A/N: Wow. What a fantastic response! I'm sorry this update has taken me so long to write. But, I hope the fact that it's long (as all the chapters will be - since there are only 12 total) will make up for the wait. I'm getting more and more excited about writing this story every time I work on it, and I'm going to do my best to limit the space in between postings, but with college starting again, I can't promise. Your continued patience and support is incredible, and I'm so lucky to have so many wonderful readers and GREAT reviews. Thank you. As always, I'd love to know what you think, so please review! Enjoy.

February

Life on a movie set was always busy. There were demanding hours, early morning call times, fifteen hour days, and that wasn't even getting into press jobs that my agents booked for me. Interviews, talk shows, magazine shoots, appearances at this gala or that party or this charity event. It was a glamorous life, and I did love it, but it seemed regimented in its portrayal of spontaneity and laissez-faire attitude. Celebrities always were supposed to seem carefree, unbound to normal schedules. We were supposed to have lives everyone else wanted, and if it seemed like we had normal, planned work days and demanding, rigorous schedules, it would tarnish the image.

My first month of shooting couldn't have gone better. I got along with all the other actors on set, which was practically unheard of. Our crew was great; they composed themselves in a way that straddled the line of rigid professionalism and playful warmth. The director had a great vision, and I felt truly blessed to be part of something that would likely be a major hit. People were already talking about the possibility of Oscar nods, and the film wasn't even close to finished.

However, even with all of that, I found myself always longing for the end of the work day. I found myself keeping my phone with me at almost all times instead of in my trailer, checking my messages between takes. I found myself watching the clock sometimes, drifting off into my thoughts more, and making my own plans outside of work. My agents weren't aware of my dalliances, which was for the best, but my life had taken another huge turn in the last month.

Most people assumed that the unbreakable smile on my face every morning was attributed to my success. I was living the dream, after all, and I was even living above the curve by Hollywood standards. I didn't have any drama in my life. I wasn't in a failing relationship, nor did I have problems with drugs, my co-workers, my director, my fans, my agents. I wasn't a big party animal, constantly in the public eye for late nights drinking on the town. I had been walking taller, smiling brighter, spreading sunshine everywhere I went, even competing with the California sun itself for a completely different reason.

Quinn Fabray.

She was proof that sometimes the best things in life are completely unexpected. I mean, there was no way I could have known that my entire world would be changed by a twenty-one year old fan that I bumped into in a coffee shop while trying to dodge fans and my public on the way to set.

After agreeing to meet her in that coffee shop a second time, on our own terms, where fate wasn't involved, I worked through the pros and cons of following through a thousand times in my head. I agonized over it. I made flowcharts and diagrams, I mapped the possibilities, and I wracked my brain for reasons why I should just leave it alone. I couldn't. There was something so refreshing and honest about her that I couldn't stay away. I was drawn, hypnotized to this girl, captivated by her every movement. It was an odd way to be about a friend, I realized, but after I did show up to the coffee shop for our second meeting and sat down with her, I realized that Quinn Fabray was no normal person. She was the epitome of grace and calm. She was smart and wise way beyond her years. She had beautiful insights to the world and saw things, even the smallest things, in a way that I never thought possible. I found myself longing to see through her eyes, and when I realized this would be close to impossible, I settled for keeping her as close to me as possible.

We spent that entire day together. We didn't even leave the coffee shop for two hours, even though we finished our drinks in about 45 minutes. Conversation with Quinn was the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes, it felt like I could talk to her for days on end, without reprieve, and have absolutely no difficulties.

"Take ten, everyone," the director said, and I moved from my mark toward my chair behind the cameras. I moved my bag aside and reached for my phone, unlocking my screen and checking my text messages. Naturally, there were several from her, and I felt my face go from neutral to amused to overjoyed as I read them. They weren't anything important, just thoughts that had jumped into her mind that she wanted to share with me. She told me about how she was riding her bike around town and she saw this troupe of musicians performing old standards with washboards and spoons and other percussive instruments. She had been so taken with them, apparently, that she stood propped up against her bike for twenty minutes listening, and gave them five dollars for their efforts.

She told me that she ended up dropping by our favorite coffee shop for a mid-afternoon caffeine fix and wished that she could just drop by the Paramount lot to bring me something. She explained that she considered it, and wondered if large, burly men would manhandle her and escort her off the premises if she tried. I laughed at that, because she really was one of the least threatening things I'd ever seen in my life.

