires a more in depth examination later on, preferably before our all eighties movie marathon tonight, a quarto-table with pretty smelling flowers in the middle-the third eating area, and a door leading to the butcher house. Okay, come along," she says quickly, already leaving the kitchen.

"Wait, wait, wait," he calls and Lorelai slowly reappears, dragging her feet.

"Please don't do this to the kid, Luke. Really. It's an oven. You cook ravioli using the burners. Yes, great, let's continue."

He rolls his eyes and goes to the stove. "This is not just an oven, Lorelai, April. This is a Jenn-Air manual clean gas range with dual ovens. Dual ovens."

"Oh God," Lorelai sighs and takes a seat at the quarto-table, pulling out a chair and patting the seat for April.

"You might as well sit. This is Luke's section of the tour. Get ready to mourn fifteen minutes of your life," she states lowly as April takes a seat, clearly enjoying herself.

"Using this range," he continues, "I will be making Thanksgiving Dinner for twenty people. Twenty people who will be expecting turkey and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole and gravy and cranberry sauce, not from the can, mind you, because that stuff can be shipped into space, worm holed, black holed, teleported back to Earth and still taste like cranberry."

He moves to the island and runs a hand over the wood top. "This is a multi-level island with glass doors so while I'm making chicken cacciatore and one of you guys want to use red plates, which we have, by the way, you don't have to search for the red plates, they're there, staring at you from the multi-level island."

Lorelai gets up and takes him by the arm, beckoning April to follow her.

"Okay, that's enough. Let's get your father out of here before he starts in on the cabinets. You push, I pull." Lorelai says over his sputtering.

They manage to leave the kitchen without too much of a struggle and are in a sunny hall, painted the same dominant color of the dining room. On the walls are pictures and framed articles and awards.

"Rory came down and put up what pictures you see so far. She was too shy and Rory-like to hang the articles and certificates and Luke just got some of your awards from school, so if you see any certificates in a thousand year old frames, blame him," Lorelai whispers and April smiles, looking at every frame.

There are pictures of Lorelai and Rory in the diner, some with Luke, others without him, but she knows he's in the background. There are some with Rory and Lorelai around their house, eating and laughing. There are pictures from both of Rory's graduations, from her first day of school as a toddler to her Chilton days. There are a few pictures of Lorelai at the inn, with Sookie and Michel, the three of them arguing or grinning. There's some of her father when he was younger, with his family and in high school (she stands in front of these photos for a long time, examining how her grandfather and grandmother looked and trying to see herself in them-she has her grandfather's eyes, he tells her). There are a few of Jess, when he was a kid and at Truncheon, with her, her Dad, and Rory. There are pictures of her, from when she was small, splashing in the bathtub, playing in the snow and the rain and the dirt, getting her first pair of glasses, to when she first met her Dad (they laugh together at what is now dubbed the 'What?!' picture) and the times she spent in his diner, the birthday party, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Interspersed throughout all these frames are those of her father and Lorelai, most of the pictures in black and white. They aren't posing for any of the pictures. Either they are looking at something together, smiling or serious or she's obviously saying something that he finds utterly ridiculous, or they are looking at each other. She likes the ones where they are looking at each other. Whether they are grinning or not, she can see the power of each gaze, how strong their feelings are, how unbreakable this bond can be.

She looks at them and they are looking at the photos, Lorelai's arm wrapped around his. She points to something and he chuckles to himself. She is glad they are together again, happy that the diminished hope behind her father's eyes has disappeared and there's belief in them again. He seems totally at home and at peace and that plants a little seed of what it is to be in love in her and one day, when she is grown and her own love shines through her eyes like it does through her father's, she'll recognize where it comes from and why.

Lorelai finishes the tour of the rest of the ground floor and they go up the polished dark cherry wood staircase to the second floor, which smells like fresh paint and brown sugar.

"What's that smell?" April asks, sniffing the air.

They stop on the landing and Lorelai sniffs the air along with April.

"Smell?"

"Yeah, that sugary smell. Are there cookies somewhere or am I in a Splenda commercial? Whatever it is, it smells good."

"Oh, the trees," Lorelai realizes, turning to look at him, and he nods, totally not understanding what's going on.

"The trees?" April questions.

"Yeah, come on, I'll show you," Lorelai says, beckoning her to follow. They go to the landing, which has been outfitted with the well-worn couch from Lorelai's house and his armchair from the apartment. Lorelai brushes aside a lacy curtain and opens the already opened window a little wider. The view leads directly to semi-circle of trees surrounding a lone bench.

"The sugary smell comes from those trees, what are they called? Kimchi, Kenshi, Katsi…Luke, help me out here."

