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Written by: Avery
Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Gilmore Girls are properties of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions and Hofflund/Polone in association with Warner Bros. Television. No copyright infringement intended.
On their first date, she asked him if he remembered the first time they met, half hoping that he wouldn’t; or that he’d remember the second time instead, which was the encounter that she liked to recall when considering the beginning of their friendship. The story of their actual first meeting, though he told it with a tenderness that she had not quite expected, was funny, in its way, but it highlighted the aspects of both of their personalities that people on the fringes of their lives might consider defining traits: her caffeine addiction, his gruffness, her occasional self-absorption, his short fuse. It was the kind of portrait that an acquaintance might paint, a person who knew them in a vapid, superficial way. It’s not what Lorelai prefers to remember when she thinks about the first time she met Luke Danes.
Their second meeting was several weeks after the first, which was now reverently referred to as The Horoscope Morning, on a Tuesday afternoon that was only special in its complete ordinariness. She had taken a break from her new responsibilities as assistant manager at the inn to meet Rory when school let out, and the brightness of the afternoon combined with the look on Rory’s face, surprise mixed with pure delight, had made her decide to make the break a little longer. They agreed that it was the perfect day for Coke floats.
Being that they had neither Coke nor ice cream at home and the kitchen at the inn was no place to play hooky for one of it’s employees, Lorelai led the way to Luke’s, calming Rory’s fears of extravagance by promising her that they could afford a treat once in a while.
It was empty, in the middle of what Lorelai now knew as the 3:00 lull, when everyone had finished lunch and was busy at work or picking up their kids and taking them to soccer/ballet/tai chi practice, whatever the fashion was that year. Now, when she thinks of the 3:00 lull, she thinks of even longer breaks from the inn, the Dragonfly instead of the Independence: of cheeky smiles and meaningful glances, of heading upstairs to the apartment and waiting, knowing he’ll follow; of passionate kisses and of tumbling onto the bed, the couch, the floor; of holding onto him for dear life because he is there and real and hers, undeniable devoted to her, invested in this moment and every other, kissing her and holding her like she was something very special that might break and whispering all the right things in her ear because he loved her, he loved all of her, even the parts that she hid from the rest of the world because they made her appear weak and imperfect. But that particular Tuesday, the day of their second meeting, was impossibly, depressingly before those kinds of 3:00 lulls, back when a 3:00 lull was simply a 3:00 lull and held little promise to become anything else.
She remembered that she saw him through the window as they crossed the street and was startled to realize that he was much better looking than she had remembered. She observed in a casual, almost detached way that his face was unconventionally handsome, and he was clearly muscular and toned beneath a flannel plaid shirt that, somehow, seemed to work for him when it would have made anyone else look like a hick or a lumberjack. Almost detached: not completely, because the closer they got to the door, the more Lorelai found herself hoping that maybe he wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t recognize her as that blabbering, psychotic, unhinged woman from the week before. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she felt herself gearing up, her muscles tensing, a grin fixing itself on her face, in her full-on Good Impression mode.
“Sit anywhere,” he said without looking up when the jingled through the door. Lorelai looked at Rory to decide, who surveyed the layout seriously before heading for the counter. “I knew you’d pick the counter,” Lorelai teased. “You’re such a counter whore.”
“I like stools,” Rory had replied with a shrug. Luke had looked up at this point, and if he recognized Lorelai at all, he didn’t show it.
“Hi. You guys know what you want?”
“Coke floats, two, with bendy straws if you have them,” Lorelai said, giving him her best Aren’t We Cute and Quirky smile. Later, when Rory was in high school, she declared that Lorelai had a different smile for every occasion, and admitted to cataloging her mother’s smiles this way. Lorelai’s personal favorites of the names that Rory had given them were the “You’re About to Forget What You’re Angry About Because I’m So Charming” smile (a staple in the hospitality business), the “Pissed At Dad and Hiding it Badly” smile (she always thought she was hiding it well), and the “Oh, Was I Speeding? I’ve Been Bad, You Should Give Me A Ticket, But I’m So Attractive You Just Can’t Do It, Can You?” smile (no woman should ever be without it).
“You sure you don’t want root beer?” he asked.
“You out of Coke or something?”