Her third message was about how she was thinking about taking a road trip somewhere completely random, throwing a dart at a map of California kind of voyage, and wondered if perhaps, I could be convinced to come along. I remember that my heart started racing at the thought about traveling with my friend, about being off the grid and away from everything Hollywood, and unreachable to my agents. I thought about the fact that paparazzi would likely have a field day with me taking a random voyage with some random "nobody" and cared far less than I probably should have. Truthfully, I wanted to shield Quinn from the cameras and the limelight, even though I wanted her to become a bigger and bigger part of my life. She was quickly becoming my best friend, my biggest confidant, and one of the closest people in my "inner circle."

Part of me wondered if it was safe to get this involved as quickly as I had, but I chalked it up to Quinn's power to be innately irresistible. I typed a reply, letting her know how my day was going without giving away key information about filming and the like that would go against contracts I had signed. She preferred not to be spoiled, anyway. One night, we had shared a bottle of wine at a nice little bistro, and I came awfully close to telling her key details. I remembered how she smiled, placed her hand on mine, and said that she could wait until the release date. I knew that it would be impossible, but if this girl was meant to be my best friend, maybe I could get her tickets to the premiere. I couldn't bring her with me, but with the proper amount of string-pulling and name-dropping, surely I could get her underneath the ropes.

Maybe it should have bothered me how little I cared about letting this girl into intimate aspects of my professional life and career, but it didn't. Not at all. Most actors would have likely seen this as a warning sign or a red flag, but I just saw it as a welcome improvement to my brigade of actors and "Hollywood" people. My best friends were a television actor, a choreographer, and a stylist respectively, so I tended to flock to others within the scene. It was refreshing that Quinn lived outside the limelight, had a normal life with normal parents and normal other friends. Even though she never talked about other friends. When we talked, we'd talk about my life, or her life and interests. We'd talk about her family, projects she was planning, things she had done or seen or experienced, and vice versa, but we never talked about friends. It was almost like she kept to herself and saw something in me that struck enough of a spark to open her gates and trust me to see past the castle walls.

I sent my message, and was a bit surprised at the fact that my phone started chiming in my hand moments later. Naturally, she was calling me, although I didn't know why.

"Hello?" I answered curtly, unable to let this call go to voice mail. I knew the break wouldn't be long, and when Quinn and I got to talking in any regard, it was nearly unheard of to end the call before the hour mark passed. Normally, our conversations went two, then three, and sometimes even four hours in one sitting. We could talk and talk, and it never got boring. There would never be lulls or awkward silences, it would just be one continuous share session, and it kept me incredibly on-edge and at peace simultaneously. Just another one of the paradoxes surrounding my new friend, I decided. I wasn't about to question it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, my father said, so I happily accepted this new gift and treated it with the special honors it deserved.

"Rachel," Quinn breathed, and it always surprised me how she seemed so untethered at hearing my voice, no matter how many times we exchanged phone calls. I had given her my personal telephone number after our second meeting at the coffee shop. I couldn't help myself.

"I'm still on set. We're on a break. How are you?"

"Better now," Quinn said, and I could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. I always could. "When are you done shooting today?"

"I think it's still up in the air. We've got a few more takes on this scene we're currently working on, and then I think we're set to film another before we wrap, but in between, I should get some down time... why?"

"I completely understand if you'd like to spend said 'down time' in your trailer," Quinn said, but I could hear the pause, the hope, after her sentence dropped off. I focused on her breathing, finding it a perfect accompaniment to the silence, and smiled brightly.

"Give me something better to do," I replied. "My trailer really isn't that interesting."

"There's talk of a small music festival at a local pub. Nothing giant, just a few groups of locals doing 30 minute sets, half price drinks for happy hour, and probably a lot of hipsters," Quinn drawled.

I laughed boisterously; Quinn was definitely the hipster type.

"Were you going?"

"I hadn't set any plans in concrete yet. You know me, I like to live spontaneously. However, if a certain Hollywood movie star was available, I was thinking it could be a fun night out."

"I'm so not a movie star," I protested.