He sticks his head in between them. "Katsura. How do you get Kimchi from Katsura?" he asks, shaking his head. Lorelai ignores him and turns to April.

"During the fall, they emit this brown sugar smell. I named it the 'sweet spot' or 'Land of Sugary Death', Rory prefers to go with the generic 'Reading Trees', Luke just grumbles, and you have to go down there sometime so you can name it." She smiles at her and breathes in deeply.

"Hmmm, today they smell especially sugary."

"I didn't know you knew so much about plants, Lorelai," April says, impressed.

"Well, kid, I'm a veritable fountain of knowledge. Come on, the best part of the tour is this way."

They move away from the landing and go to a door opposite and a couple of feet over from the landing. All three of them stand in front of a plain white door with a silver handle, silent.

"Well, this is cool. Nice shade of white," April comments, looking up at Lorelai and her Dad.

That seems to snap them out of their trance and he scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Lorelai then down at her.

"Are you too old to close your eyes?"

She breaks out in a huge grin and puts her hands in front of her glasses. "Never to old to be surprised," she responds.

"Okay, then," he says with a grin and opens the door, Lorelai leading April inside the room by the shoulders.

"April, welcome to your semi-private second humble abode," Lorelai states and April uncovers her eyes.

She doesn't get to really see anything because Paul Anka jumps up into her arms and his furry face is nose to nose with hers.

"Paul Anka!" she exclaims and hugs the dog, rubbing his shaggy coat. Paul Anka lets out a short bark and April rubs his snout, as in their custom of greeting.

"He's been in here all week. Luke had to wait until Paul Anka comes to the door to give him his food and walk him," Lorelai says as she watches them greet.

"I did not wait," he says, raising an eyebrow.

April sets Paul Anka down and rubs his ears. "I see he's been using that citrus shampoo I sent for him."

"You sent that stuff? That foamy, bubble bath stuff especially made for a dog's 'sensitive' skin? You?" he asks her, incredulous.

"Yeah, Dad," she answers in a 'duh' tone, "Paul Anka does have sensitive skin and he likes foam. And things that smell like oranges. Don't you, Paul Anka?" she finishes in a cutsie voice, rubbing his face.

Paul Anka barks again and turns his face away from her and to the window and April takes a look around her room for the first time and can honestly say she is perfectly surprised.

It is bare except for a bed parallel to the window. It looks like her old bed from the apartment, but it's bigger and higher and her purple and deep pink pillows are fluffier.

"Wow," she says, unable to say anything else.

"You looked shocked," he says with mock concern.

"No, I'm just…wow. It's really big. And the wood floor is really woody. And the walls are really white. And, yeah."

"We read somewhere that ultra modern is in. You know, bare walls, hard floors, 2001 Space Odyssey-esque. Do you like it?" Lorelai asks, trying her best not to give herself away.

April nods at them and walks over to the hard window seat and is about to sit when she notices a large manila envelope propped up against the side. She takes it and examines the aside. Her name is written at the top, in her father's tight handwriting.

"What's this?" she inquires as she weighs the envelope in her hand. It is bulky and heavy.

"Open it and see," he says and watches as she undoes the clasp and looks inside. Her face goes from curious to excited to 'Oh my gosh!' in three seconds flat and the next thing he knows, he's being hugged and Lorelai is being hugged and she's talking a mile a minute about where she wants this and what color the room should be and that she prefers bamboo blinds to curtains.

April and Lorelai start in on what theme would be appropriate and one she won't hate in two years and they dump the envelope on the bed and hop up, Paul Anka nestled next to April.

"I'll let you two get to it then," he says, but they are hotly debating on what color looks better with April's new tan, so he leaves them, grinning.

He is in the living room, watching Bobby Flay and mentally berating the man for butchering a perfectly good piece of tuna when Lorelai drops to his side, her head falling to his shoulder like a magnet.

His arm comes around her and his hand rubs her hipbone.

"Where's April?" he asks, not hearing any noise from upstairs.

"Poor kid passed out an hour ago and is probably dreaming of cerulean blue sheep outlined in marigold," she answers with a yawn.

"Where were you then?"

"I was hooking up her Internet and ordering some of the stuff she wanted. And then I got caught up in mooning over the shoe selection at Niemen Marcus."

He nods. "Well, are you hungry?"

She turns her head and kisses the underside of his chin. "Because you made pancakes?" she asks teasingly and he smiles.

"Yeah, right."

They get up and go into the kitchen and she takes a seat by the island while he looks through the fridge, taking out sandwich stuff.

She rests her head in her hand and watches him go to the freezer and take out a bag of fries and pre-heat the oven, then put the fries on a sheet and into the oven.

