Lorelai likes her house. Likes the quiet coziness of it, the way it welcomes her with creaking steps and rustling curtains. She likes the magazines next to the couch, and the knick-knacks that contain little Lorelai worlds. She even likes the section of sofa that's so well-used, the springs poke through. Someone *lives* in this Gilmore residence.

But today, every squeak reminds her of a certain toolbox, of a certain man, and his silence screams so miserably that she's forced to switch on the television simply to fill the space.

Because much as she likes her house... she loves Luke.