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After Rory throws her cellphone onto Lane’s couch, it rings again, the vibrations loud and clear. Lane picks it up, but eventually Rory takes the phone from her, pressing it to her ear, her pulse quickening.
Across the ocean, in his London flat, Logan’s gravelly voice comes through, laced with concern. “Come on, Ace. You called me a bunch of times today. You called me four times last night. You hung up every time. What is it?” He tries to keep it light, but, even now, he can’t mask his worry.
Rory hesitates, then tries to downplay her freak-out. “Nothing. I had a thing with my mom.”
Logan softly responds, “Well, talk to me. I'm here.” He wants to be there for her.
Rory sighs, then confesses, “I was just upset at her and I was needing to vent, and I realized I can't call you anymore.” The confession hangs between them, raw and vulnerable.
Logan’s brows furrow in confusion. “Why?” But some part of him already knows.
A door slams somewhere in the background of his flat. A reminder of why–a reminder of his reality.
Odette’s loud voice floats up from downstairs. “Logan!”
Logan’s voice drops as he rushes, “I gotta take this outside.” He steps out onto his London patio, the summer afternoon sun shining on him, though the warmth barely touches him now, chills running through his body.
Rory continues with her reasoning, sadness dripping from her words. “Because she's there.” With Odette moving in, the Vegas bubble is gone. Every time Rory hears Odette's name or her voice, she’s reminded of a life that’s no longer hers–a life where Logan is no longer hers. She made a choice a long time ago when she turned down his proposal. Now, it seems, he’s made his choice too–he's marrying someone else. Someone who wasn't afraid to say ‘Yes’.
Logan feels his heart twist. He lets out a long, slow breath. “Rory…” The ache in his voice is impossible to hide.
“She’s there,” Rory repeats, finality settling over her words. When Odette was in Paris, it was easier for Rory to pretend she didn’t exist, to call Logan whenever she wanted, to imagine he was still hers when she needed him most. When they were together, they were together. But when they were not, they were not. This, now, is the ‘not’.
Logan confirms, “Yeah.” He lets out another breath, the reality of it all settling in. He knows that she’s right. The arrangement they have is breaking at the seams. It simply isn't sustainable any longer.
“That's why,” Rory whispers. The truth laid bare.
He hears the sadness in her voice, the resignation. He mirrors it with his own sigh. Silence stretches between them, thick with everything left unsaid.
Both of them hold the silence, each feeling the weight of the moment. Rory breaks it, saying, “So, I guess we should say goodbye.” What else can she do? He’s given no indication that he was leaving Odette or wanted to, and she wasn't going to ask him to.
“If that's what you want,“ Logan replies, quietly, unable to keep the hurt from seeping in. He doesn’t want it to end, but if it must, he wants it to be her decision. He won’t take the blame. Vegas was her idea.
“Don’t make this my thing,” she snaps, a flash of anger covering her pain. She proposed the Vegas arrangement, yes, but he agreed to it. She wants to keep seeing him, but she can’t see a way for it to work. He's with Odette, and Odette living there is the reason why it can't.
He flinches, voice softening immediately, and with regret he manages to say, “Sorry.” He honestly doesn’t know what else to say.
“So that’s it?” Rory’s tone is brittle, almost disbelieving. “We’re breaking up. Except we can’t break up…“ She pauses, her voice cracking. “Because we’re nothing.” She lets out an exhale that sounds like surrender. Rory ends the call.
****
The line goes dead. Dead like their relationship, or rather, their nothing-ship.
Logan lowers his phone, squinting into the sunlight. The brightness feels punishing, harsh and unrelenting, as if the sun is casting judgment on all the mistakes he's made, especially with Rory.
Blinking against the glare, he looks down at his phone, staring at it with disbelief. Dejected, a sense of dread overcomes him. The city below him continues to buzz with movement, but he stands frozen. He hears the distant honks from cars, the laughter of strangers, but his hearing narrows. He can only hear one thing. “Nothing.” The summer air suddenly feels heavy. He can’t breathe. This can't be happening right now. I can't lose her again. Not like this.
“Logan!” Odette’s voice calls his name, a gentle reminder of the life he’s resigned himself to.