"You're just a star. A bright, beautiful, shining star. You're going to take the world by storm, Rachel Berry, and I'm blessed to watch you do it," Quinn replied. She got that distant, almost faraway tone that she got sometimes, and even when I pressed on it, she always smiled, laughed it off, and said that it was just another quirk of hers. No matter how much I tried to detect the origin, she'd do whatever it took to throw me off the scent. I didn't mind, though; most of the time she was the perfect picture of life and joy. I decided that she was probably just one of those tortured artist types. She had told me that she enjoyed photography and painting, but wasn't quite ready to share her artwork with me yet.

I looked around the set, watching the camera guys start to trickle back in along with a few other crew members. Some of them were carrying sandwiches from the cart outside, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee tantalized my senses. I made a mental note quickly, then returned to Quinn.

"Let me get an ETA on the shoot from Greg, and I'll text you. That music festival sounds awfully tempting," I said, wanting to hear the smile return to her voice. It made her voice sound even lighter and more ethereal than its natural state. Some nights, it lulled me to sleep when our conversations made their way into the wee hours of the morning. Some days, it put me in a state of calm when my life was getting crazy and difficult to manage. I wondered if this girl would become a crutch, a dangerous liability instead of just a friend to keep outside of my world. I thought of our world to be a separate place, where I wasn't the Rachel Berry, but simply Rachel. I loved living in that world, and I loved that Quinn could live with me there.

"It's not really a festival. Just a couple bands," Quinn said with a shy chuckle. "I exaggerate."

"It sounds like a great time," I insisted. "I'll text you. Promise."

"Okay," Quinn said quietly. "Go be awesome."

"Always do," I said, then paused. I always found myself not wanting to end our calls. I usually lingered, just a moment longer to hear her breathing on the other line. I never said things like that aloud, because I realized that there could be a creepy element to those types of feelings. But in my head it all seemed so clandestine and poetic, so it could be left alone.

"Goodbye, Rachel."

I heard the smile again, and it satisfied me deep within my being. I grinned wildly. I was unable to control it.

"Bye, Quinn."

One of the producers approached me, clipboard in hand, just as I was hanging up my phone. I stared at it, allowing the screen to lock itself before my eyes drifted upward toward him.

"Miss Berry, we're starting again in a couple minutes," he said, and I smiled, thanking him before silencing my phone and tucking it into my purse. An intern rounded the corner with a cup of coffee, and I was pleased to find that it was for me. Occasionally, it was nice to have overeager interns.

I took my mark, determined to hit every line and every note. Not just because I was poised and in love with perfection, not just because I was becoming incredibly invested in this movie and the possible outcome it would have on my career, but because I had somewhere to be. I had somewhere I wanted to be, and for the first time, that place wasn't on a stage or on a set.

My wish came true, and we ended up breaking early for the evening. I barely made it out of the building before my phone was in my hand, and I was firing off a text message to Quinn. Thoughtful as always, she had the foresight to save me a seat, and the bands would be starting in 20 minutes. That would give me just enough time to get to the venue and get settled, since it was only a five minute drive from the lot.

However, as fate would have it, I found myself cornered by a tall figure standing near my car. Noah "Puck" Puckerman was one of my co-workers and the male lead of the production, and had been building quite a reputation both in his film work and in the tabloids, creating the image of a "love 'em and leave 'em" ladies' man. He had convinced himself that because he and I were on-screen partners that I was a natural choice for a courtship, and that he and I would be the next "it" couple. I, however, was completely disinterested in his affections. I sighed, rolled my eyes inwardly, and advanced toward my vehicle.

"Good evening, Noah," I greeted, knowing that a friendly indifference was sometimes one's greatest weapon.

"Rachel," he purred, giving me an obvious, leering once-over as his form of greeting. My eyebrows furrowed, but only for a second before I forced my face into a more neutral expression. We did still have to work together, after all. "You're looking lovely as always."

"The hair and make-up people are geniuses," I replied. "I wish my other projects had been equipped with such a gifted crew."

"No, you just always look hot."

"That's kind of you to say."

"So, I was thinking... since we wrapped early for the night, I'm finding myself with an open schedule and nobody to entertain me for the evening. I know a few great clubs downtown that always let me into VIP. We could drink a little, dance a little maybe. I'll show you a good time," he said, pushing off my car slightly and moving toward me, head slightly downward in what he must have thought was a sexy advance, but came off more as predatory and awkward all at once. I found myself hoping he'd set off my car alarm.