"What do you want? Chicken, roast beef?" he asks as he puts his head in the fridge again.

"Lamb chops? Breaded? Maybe a 24 oz. steak?" she responds and her eyes twinkle when his head comes back up to give her a look.

"All right, all right, chicken. And I want a chicken sandwich, not a sandwich chicken."

"A what?" he questions with a strange look.

"A sandwich chicken. You never heard of it?"

When he shakes his head, she sighs. "Of course, it has to be me, the last person in the world who should be allowed near a spatula, to teach the chef what a sandwich chicken is. What a pair we make."

"We do make quite a pair," he says as he slices leftover chicken breasts.

At his words, she feels suddenly like everything is in place. They do make quite a pair. They compliment each other totally and perfectly and right now, watching him with his tussled short hair, wearing his black flannel and worn jeans, attentively placing chicken on sliced bread while her soon-to-be-daughter sleeps upstairs in a heap of paint swatches and fabric cut-outs-she can't imagine her life any other way than this moment, when she's with him and in his life. She is again astounded by the amount of love she has for him, at the stirring of emotions that throw her whenever she sits down to think about the two of them, then the four of them, then maybe more of them.

"Should I propose to you or should you propose to me?" she asks, the thought popping out of her mouth before she can filter it.

He stops midway through slicing the bread in half. He waits for some quippy comment, but none comes. He runs the knife straight through in one quick stroke and sets it down, turning to face her, meeting her serious blue stare.

"I don't know. I really don't know."

They look at each other and she gets up, coming around the island to stand in front of him, her hands clasped against her thighs.

"I know I'm going to be Mrs. Backwards Baseball Cap Danes. I know that you're going to be Mr. Junkie Four Stomachs Gilmore. I know, but we haven't talked about it. We haven't said out loud that we're getting married in February under the chuppah and that we'll be having lobster and that the wedding cake is chocolate coffee cake with white chocolate sauce. When are we going to say it out loud?" she whispers, staring at him intently.

He stares back at her, trying to formulate the words.

Just then, the buzzer on the oven goes off. He makes a move to tend to it, but she is there first, taking a dishtowel and pulling out the fries, setting the sheet on top of the burners. She goes back to standing in front of him and he is once again under her intense stare.

Shit, I'm in deep shit. Yeah, no disagreement there. What should I say? What should I do? Get down on bended knee? The bended knee thing-not such a great idea, especially since it'll look like you're just doing it to do it and that's not what you want to do, is it? No, but I have to say something. She wants it to be out there, in the air. And so do I. Then open your mouth and say SOMETHING.

"We should serve pecan praline ice cream with the chocolate coffee cake. And we shouldn't get married in the winter. You are a spring person-I want to see you in cream in the spring. Oh, and we will be having lobster, you can tell Sookie since I know she's the BFOB, BFTBO, BFTOB whatever. I'll even succumb to Emily throwing us an engagement party," he rambles and is relieved to see her grin.

"You like ice cream?" she asks.

He lifts a shoulder. "I do indulge in sugar and cream now and again."

"I'm a spring person?"

"You remind me of spring. The way you smell, the clothes you wear, everything. I feel renewed every time I'm around you."

He takes her hand and rubs the skin between her thumb and forefinger, sending all thoughts from his mind and concentrating on how warm and heavy her hand in his is. This is their relationship-warm and heavy.

"I remember that morning when I stood before you, my truck packed and I told you that my life isn't real without you there, sharing it with me. No, don't pull back," he says when he feels her backing away. He looks up into her eyes and he can see her naked fear, her bewilderment at him for bringing up the painful past.

"Stand still and listen to me, because I'm making this real, I'm going to put us out there. So listen, okay?" he asks, his face and stance serious, his eyes similar to that glittering blue whenever he is upset.

She nods and he continues.

"I remember what I said and that it was true. And when I walked away from you and got into my truck, it was true. When I punched Christopher, it was true. When I told you that you were Lorelai Gilmore and I was just the guy who poured your coffee, it was still true. Every single time I had to wake up in the morning and you weren't there, it was true. And the pain went from a sharp stab to a dull ache to a faint constant throb. I thought I wouldn't make it through losing you. I didn't want to make it, but I had to. Just like you had to cope, I had to cope. I found relief in April and Liz and TJ and Doula and Lane and Zach and the twins. I even found it in Kirk, but if you tell anyone that, especially Kirk, I swear I will deny it to my last breath and I will insist you had gotten a hold of a peyote laced pop tart."