He opens the patio doors, assumes a businesslike tone, peeks his head in, and says, “I'm on a business call. I'll be in in a minute.” He closes the door and walks over to the balcony, looking over the city.
I have to think. I have to think.
He looks at Rory's phone number in his recent calls. His mind is racing.
Should I call her back? Would she even answer? She sounds so upset. Is she not okay with this Vegas agreement after all? But this was her idea. I've been dragging my feet with this engagement, biding my time, waiting for her to come around. Has she?
His thumb hovers over the green button, trembling with fear.
If she's not okay with this, does this mean she wants more? Could this work? Could my heart take it if we fail again? Who am I kidding? We failed because I was an idiot. All or nothing. It was my fault we became nothing. We failed because I’m a coward. And now we're back to nothing. Unless, maybe, there's a chance to become something again?
He steps back into his townhouse from the patio and takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do, what his heart wants him to do. He finds Odette in the bedroom, setting her things down. For a few moments, he stands there watching her, observing what could've been. He walks over to her and places a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Odette?”
“Oui.”
She looks up at him, and it seems like she already knows what's coming.
He swallows, gathering his courage, and begins, “We need to talk.”
****
For the most part, the conversation with Odette is surprisingly calm. There are no tears, no yelling, just an understanding of the right thing to do.
Although theirs was not a love match, they were compatible otherwise. They had similar backgrounds, the same passion for their work, and they enjoyed the nice things in life. They had become friends. Close friends. It was sad to see it come to an end. Maybe if he was in an alternate life where he hadn't met Rory Gilmore, he would've been able to follow through with the dynastic plan. Maybe.
He and Odette agree that it's better to break off the agreement now, rather than wait until the wedding preparations are underway and prenups are signed, making it more difficult to undo. They wish each other well. He tells her she can take her time moving out. She tells him she'll be back in Paris by the end of the week. He knows the fallout with his parents and hers will not be as cut-and-dried, but he’ll deal with that later. He has more important things to do right now.
He books a flight for that evening.
The hum of the airplane's engines vibrates around him as Logan swirls his glass of scotch, contemplating his life while staring out the window. He's on a plane to go see the love of his life. He doesn't like the way things were left; their last words play on repeat in his mind. He didn't even have time to respond before she hung up. Such finality. He couldn’t go through “the nothing” again, though it was never nothing to him; it always meant something to him. Even if she won’t have him as a boyfriend, or dare he say, husband, he'll settle for a friend. He just needs her in his life. Life was better when Rory Gilmore was in it. And he would make damn sure he did what he could to keep her there. As the city lights become smaller and more distant, he rehearses what he wants to say.
He rents a car and heads to Stars Hollow by the next morning. He's been awake for over 24 hours now, fueled with enough coffee to impress even Lorelai. He starts to get anxious and grips the steering wheel tighter as familiar landmarks bring back memories. Rory said she was staying at Lane's. Hopefully she'll still be there. He should've called. But he wants to surprise her. Oh, how he had loved to surprise her. In their recent arrangement there wasn't a lot of that since they kept their relationship a secret. So the most he could do would be to surprise her at the airport and pose as her chauffeur, or surprise her with her favorite takeout when she came for a visit.
He rounds the town square, passing Monty. His stomach twists in knots. He's almost there. His mind flashes back to the last time he was here: the Hay Bale Maze festival. He and Rory, standing in a sea of hay, talking about factoring each other in. Except he didn't. Not in the way she meant. Yes, he factored her into his plans, making the decisions for her, or at least assuming the decisions she would make based on him. He hadn't factored in the fact that she wanted something different of her own. Looking back, he should have made the big life decisions with her, not for her. But he couldn't wait. He had no other job prospects. He’d lost most of his trust fund. He left his dad's company. Could he have turned down the job? Was he in the position to? Could he have just followed Rory where life took her instead? Now he’d never know if things could have been different back then. But maybe he still has a chance to make it right this time.
He parks, his heart thudding. This is it.
As he gets out of the car, he notices the morning light bathing the town as the sounds of birds and people doing their morning routines are heard all around him. The familiar scent of the pies from Weston's Bakery brings up memories. He remembers eating pie with Rory's mom in her kitchen late one night. The nervous twisting in his stomach from that night returns now, just as he prepares to see Rory.