"Actually, I have plans," I said quickly. "But thank you for the offer. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Come on, Rachel," Noah said, moving forward and daring to put his hand on my hip. He smelled like expensive cologne and a hint of cigar smoke. His hands were too big. I didn't like it. I didn't like it when I was supposed to like it, even; when I was in character. "Come out with me. You're hot, I'm hot; Hollywood loves a hot couple. We'd be smoking."

I breathed in and fought the urge to cough: smoking indeed.

"I already have plans," I said, a little more firmly the second time. "But, I'm sure there are plenty of other ladies in your little black book that you could call to entertain you for the evening."

I pushed back against his hands, then darted around his looming figure toward my car.

"Goodnight, Noah."

He crossed his arms and his face dissolved to a boyish little pout that reminded me of a child that had just had his toys taken away followed by him being put in the corner. I got into the passenger seat, started my car, and fought the urge to laugh. I gave him a placating wave as I drove past and on the lot.

I really couldn't wait to get to Quinn.

The venue was quiet, intimate, and nothing like the larger locations I was used to. There wasn't a VIP section, there weren't extravagant booths and people tucked into every corner. Everyone mingled with everyone. Everyone was equal to everyone else. The lights were dim enough that I felt like I would be a little more incognito, just in case, but something about the vibe of the place made me feel safe and not like someone would approach my table to gush over me and take away from my evening out. I felt like there was a mutual, natural respect. It was very zen, very low-key, very Quinn.

The first band was setting up onstage, and it only took me a few minutes of looking to find Quinn. She had chosen a small, secluded booth (or as secluded as the open space got) near the front right quadrant of the place, perfectly spaced between the bar and the stage. She didn't see me right away, and I was okay with that, because it gave me an opportunity to take her in as I approached the table. Her blonde hair seemed more radiant under the dim lights and candlelit tabletop. Her eyes studied the performers as they tuned their instruments, taking in their every move like I would expect of an artist. Her hands absently stirred the small cocktail straw in her drink. Her breathing was slow, calm. She was still, like a piece of artwork all on her own.

I stood before the table and pursed my lips. My shadow descended over her, likely interrupting her lighting and gaining her attention. I watched her expressions change, saw the fire from the candle dance in those hazel eyes as they grew wider with recognition, then happiness, then contentment that seemed to always take Quinn in quiet moments.

"Rachel," she breathed out, the same way as she always did when greeting me. "You're here."

"Well, I did tell you I was coming," I teased. "Sorry it took a little while longer; I got momentarily detained. In the really unwanted kind of way."

"Oh," she said, her tone immediately sympathetic to my unknown plight. "Your co-star again?"

"Yes," I exhaled, exasperated but happy at the same time to be able to release my emotions like this. She was a catalyst. She was an excellent listener. She made me feel secure, like I could say things that plagued my thoughts, got on my nerves, irritated me and rubbed me the wrong way. To most, it would be seamless bitching, but to her, it was interesting. It was cathartic, she said, to be able to carry some of my burdens. "The nerve of that man!"

She gestured for me to sit next to her and quit stirring her drink. She focused all of her attention on me, like I was the only other thing existing in the entire universe. Quinn had such incredible focus, whether it was on something beautiful in a store window, a song she was listening to, or me. I moved in next to her, sliding close so we could talk more quietly to one another and not risk others eavesdropping. I never knew who was lurking, and didn't trust that someone hadn't already gotten sight of me when I came in.

"I'm sorry he's so persistent, but I can't really blame him," Quinn said quietly. "I mean, there is something to be said for decorum, but I can understand why he'd want to be close to you."

I arched an eyebrow and regarded this woman. My friend. She was looking at me, head slightly tilted to the side and a quirked smile curving up the left side of her mouth, but I couldn't read the fine print of the expression. It was another of Quinn's mysteries, and while I loved it, sometimes it was enough to drive a person mad.

"He's a womanizing asshole, Quinn," I said plainly. "I don't want him any nearer to me than he has to be for our job. For our characters. And that's close enough for my comfort level, trust me."

"Have you shot the love scene yet?"