“No. But root beer floats are more popular. Coke floats are kinda gross.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was Judgmental Café, where the counter guy not only takes the orders, but passes judgment on them as well!” she said teasingly, in the moment not knowing how true her assessment of him would prove to be.
He lifted his arms in a surrendering pose. “Fine, whatever you want.”
“Make mine an orange soda float,” Rory piped up. “Please,” she added.
“Oh, me too!” Lorelai said excitedly.
“No. That’s disgusting.”
Lorelai gasped. “Is not! It tastes like a creamsicle, like a dream made out of liquid.”
Rory giggled. “Dirty!” Lorelai laughed, and Luke might have blushed; she can’t remember for sure.
“Nice catch,” said Lorelai, almost knocking her off the stool when she nudged her playfully.
“I’m Rory,” Rory said abruptly, holding out her small hand to shake with Luke. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.”
“I’m Luke,” said Luke. “Nice to meet you. I guess you can have the disgusting drink, if you really want it.”
“You gave him the puppy eyes, didn’t you?” Lorelai asked knowingly. Rory giggled.
“May I please use your restroom?” she asked.
Luke pointed to the sign. “Right through there.”
“Thank you.” Rory hopped off the stool and headed to the bathroom, and Lorelai cocked her head to the side, studying Luke as he prepared their treats.
“That’s one polite kid,” he said.
Lorelai nodded. “Yes, it’s freakish. She’s like English royalty.”
“Babysitting?” he asked, and she laughed easily.
“Eternally. She’s mine,” Lorelai explained. She braced herself for the routine that would surely come next, the dance she had perfected in the last decade: the same kind of observation, along the lines of “You look so young!” , followed by an awkward silent moment of crunching the numbers, and then a swift conversation change by her to avoid further discomfort.
“Yours?”
“My kid. Daughter. I’m her mom.”
Luke rolled his eyes, which wasn’t part of the natural progression of things, but Lorelai didn’t dwell on it.
“I know what ‘she’s mine’ means,” Luke said. “I just didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Checking up on me?” she asked, unable to control the flirty way her voice came out, a reflex since the age of twelve.
He was a little flustered, she noticed. “No. Small town,” he said. “I’m just surprised I didn’t know.”
At this point, Lorelai was a little surprised, too, not because he didn’t know she had a daughter, but because he wasn’t reacting the way he was supposed to. He didn’t look surprised or confused, he wasn’t commenting on how young she was, and his eyes hadn’t, not even for a second, flickered with pity. Instead, he was looking at her straight on, like she was just another person.
“I should’ve seen it,” he continued. “She looks like you.”
“Just the eyes,” Lorelai said. “And we talk the same way, and have the same mannerisms. It makes people think we look more alike than we do, but really, it’s just the eyes.”
They locked eyes then, and he held the gaze a little more intently and for a little longer than was entirely appropriate. She now claims that he couldn’t hide his lust for her even then; he argues that he was only trying to get a good look so that he could compare when Rory returned. The truth, she knows, lies somewhere in between.
Rory came back and they drank orange soda floats, and they tasted cold and sweet and better than the best creamsicle she’d ever had. When it was time to go, Rory thanked him three times, and Lorelai echoed her once. He smiled at them, and even though Lorelai hadn’t really known him yet, she knew that he didn’t go around giving his smiles away easily the way some people did; she knew that this was a man who really meant it when he smiled at you. She paused at the door after Rory skipped out and said, “Thanks again.”
“I hope you come back,” he had said, so honestly that she felt a little uncomfortable; it wasn’t a generic “Hope to see you here again,” from the proprietor of a business, it was a real, heartfelt wish to see her again, to be her friend, even. She grinned. “You can keep me in coffee and orange soda floats,” she said decidedly.
“And what will be your contribution?”
She shrugged. “Gracing your establishment with my wit and charm, of course.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to work out the details of that trade another time.”