He glances at his phone. What if she's not here? Crap. I should've called her. Too late now. Here goes nothing. He knocks on Lane’s door, hands shaking.
The door swings open.
Lane stands there, eyes widening. “Oh. It's you. I thought she went cold turkey.” She lets her surprise linger, eyes him up and down, then glances over her shoulder and directs her voice inside. “Rory, it's for you!”
“Who is it?” Rory calls from inside.
Logan shifts his feet when hearing her voice, his heart beating louder and faster with anticipation.
“It's your dealer,” Lane deadpans.
“What?” Rory comes to the door and slows down when she sees who's there. Her mouth opens, but she's unable to speak.
Lane says awkwardly, “Um. I have some laundry to do. I'll just be… anywhere but here…” Lane vanishes into the house, leaving the door open and silence in her wake.
Rory closes the door behind her and steps outside to meet him. Logan and Rory face one another, the space between them, though only a few feet, feels wider than the ocean that separated them a few hours ago. No one dares to talk. The silence lingers on and soon becomes uncomfortable. Logan tries to remember the words he rehearsed over and over, but they all seem to evaporate, and he's left with Rory just staring back at him, his heart now thumping in his throat.
Rory breaks the silence. “What are you doing here?” She pulls at the ends of her sleeves, covering her hands.
“I didn't like the way we left things,” Logan confesses, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Rory crosses her arms, bracing herself, trying to appear strong.
“So, what? Are you feeling guilty? Have you come to lure me back, with promises of hotel trysts and hushed secrets? Sorry, I can't do that anymore. This isn't a Bond movie. I'm fresh out of disguises and gadgets.”
“The wedding is off,” Logan admits softly.
Rory's eyes widen.
“What? Sorry. Did I get you in trouble yesterday? If I did, I can talk to her if you want.”
“Rory, no. I broke it off.” He waits for her reaction.
“What, why?” She stares at him, not believing the words coming out of his mouth.
He takes a breath. “I think you know why.”
“No, sorry. I don't. I can't imagine why you'd break off your engagement to the perfect French heiress, beloved by your parents!” She’s shaking her head, her frustration showing.
“Exactly! My parents loved her. I didn't. I…” He draws a deep breath, voice raw with emotion. “loved you... Love you.” He makes sure to use present tense. His eyes search hers for understanding or acknowledgement. Or any indication that she felt the same way.
Rory’s eyes dart around and it suddenly appears like she's about to run. Logan closes the distance and puts his arms around her shoulders, anchoring her down.
He lets out a breath and begins. “I came here with no expectations. You said you were unhappy with the situation. I rectified the situation. Problem solved.” He echoes the words he once used at the start of their relationship, when they went from ‘No Strings’ to boyfriend and girlfriend, hoping she catches the reference, giving her a knowing smirk.
“No. Problem not solved,” she teases, a glint in her eye, a half-smile forming.
“Do you really want to stop seeing me? Because I don't want to stop seeing you.”
She shakes her head. “No, but...”
“Rory,” he turns serious. He drops his hands from her shoulders, and runs a hand over his face, feeling the stubble that was growing in–a reminder of just how little sleep he's gotten. He rakes a hand through his messy hair. “When I was faced with the prospect of losing you all over again, the feeling was unbearable. I know we made this Vegas agreement so we could be cowards. We could live in a bubble and nothing else would matter. But I can't anymore. I need you in my life, however that looks like.”
She exhales, slowly and shakily. “Logan. You don't want me in your life. I'm a disaster. I have no address. My things are scattered all over in different houses. I have no steady job. My pitches aren’t working.” She hugs herself tighter, protecting herself from unraveling. Logan attempts to reach out to her, but lowers his hand as she continues. “I asked you to ask your dad for help. Your dad! How desperate am I? I can't find my underwear. Ever since grandpa died, I've felt lost. Not just lost—like one of those Hemingway characters wandering around Paris, pretending I’m not falling apart, but I am. You don't want this version of me. I don't want this version of me. I'm honestly starting to think I should build a little hut on a mysterious island and call it a day."