I blanched, looking at Quinn again to find that her hands had stilled completely, and while before, there was a trace of expression on her face, now she was completely neutral. Her eyes flashed something, a flicker of emotion in a sea of enigma for a split-second before all was washed away. However, her intense focus remained, awaiting my response. I wasn't supposed to tell her plot elements, or spoil anything in the script because it was against my contract, but as a friend, I had confided in her that I was to shoot a love scene for the movie. Tasteful, only a glimpse of nudity on my part, even less on his, but a love scene nonetheless. The idea made me completely uncomfortable, not because I was embarrassed of my body or anything; I had grown up on the stage, I had done Broadway. My body was just another element in which to display my talents. Some say that an actor's kiss, an actor's body is meaningful because when we choose who we give it to, then it means something. Otherwise, it's just a job. Just a character. Just another part to play.

"No," I replied with a heavy exhale. "I'm not sure when I'm going to have to cross that bridge. You'll know about it as soon as I do, I'm sure."

"It means a lot to me that you confide in me, you know," Quinn said softly.

"You're my friend, Quinn."

She laughed gently, resumed stirring her drink, then took a sip to steady herself, perhaps.

"That still blows my mind."

"Why would it? You're amazing," I confessed. It was one of the most honest things I had ever told anyone. She really was amazing, beyond words.

"It's more than I ever would have expected, more than I could have conjured up in an entire head full of dreams and imaginations, which is kind of the world I live in," Quinn said, speaking softly. "It kind of makes me wonder about fate, and what plans are really written for us. I thought I knew mine, but then..."

I couldn't help myself. Something about how demure she was, how honest she was, how quietly she was speaking and the way the light was hitting her face, adding more of an ethereal glow to that flawless ivory skin... I placed my hand on hers. It was just a touch, just a gentle resting of my hand to hers. But it lingered, and that was what caused the danger. Quinn shifted her hand, but for a moment, I thought she was going to withdraw. She didn't. She turned her hand over, still keeping it underneath mind, and moved her fingers, spreading them out so mine fell neatly in between.

And just like that, we were holding hands. We were holding hands in a public place where anyone could notice me, then notice her, and get a completely wrong idea. But, then... if I thought a little harder, put two and two together with a little more emphasis, a little more clarity, it brought cause to wonder: would it really be the wrong idea?

I leaned in closer, still living under the guise that the place was getting louder in preparation for the first band's performance, and whispered in her ear. I could smell her skin, could smell the salt from the air, the warmth from the sunshine, the clean scent of her detergent, and a woodsy, spiced scent that was Quinn's very essence.

"If we knew our plans, our future, then what would be the point of anything? I think the greatest thing about life is the element of surprise. Of not knowing."

"Well, you can't know everything," Quinn said, her words maintaining a more rigid, almost protective feature even as I kept my close proximity and invasion of her personal space. Yet, I noticed she wasn't brushing me off, distancing herself, or doing anything that would make me feel uncomfortable enough to withdraw on my own, tail between my legs, and resist thoughts of ever pulling a stunt like this a second time.

"There are some things I'd like to know everything about," I confessed.

Quinn leaned in, and when I felt her breath on my lips, I nearly lost my mind. I felt my body tremble from the inside and working its way out like I was the epicenter of an earthquake. I felt my shoulders tense, then release. My fingers flexed of their own accord. My heart pounded so hard that it could have easily been the bass for an 80's rock band. I saw the colors of Quinn's eyes swirling, even in candlelight, and bit my bottom lip.

"Hmm. Like what?" Quinn asked. Her smile that followed was daring, challenging. Challenging me.

Rachel Berry never backed down from challenges, even when she wasn't sure it was proper to dive in head first. Challenges kept things going, gave you focus, increased your drive. They weren't something to run from, but another tool to make you stronger. I smiled back defiantly, but kept the honesty plain as it was written across my face. I was accepting her challenge, but I was also bearing my soul.

"Like you."

Her breath rattled as it left her lungs, and she took another long swig of her drink, finishing it, then slid it across the table, out of reach.

"I'm going to get another one of those. It's probably not safe for you to trudge up to the bar. Can I get you anything?"

I narrowed my eyes. What a subject change. But, I wasn't going to press. I'd learned that pressing got me nowhere with Quinn. She spoke when ready. She acted when she was comfortable. The fact that she wasn't acting, that she was going for a refill already, meant that she wasn't ready, and as her friend, I knew I had to respect that. Although, the fire burned hot in my belly, and I could see the line between friend and more blurring. I'd have to dwell on it, I knew, and figure out if I truly was content being with Quinn in this fashion, or if I was going to be greedy and make an attempt to have more. If I could handle the repercussions.