That was it. It wasn’t earth-shattering; in fact, it was the first exchange of so many that they would have over the years that unfolded exactly the same: casual banter, a meaningful smile, a few moments that usually brightened both of their days, unless they happened to be fighting. It was nothing special, really, but it was the subtle promise of friendship and dependability and the glint of maybe, someday, something more; it was Luke and Lorelai, their whole essence, and, to anyone who knew them, it rang so much truer than their first meeting. So Lorelai liked to pretend that that Tuesday afternoon, when she and Rory drank orange soda floats at the counter and Luke offered her the first of one of his elusive smiles, was the first time they met, and Luke, in his indulgent, “she’s acting crazy again” way, secretly agreed.
Their second meeting was several weeks after the first, which was now reverently referred to as The Horoscope Morning, on a Tuesday afternoon that was only special in its complete ordinariness. She had taken a break from her new responsibilities as assistant manager at the inn to meet Rory when school let out, and the brightness of the afternoon combined with the look on Rory’s face, surprise mixed with pure delight, had made her decide to make the break a little longer. They agreed that it was the perfect day for Coke floats.
Being that they had neither Coke nor ice cream at home and the kitchen at the inn was no place to play hooky for one of it’s employees, Lorelai led the way to Luke’s, calming Rory’s fears of extravagance by promising her that they could afford a treat once in a while.
It was empty, in the middle of what Lorelai now knew as the 3:00 lull, when everyone had finished lunch and was busy at work or picking up their kids and taking them to soccer/ballet/tai chi practice, whatever the fashion was that year. Now, when she thinks of the 3:00 lull, she thinks of even longer breaks from the inn, the Dragonfly instead of the Independence: of cheeky smiles and meaningful glances, of heading upstairs to the apartment and waiting, knowing he’ll follow; of passionate kisses and of tumbling onto the bed, the couch, the floor; of holding onto him for dear life because he is there and real and hers, undeniable devoted to her, invested in this moment and every other, kissing her and holding her like she was something very special that might break and whispering all the right things in her ear because he loved her, he loved all of her, even the parts that she hid from the rest of the world because they made her appear weak and imperfect. But that particular Tuesday, the day of their second meeting, was impossibly, depressingly before those kinds of 3:00 lulls, back when a 3:00 lull was simply a 3:00 lull and held little promise to become anything else.
She remembered that she saw him through the window as they crossed the street and was startled to realize that he was much better looking than she had remembered. She observed in a casual, almost detached way that his face was unconventionally handsome, and he was clearly muscular and toned beneath a flannel plaid shirt that, somehow, seemed to work for him when it would have made anyone else look like a hick or a lumberjack. Almost detached: not completely, because the closer they got to the door, the more Lorelai found herself hoping that maybe he wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t recognize her as that blabbering, psychotic, unhinged woman from the week before. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she felt herself gearing up, her muscles tensing, a grin fixing itself on her face, in her full-on Good Impression mode.
“Sit anywhere,” he said without looking up when the jingled through the door. Lorelai looked at Rory to decide, who surveyed the layout seriously before heading for the counter. “I knew you’d pick the counter,” Lorelai teased. “You’re such a counter whore.”
“I like stools,” Rory had replied with a shrug. Luke had looked up at this point, and if he recognized Lorelai at all, he didn’t show it.
“Hi. You guys know what you want?”
“Coke floats, two, with bendy straws if you have them,” Lorelai said, giving him her best Aren’t We Cute and Quirky smile. Later, when Rory was in high school, she declared that Lorelai had a different smile for every occasion, and admitted to cataloging her mother’s smiles this way. Lorelai’s personal favorites of the names that Rory had given them were the “You’re About to Forget What You’re Angry About Because I’m So Charming” smile (a staple in the hospitality business), the “Pissed At Dad and Hiding it Badly” smile (she always thought she was hiding it well), and the “Oh, Was I Speeding? I’ve Been Bad, You Should Give Me A Ticket, But I’m So Attractive You Just Can’t Do It, Can You?” smile (no woman should ever be without it).
“You sure you don’t want root beer?” he asked.
“You out of Coke or something?”
“No. But root beer floats are more popular. Coke floats are kinda gross.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was Judgmental Café, where the counter guy not only takes the orders, but passes judgment on them as well!” she said teasingly, in the moment not knowing how true her assessment of him would prove to be.
He lifted his arms in a surrendering pose. “Fine, whatever you want.”
“Make mine an orange soda float,” Rory piped up. “Please,” she added.