She smiles at that and squeezes his hand and he takes a deep breath. "But that didn't erase the truth-that without you there, my life wasn't real. What I feel for you, what I've always felt for you, is much more than love. It is going to bed with the absolute certainty that you'll be there when I wake up in the morning. It is the weight of your hand in mine and the warmth from your body; it is the taste of your mouth. It is looking at you and knowing that you have made such an impact on my life that without you in it, it will never be full."

Silent tears streak her face and he wipes them away.

"There are no words for this much more than love, but I love you. And I do want to be Mr. Junkie Four Stomachs Gilmore, so, let's get married in the spring and have pecan praline ice cream, okay?"

She brings their hands up to her mouth and kisses his knuckles, then kisses him, softly.

"Okay," she breathes against his mouth and he kisses her back passionately, rocking her so that she has to grab his flannel in order to hold on. She gives as good as she gets, so good, that he has to back up, bumping into the wooden cutting board and sending her chicken sandwich and the other fixings to the floor.

They break away at the resulting crash and stare at the mess. Lorelai starts to laugh and it's infectious. They bend down and start cleaning up, still laughing.

"I'll make you another sandwich," he says when everything's off the floor and their laughter has settled into their eyes.

"No, this is still good," she responds and bites into it, chewing it happily.

"Oh, I forgot, the two second rule," he realizes and goes to get her fries.

"Luke," she sets down her sandwich and reaches for him, wrapping her arms around his middle, "what you said, that was, it was beautiful. It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard and to think I was about to sock you in the mouth when you first started speaking."

He lifts a shoulder, his ingrained modesty evident in his eyes. "Well, good thing you didn't sock me or I would have had to say it with a bloody mouth."

She searches his face for a couple of seconds, a new kind of wonder in her gaze. "You have a penchant for words, my friend."

"Did they work?"

She nods emphatically. "Yeah, they definitely worked. But what do I say? How can I even-"

He stops her by kissing her lips. "You don't have to say anything. Just keep doing what you're doing. That's all I want."

She looks unconvinced and he has to grin, because words are Lorelai's lifeblood and he knows she doesn't like to be speechless.

"Okay," he leans over with her arms still around him and grabs a few French fries, "how about this: we write our own vows. And whenever you feel the urge to try something really," he waves the French fries around, searching for a word, "Elizabeth Browning, you can try it on me. Deal?" he finishes, holding the fries in front of her mouth.

She hems and haws and screws her eyes up and finally, she opens her mouth for the fries.

"Deal," she says after chewing and she puts her head on his shoulder and his hands rub themselves up and down her spine.

"Can I add another provision to our deal?" she whispers against his ear and he nods.

"Can you cry and blow your nose while I'm saying it?"

She can practically feel him rolling his eyes. "Not for Elizabeth Browning, no."

"Then who? Lord Bryon? T.S. Eliot?"

"No, not Bryon. Eliot, I can maybe get some moisture in my eye for."

"Nah, moisture ain't gonna cut it. I want you to be in the throes of emotion, I want Niagara. Someone has to elicit Niagara, Luke, besides me and Magnolia."

He snorts. "If anything, those were tears from the Vix you had to put under my eyes to make me watch that damn movie. I'd rather redo the Barbara Streisand marathon than watch one second of that movie again."

She pats a shoulder blade, "I can arrange that young Luke. What about Babs? Can she do the job?"

"No. And she's not a poet, no matter how many times you speak her songs, it's not poetry. No."

"Well, give me a name. Any name."

"Charles Bukowski."

She lifts her head off his shoulder a little. "Charles Bukowski?" she questions, skeptical.

He nods, defensive. "So? He was a visionary."

She drops her head back on his shoulder with a laugh. "I'll remember you said that when I recite 'You' for you. I'll make you breakfast afterwards."

He sighs, thinking. "Okay, okay. Pablo Neruda."

She grins. "So Pablo's the one that could really make that heart bleed, huh?"

"The one and only man, yes."

"Then I'll try to flavor my recitations with some Pablo Neruda."

She gives him a peck on his cheek and nuzzles her face in his neck, liking the feel of his stubble against her brow. He starts to rock them side-to-side and she feels her eyes drifting shut. Her whole world is warm and flannel-clad and smells like bleach and sweat and oat soap. She is inimitably happy that this is the case.

"Luke?" she asks drowsily and he rubs her neck.

"Yeah babe?"

"Can we have dinner for breakfast tomorrow?"

He decides against arguing with her since she's clearly tired. "Sure."

"Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"April put in a request for banana pancakes tomorrow, so don't give her any fries."

He chuckles. "Will do. Now let's get you up to bed."

He leads her to the stairs and he puts her ahead of him as they start to climb.

"Luke?"

"Yes Lorelai?"

"I'll tell you what a sandwich chicken is tomorrow."