He sees the pain and vulnerability in her face. He wants to fix things for her and could probably help with the job and house situation, but he knows she’s too proud for that. He tries to state the positives. “All of those things are temporary. You'll find a place to live. You're writing a book; that's no small thing. Or you'll find something else to pitch and write about. Remember what Hemingway said: ‘The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.’ You’re allowed to feel lost for a while. Grief takes time, Rory. You need to give yourself time to heal. And are you kidding me? I'll take any version of you, warts and all.”
“Well. I am kind of like the Wicked Witch.”
Logan laughs, relieved, and raises his eyebrows. “If you’re the Wicked Witch, does that make me the Wizard? Hiding behind a curtain, pretending to have all the answers when really I’m just lost as everyone else?”
He pauses.
“And speaking of lost underwear,” he says, reaching down and picking up a box, “I come bearing gifts. I'm basically the Hermes of lost laundry.”
“You found them?” She grins, relief washing over her face.
“I did. Lucky for you. I was prepared to buy you a bunch of lingerie, but that wouldn't have gone well with my ‘no expectations’ spiel.”
“No, it wouldn't.”
They quiet, eyes darkening, their minds wandering at the innuendo.
“So...” Logan draws out hesitantly. He's unsure how to continue the conversation.
“So,” she echoes.
Silence again.
“Are we back with the so's? Yale graduates can't think of anything more articulate to say?” Rory tries to lighten the mood.
“Rory.”
“Logan.”
“Tell me what you want.”
She hesitates. “I can't. I don't have a right to want anything. I broke your heart. I broke my heart. I'm a wicked witch and a breaker of hearts. Maybe I should move to Oz and start over.”
He shakes his head. “I know we've been hiding behind this wall of Vegas for the past two years. So we could avoid this conversation. But, listen, you did what you thought was best for you back at the time. I don't blame you…at least not anymore. I came to terms with that a long time ago. I was the ass that let you go. So, don't think for one second that you don't have a right to say what you want. Tell me what you want.”
She looks up at him, her vulnerability showing. “It's not a matter of want, so much as a matter of need.”
He searches her face for answers.
“Logan. I always thought I had to be like my mom–independent, not needing anyone. But, I've learned that I don't want to be just like her. I can be independent, but that doesn't mean I have to be alone. It's okay to ask for help. But with you, it’s not about being weak or strong or whatever. It’s just… I need you. I really do. And honestly? That’s terrifying.”
“So, what are you saying?” He smiles all the way up to his eyes, crinkling, shining with hope.
“I guess, what I'm saying is that I love you too.”
She places her hand on his chest, steadying herself, and looks up at him with beaming blue eyes. For a moment, no one moves. He looks down at her and their gazes lock, vulnerable and searching, silent questions passing between them. Is this really happening? Can we do this again, for real this time? They smile at each other, as if they both arrive at the same answer. He pulls her flush to him and lifts his hand up to her jaw, his thumb lightly brushing against her cheek. He leans in slightly, just enough to whisper the question, “Is this okay?” Smiling, Rory silently nods and puts her hand up to his cheek, still in a daze of what's transpiring between them. He closes the distance, letting her meet him halfway, and when their lips finally touch, it's not a Vegas kiss – it's everything left unsaid. The years of longing and love were pouring into this single, breathtaking moment, mingled with forgiveness and hopefulness for something new. No secrets. No games.
Rory jolts back abruptly, shattering the spell between them. “Shit!”
“What?” Logan says, alarm in his voice and body.
“Paul.”
“Paul? As in technically-still-your-boyfriend Paul?”
“Yeah, well, I broke up with you, but I keep forgetting to break up with him. I keep forgetting about him, period. See, I'm an evil, wicked witch.”
Logan snorts, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “If Paul starts singing Englebert Humperdinck's ‘Am I that easy to forget?’ at karaoke night, I might actually feel really bad for him.” Rory has given him hope, but a flicker of doubt still runs through him. “But, just to clarify—are you officially un-breaking up with me before you officially break up with Paul? I don't want to be the other guy. I know, that's rich coming from me, given our recent arrangement.”
She grins, rolling her eyes. “You’re not the other guy, Logan. You’re the guy.”
He smirks, stepping back just enough to gesture grandly. “Excellent. Now, go get your broom. Or your phone. Either way, I’m not going anywhere. But if you need backup, I’ll bring the flying monkeys.”