Maybe it was her kindness, maybe I was over thinking the situation. I had turned gentle, enigmatic, mysterious, attentive, wonderful Quinn... friend-Quinn into something much greater. Lover-Quinn. Partner-Quinn. And maybe, just maybe, that was more due to my desire not to be alone coupled with the way she could make me feel so special in ways that autographs and screaming fans could not. Maybe it was more of that than actual want. I played passion well from behind a camera lens. But Rachel Berry seldom wanted more than fame, more than recognition.

I didn't want things like lovers and romance in my personal life. I hadn't wanted that for a long, long time. Teenage Rachel, maybe even post-graduation Rachel wanted that, but when I became Broadway Rachel, and especially when I became Hollywood Rachel, I labeled such wants as distractions. I could summon those emotions for my work, but allowing them to leak into my personal life and my busy, hectic schedule was something that had to be avoided. I was going places. I couldn't afford to be taken off track.

Even if there was a chance that I wanted to be derailed, thrown aside, destroyed and pieced back together.

"Rachel?" Quinn asked again. "Thirsty?"

"It's not a good idea to drink alcohol when you're thirsty, but what the hell. Cosmopolitan?"

"I'll be right back," Quinn promised, sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar. I watched her walk away, watched her make her way through the crowd in that polite, tentative Quinn way where she was conscious of everything and everyone, not wanting to step on toes or get in the way. She reached the bar, and her smile flashed at the bartender, who immediately looked helpless. She had that ability, to render you completely mindless with a single smile. He started mixing our drinks, and before I knew it, possibly hours after my eyes glazed over from watching her do the smallest things like breathe, or laugh, or tap her fingers against the bar, she was back, sliding into the booth and placing my drink in front of me.

I took a sip, needing the courage. I looked at Quinn, who was back to stirring her straw in her drink. The band started with the lead singer addressing the crowd, who hushed almost instantly at the sound of a clear male voice through the venue's sound system. Quinn bit her bottom lip. I took another drink.

I wanted. I wanted badly. I had to know. I had to be sure, otherwise I'd never be able to go back to normal. I'd always have to wonder if Quinn was meant to be friend-Quinn or more than my friend, Quinn. I felt the questions, the insecurity, the desire flooding my veins, and cleared my throat.

"Clearing your throat is bad for you," Quinn teased, not even looking at me. My heart seized: she was aware of me, always. Always. This had to be right, then. Right?

"Quinn," I said, completely clear. I could detect the waver in my voice, but I hoped... prayed, even, that she wouldn't catch it.

She looked at me, eyebrow instantly raised to give voice to the silent, questioning response. She licked her bottom lip, and I moaned quietly. Her pupils instantly dilated, and I leaned in for the kill. I placed my hand on her neck, brushing my thumb along her perfect jawline, and leaned in. I felt her breath on my lips again, and closed my eyes.

Quinn placed her index finger against my lips, stopping me cold, and I opened my eyes.

"Rachel," Quinn breathed. It was the same way she always said my name, no matter the circumstance. We had been playing for a month. One month, and I was going insane. "Please know that my stopping you is not because I don't want you to kiss me."

"Then let me kiss you," I argued petulantly.

"You're not sure," Quinn said. I felt my heart sink. As always, she was right. I was proving a point, testing a theory, wanting to put sense in places that were entirely senseless and figure out where the hell my head was at, because I didn't know anymore. "I know that you want to, I can see that clearly enough. But you're not sure why you want to. And I want you to be sure. I don't want to have regrets, and if I let you kiss me now..."

"It'll be for the wrong reasons," I finished. Quinn nodded, then rested her palm against my face. We stared at each other, unaware and lost, not even realizing that the band had already started their set. They could have been nearly finished for all I knew, and I felt that Quinn was in the same state. She took her hand away, then smiled at me with all the brilliance and light of a tropical wonderland, with all the warmth of the sun, and kissed my cheek.

"When it happens, it'll be the perfect moment, because we'll both be sure."

"Are you?"

Quinn pulled back and sipped her drink, looking up at me innocently through long lashes.

"Am I what?"

"Sure."

"About us?" Quinn asked. "About... about kissing you? About wanting you?"

"Yes," I breathed, my eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Quinn smirked, then nibbled on her straw.

"Almost."