A/N: Takes place on Rory and Logan's honeymoon. Read the rest for yourself.

Disclaimer: Psht. I wish.

"Mmmphhh," she mumbled into her pillow before turning over and taking whatever was stuck to her face and pulling it off. Went swimming, the post-it read, didn't want to wake you. She smiled, stretching her arms over her head. Sighing, she realized she wouldn't be getting back to sleep, so she crawled her way out of bed and into the kitchen. Pushing her bangs out of her face, she looked through the cabinets for her drug of choice.

"Where are you?" she said in a sing-song voice, practically ripping the drawers off. "Gotcha," she whispered, as if the bag of coffee beans could hear her. After pouring about three quarters of the bag almost straight into the water, she sat down at the table and reached for a newspaper.

Scanning through the pages, she spotted a small box at the door. Huh, she thought, cocking her head to the side. Picking it up, she read the address. Mrs. Huntzberger, it said, although someone had scribbled an arrow next to "Mrs." and written "just" in small, precise handwriting. She bit her lip, trying to remember where she had seen that handwriting before. After she decided she wouldn't figure it out, she brought the box to the table and ripped it open with a knife. A letter lay on top of what she assumed was a wedding gift, although how it had gotten to her vacation house she had no idea. Sliding the knife across the top of the white envelope, she reached inside and took out a letter with the same clear-cut handwriting covering the page.

Her throat tightened as she scanned across the page, her eyes growing more and more clouded as each sentence settled in.

Rory, it read, I'm not really sure how to begin. Then again, I'm not even sure if I want you to read this. First off, congratulations on your marriage. I guess the blond dick at Yale had a little more in him if he managed to tie the knot with a Gilmore. I hope you're happy, and I'm not just saying that because it's the polite thing to say. I hope you're happy because if you're not then Porsche boy won't live till morning. I just wanted to tell you that I don't think I ever stopped loving you. Please, don't cry, or yell, or start thinking of all the ways to kill me. I'm not telling you because I expect you to come running into my arms as if you never left. Sure, I always hoped that maybe, some day, we'd be together. But I knew that we probably wouldn't. I wanted to tell you because I needed to tell you. You needed—need—to know.

The other day, one of my closest friend's son, an annoying—don't think I'm going to say cute—seven-year-old, came up to me and asked me a question.

"Uncle Jessie," he said, "do you believe in love?" I was surprised. A seven-year-old asking me about love? But I figured he might as well learn early, if ever. So I told him.

"Yeah," I said. Then he asked me something else.

"Then how come you don't have a girlfriend?" Once, again, I answered him.

"Because I only believe in it once."

That's the truth, Rory, that's really what I believe. In all the books I've read, and I'm sure that you've read, too, they always talked about this uncontrollable passion that two people shared, and how once you found it, you should never let it go. There are two mistakes in that belief. The first is that when you find it, the other person doesn't always share it with you. And the second is that they should have emphasized the "never" a whole lot more.

I know I lost my chance—more than once, at that, but it is what it is. There's nothing more I can do. So, you'll find a wedding gift underneath this letter, and I'm really gonna miss you.

Forever and ever, Your Dodger

Rory folded the letter, a few drops dampening it from her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she reached inside the rest of the box and pulled out a thin rectangle somewhat badly wrapped in plain brown paper. She smiled as the opened it; a real, true smile, and her laugh tinkled in the humid air.

"Of course," she said, gripping the book in her hand. Only Lovely Things, it said in simple writing. And underneath that, By Jess Mariano.

Just then, the phone rang, and Rory was so surprised she jumped.

"Hello?" she said, her heart rate still speeding.

"Hey, Ace," she heard from the other line.

"Hey."

"I'm guessing you're awake?"

"Ha ha," she said, her laugh sounding hoarse. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"I'm at that little coffee place we—well, you—found. Wanna meet me here?"

She forced a smile, as if he could see her through the phone. "Sure," she said.

"See you soon."

"Bye." She hung up the phone, and glanced over at her wedding present. Carefully, she folded the letter smaller and tucked into the front of the thin paperback.

Only once, she thought, before placing a soft kiss on the top of the book and heading out the door.