Disclaimer: Don't own the characters Glee, don't own Notting Hill, the movie the plot of this story is based after.
Summary: Quinn Fabray, a book store owner, has a chance encounter with Broadway and movie star Rachel Berry.
A/N: Plot is based off the movie Notting Hill, which stars Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. You don't need to watch to movie to read this, although if you've watched it, you'll know where this story is heading. Hope you enjoy!
Quinn's eyes blearily opened at the burst of light coming through the gap in the curtains. Grunting, she rolled over on her back, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to her eyes to prevent the harsh light from waking her up completely. After a few minutes of lying completely still and trying the will herself back to sleep, she gave up and threw the pillow across the bed, tiredly groaning as she craned her head to look at the clock.
The numbers 10:46 greeted her in bright red letters. Shit, she was late for work.
Mustering up the energy to swing her legs off the side of the bed, Quinn fumbled for her glasses, putting the black-rimmed spectacles on quickly so she could actually see properly.
She got dressed swiftly, in a maroon dress shirt and denim jeans and ran her fingers through her short, choppy hair in an attempt to get rid of her bed head. It failed, as usual, so she decided to just smooth it down before grabbing her messenger bag and exiting her crummy bedroom.
"Morning." Quinn grunted at the sight of her roommate, Finn, lazily sprawled on the couch in his boxers, cereal bowl precariously balanced on his stomach. He waved at her with a wide smile in response.
"Hey, Q!" He replied, voice muffled by the mouthful of cereal he was chewing. Quinn winced at the sight of mushed up food in his mouth but decided to ignore it in favour of throwing her lunch in her bag and putting her shoes on. Living for almost a year with the boneheaded man-child and having dated him previously had made her near immune to his less favorable traits. Such as constantly talking with his mouth open.
"I'll be back late, tonight. I have a date!" Finn announced giddily. Quinn winced, already feeling sorry for the girl. She really had no idea what she was getting herself into. The blonde tuned Finn's mindless ramblings out, double checking her bag and making sure she had everything she needed.
With a final glance at the clock, she left the apartment hurriedly, leaving Finn talking to himself. Running down the stairs, because the lift in their apartment building never worked, she continued at the same pace until she crossed the street (successfully avoiding any collisions with cars) and reached her workplace, The Westchester Secondhand Book Store.
Quinn had started working there three years ago, back when she was still studying Psychology in UCLA, and the place was owned by a sweet elderly man named Duncan. Three years later, having graduated, she was still working at the shop, which was now hers, after Duncan passed away last year.
It wasn't the best job - if someone had asked her teenaged self what she'd imagine herself doing when she was twenty six, working in a small book store with a practically unused Psychology degree would have never crossed her mind. But then again, her teenaged self would have imagined herself still being in Lima, working as a real estate agent and living the so-called idyllic white picket fence married life with Finn, so she felt a little better about her life, even if she ended up living with Finn anyways and was working as a book store owner. She's not a Lima Loser, after all, and not living a life with lies anymore, especially regarding her sexuality.
Quinn might not be completely happy, but she wasn't sad, either, and that was okay for her, because she had spent the majority of life unhappy, and anything that made her feel otherwise was a welcome change.
She hummed a pleasant tune as she unlocked the door to the book store, and flipped the sign from 'closed' to 'open'. The streets outside were relatively quiet, so she felt better about being late to work. Quinn took her designated seat behind the counter, picking up a Robert Frost collection to read while waiting for the streets of West Los Angeles to heat up and produce a few customers.
Quinn had moved on to an Ernest Hemingway anthology before the door opened, causing a small wind to rush through the store and the bell to ring loudly. Her head snapped up, hazel eyes greeted by a beautiful brunette clad in jeans and a dress shirt, and one of the biggest pair of sunglasses Quinn had ever seen on her face.
The blonde squinted her eyes - there was something familiar about the woman, like Quinn had seen her somewhere before. She tapped her fingers on the counter, discretely glancing at her from the corner of her eye. She swore she had seen that face before, like on a billboard or in a movie...
"Oh my god," Quinn muttered under her breath, when she put the face to the name. It was Rachel Berry, Tony Award winning Broadway extraordinaire turned movie star ingenue. Rachel Berry was standing in front of her in her tiny book store. Quinn had just watched one of her movies last week - a movie about a high school Glee club, and now she was here in the flesh.
She was even more beautiful in person, Quinn noted, even with sunglasses twice the size of her face. Her long, silky chestnut hair covered her face like a veil as she flipped through a book, and her golden, tanned skin made it look like she was from California than New York. Her nose, although slightly large and Jewish, fit her face perfectly,
Quinn looked away quickly when she realized she was staring, and stood up from the counter, approaching her cautiously.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Quinn asked, drawing the actress' attention. She glanced at the Barbra Streisand coffee table book clutched in the brunette's hands. "That's not a very good book, actually, pretty much rubbish. If you're looking for something to do with Streisand, then this," She picked up a book near her. "is much better. I think the author's actually met her, which makes a big difference, obviously, and they have some really good anecdotes, about Broadway and stuff." Quinn trailed off, immediately cringing at her long ramble.
The shorter woman giggled quietly (possibly the most heavenly sound Quinn had ever heard), and shook her head. "I'm just browsing." She replied, eyes perusing another shelf.
"Right, right. I'll just be here, behind the counter," Quinn gestured behind her. "if you need anything. Anything at all. Especially if you're interested in psychology. I can definitely recommend some books on that subject, since I have a degree in it." She nervously laughed and sat down.
"Sure." The actress replied kindly, although her eyebrow was raised in amusement.
Quinn picked up her forgotten book, forcing her eyes on to it. Keep calm, Fabray, she reminded herself. Don't make a fool of yourself. Well, at least try not to, she amended. She wasn't usually this socially inept, but then again, she didn't usually talk to attractive, world-famous celebrities.
They stayed that way for a few silent minutes, Rachel browsing through the shelves and Quinn pretending to read her Hemingway book, until the actress walked up to the counter and handed her the coffee table book Quinn had insulted not so kindly earlier.
The blonde glanced at the book, running her hand through her unruly hair anxiously. "On second thought, I'm sure the book is a masterpiece. I mean, the photos are excellent, really, and I'm sure the anecdotes in the book are just as good as any other, really." Quinn stuttered. "It'll make for great conversation when people come over to your house, I'll bet, as Streisand always is." She rambled as she placed the book into a bag.
"Thanks." The brunette shot her a small smile, before taking the bag from her and walking out the door without a second look back.
Quinn stared at the door, dazed. That was interesting, to say the least. She doubted anything like that would ever happen again. Shaking her head, she immersed herself in paperwork, shrugging off whatever had happened earlier.