“Oh, me too!” Lorelai said excitedly.
“No. That’s disgusting.”
Lorelai gasped. “Is not! It tastes like a creamsicle, like a dream made out of liquid.”
Rory giggled. “Dirty!” Lorelai laughed, and Luke might have blushed; she can’t remember for sure.
“Nice catch,” said Lorelai, almost knocking her off the stool when she nudged her playfully.
“I’m Rory,” Rory said abruptly, holding out her small hand to shake with Luke. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.”
“I’m Luke,” said Luke. “Nice to meet you. I guess you can have the disgusting drink, if you really want it.”
“You gave him the puppy eyes, didn’t you?” Lorelai asked knowingly. Rory giggled.
“May I please use your restroom?” she asked.
Luke pointed to the sign. “Right through there.”
“Thank you.” Rory hopped off the stool and headed to the bathroom, and Lorelai cocked her head to the side, studying Luke as he prepared their treats.
“That’s one polite kid,” he said.
Lorelai nodded. “Yes, it’s freakish. She’s like English royalty.”
“Babysitting?” he asked, and she laughed easily.
“Eternally. She’s mine,” Lorelai explained. She braced herself for the routine that would surely come next, the dance she had perfected in the last decade: the same kind of observation, along the lines of “You look so young!” , followed by an awkward silent moment of crunching the numbers, and then a swift conversation change by her to avoid further discomfort.
“Yours?”
“My kid. Daughter. I’m her mom.”
Luke rolled his eyes, which wasn’t part of the natural progression of things, but Lorelai didn’t dwell on it.
“I know what ‘she’s mine’ means,” Luke said. “I just didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Checking up on me?” she asked, unable to control the flirty way her voice came out, a reflex since the age of twelve.
He was a little flustered, she noticed. “No. Small town,” he said. “I’m just surprised I didn’t know.”
At this point, Lorelai was a little surprised, too, not because he didn’t know she had a daughter, but because he wasn’t reacting the way he was supposed to. He didn’t look surprised or confused, he wasn’t commenting on how young she was, and his eyes hadn’t, not even for a second, flickered with pity. Instead, he was looking at her straight on, like she was just another person.
“I should’ve seen it,” he continued. “She looks like you.”
“Just the eyes,” Lorelai said. “And we talk the same way, and have the same mannerisms. It makes people think we look more alike than we do, but really, it’s just the eyes.”
They locked eyes then, and he held the gaze a little more intently and for a little longer than was entirely appropriate. She now claims that he couldn’t hide his lust for her even then; he argues that he was only trying to get a good look so that he could compare when Rory returned. The truth, she knows, lies somewhere in between.
Rory came back and they drank orange soda floats, and they tasted cold and sweet and better than the best creamsicle she’d ever had. When it was time to go, Rory thanked him three times, and Lorelai echoed her once. He smiled at them, and even though Lorelai hadn’t really known him yet, she knew that he didn’t go around giving his smiles away easily the way some people did; she knew that this was a man who really meant it when he smiled at you. She paused at the door after Rory skipped out and said, “Thanks again.”
“I hope you come back,” he had said, so honestly that she felt a little uncomfortable; it wasn’t a generic “Hope to see you here again,” from the proprietor of a business, it was a real, heartfelt wish to see her again, to be her friend, even. She grinned. “You can keep me in coffee and orange soda floats,” she said decidedly.
“And what will be your contribution?”
She shrugged. “Gracing your establishment with my wit and charm, of course.”
He rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to work out the details of that trade another time.”
That was it. It wasn’t earth-shattering; in fact, it was the first exchange of so many that they would have over the years that unfolded exactly the same: casual banter, a meaningful smile, a few moments that usually brightened both of their days, unless they happened to be fighting. It was nothing special, really, but it was the subtle promise of friendship and dependability and the glint of maybe, someday, something more; it was Luke and Lorelai, their whole essence, and, to anyone who knew them, it rang so much truer than their first meeting. So Lorelai liked to pretend that that Tuesday afternoon, when she and Rory drank orange soda floats at the counter and Luke offered her the first of one of his elusive smiles, was the first time they met, and Luke, in his indulgent, “she’s acting crazy again” way, secretly agreed.
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