A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble, but it turned a little long for that. :) It's kind of a guilty pleasure for me. I hope you all enjoy - thanks for reading, and as always, please let me know what you think and review!

Rachel ran to the door when she heard the horn beeping, gazing out the window for Finn's familiar truck. Instead she saw Blaine Anderson, grinning and waving, in the driver's seat of a bright blue convertible.

She gasped, turning around to press her back against the door a minute, her eyebrows drawing as she wondered what it could possibly mean that the sight of her best friend – curly-haired and smiley, sitting, windblown, in a flashy sports car – was making her shaky and nervous in the best way possible. When she heard him honk again, she finally opened the door and padded out onto the porch.

"What do you think?" Blaine yelled, gesturing to the car.

"I think that is quite a car, Blaine Anderson, and would remind you to be safe in it," Rachel answered, laughing a little.

"Come for a drive with me."

Rachel paused and Blaine's eyes met hers, sparkling unnaturally in the summer evening light. "Finn's supposed to pick me up, we're trying to repair things - "

"Tell him you'll reschedule," Blaine said easily. "It's not every day you get to ride in a convertible! Well, actually, I just bought this thing so you can pretty much ride in one anytime you like, but – "

"I'm coming!" Rachel yelled, ducking back inside to put on a pair of shoes, texting Finn an apology as she went.

When she ran down the sidewalk and to the new car, she felt a little breathless. The car was beautiful, but Blaine's pink sunglasses, pushed up in his tight, dark curls and the dusting of scruff along his jaw and neck were even more distracting. Rachel quelched the thoughts as Blaine leaned over to open her door and she slid into the leather, tucking her legs delicately in front of her. "Isn't she gorgeous?" Blaine asked, and Rachel blushed for a minute before realizing he was talking about the car.

"Yes. I can't believe you finally bought it!"

"You might want to pull your hair back," he said, holding a soft elastic up with one hand. Rachel took it, smiling, and twisted her hair into a messy knot at the back of her neck.

And Blaine reached down to the radio, cranked up some of the indie music he loved so much, and, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, tore out onto the road.

They didn't talk much on the drive. It was Rachel's first time in a convertible, and she laid her head back against the seat as they drove, soaking in the wind-whipped feeling and the sharp, summery smells, and even enjoying the unfamiliar ambience of Blaine's music. When she yelled over the noisiness to ask him where they were going, he just grinned and said "you'll see!"

The sun was setting when Blaine pulled off the side of the road and parked the convertible. He met Rachel at her door and twisted his fingers through hers as he led the way through the grass. "Blaine?" Rachel asked, her voice wavery. She hated it when he touched her this way – it was too much, the warmth of his guitar calluses against her skin – and he knew it. Normally, when she protested, he would instantly drop it, but tonight he just squeezed her hand tighter.

And they crested the grassy hill to reveal a perfect piece of stone, looking down onto the sundrenched lake below.

Blaine helped Rachel sit on the rock – still warm with the day's sun, a shock in the cooling air around them – and then got down himself, pulling her against his chest.

"Blaine, please," Rachel whined. Don't do this to me.

"I'm not allowed to sit and enjoy the sunset on the lake with my best friend?" Blaine asked with a small smile, squeezing her shoulder.

"I can't do this." Rachel said the words so softly that Blaine barely heard them.

"What can't you do, Rachel? Is it Finn?" he asked roughly, surprised by the bitter edge in his voice.

Rachel turned to look at him, frowning. "No, Blaine, it isn't Finn! I don't even know how you could ask that. It's like you're jealous or something."

"I am."

Rachel sighed loudly and pulled away. "Blaine, you're always going to be my best friend. Whether I'm with Finn or Puck or Brad Pitt, that's not going to change."

There was a long silence when the only sounds were insect noise and the soft splash of water against the shore below. "Maybe I don't want to just be your best friend," Blaine whispered at last.

"What?"

"Maybe I want to be with you."

"You're gay, Blaine," Rachel huffed.

"I don't know that for sure. I just know that I like you. Lord, Rachel, you're my favorite person, you're my best friend, but it's so much more than that. You're beautiful."

Rachel turned to look at him. "Wh-what?" she stuttered.

"You're beautiful," Blaine repeated with emphasis. "Your hair and your big, dark eyes and your lips, and the way I can see your soul when you sing – I just can't get enough of you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you any of this – I know you love Finn, and you're trying to make it work – and I'm… going to shut up now. I should never have dragged you out here." Blaine turned away, planting his hands into the stone and biting at his lip, regret etched in his stance.

When Rachel leaned over and kissed him – with the most achingly chaste, soft, delicate kiss he had ever experienced, like the brush of butterfly wings against his lips – he turned to jelly.

"I wish you had told me sooner," Rachel said softly, a shy grin plastered to her face.

"I wish I had, too," Blaine tried to joke, but the words came out so sincere that neither of them could laugh.