“Heyyyy, guys. What’re you doing out here in the driveway?”

I reach for the door, climbing out with a huff, and Lorelai leaps back, guilty grin in place.

“Looking good, Shelb … real glowy.”

I smirk, shoving at her shoulder. I turn and blow a kiss to Cam, who catches it before reversing out of the drive.

“Blech,” Lorelai grouses. “You are just as fucking adorable as I always knew you would be.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me up to the house. Her dark hair is in a messy knot at the top of her head, and she has bags under her eyes. The overall look is tired in a way I’m not used to seeing. “I’m really happy for you, Shelb.”

I tilt my head to hers. “Thanks.”

“Now get your ass inside. I want all the gory details. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to sleep with a lumberjack spliced with Fred Astaire.”

I laugh. “You have not.”

“Well, maybe not always, but since last night I sure have. So, spill. I called Maren. She’s bringing donuts.”

My stomach growls in response.

“Didn’t he feed you?”

I smirk and waggle my brows. “Not with food, no.”

Lorelai’s eyes widen and she holds open my front door. “I slept in the guest room. Alone,” she adds. “In case you want to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t.”

“Just tell me how many times.”

“I … lost count.”

Lorelai passes me a mug full of coffee. “I want to hate you, but I can’t.”

I slump into a chair and take a sip, finally looking around my living room and choking out a cough. There’s pillow stuffing everywhere.

“What happened? I thought you said you slept alone.”

Lorelai waves it off, walking over and grabbing up handfuls of stuffing and throwing them in the trash.

“I owe you a new pillow.”

I raise my eyebrows over my mug. “Okay.”

“Drake drunk texted me last night.”

“You sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

“Positive. I wasn’t drunk. I drove Maren home, then on my way here, my phone blows up.” Drake is Lorelai’s ex-fiancé who broke her heart three years ago and still occasionally texts her when he’s drunk. But she also texts him. And sometimes they sext. It’s … complicated.

“And?”

Lorelai tosses the last of the pillow in the trash. “And nothing. He was horny and between girlfriends and thought he could rile me up. But I told him last time I was done with this shit.”

“Did you tell him that again this time?”

“In so many words.”

“And?” I repeat.

“And”—she releases a long breath—“he told me he still loves me.”

I inhale sharply. “And?”

“And what? I told him to fuck off. He doesn’t love me. He’s bored.”