NOTES:Oh god, those of you who have alerted this fic, I've been so distracted rooting through your "favorites," it's ridiculous. It's amazing how much I miss on my own.
Until We Say I Do
"By the Soft Glow of Candlelight"
By Leila Winters
-.-
He comes home from work to their quaint little apartment and knows something's the fuck up. He knew it the second he stepped inside and it was dark and the smell of burning lavender-scented candles wafted gently over to him.
Why does his life suck so much?
Suppressing a groan, he places his keys on the entry table, hangs up his jacket, and slips his shoes off as quietly as possible. He doesn't want to wake the beast.
It's not that he truly believes he'll be able to slip by unnoticed and pretend to be sleeping before she spots him, but not trying feels a lot like telling a crazy homeless man to "go ahead and shoot"...you just didn't.
He tries not to jump when her silhouette magically appears in the entryway to the kitchen and the hall. She is tiny and terrifying with a large wooden spoon in one hand and a vintage black dress with ruffles drifting down to stop above her knee. He can't see it, but he can feel the wide, calculating grin spreading across her face.
He feels a lot like Hansel who wandered where he shouldn't have and is about to be made into a pot pie. Shepherd's pie.
Wow. He'd never thought of it like that.
"You're home early. I wasn't expecting you yet." He thinks he detects a hint of panic in her voice.
He rubs at the back of his head. "Uh, yeah...there weren't too many orders to fill, so I finished up early." He's walking toward her, slowly, and the whites of her eyes suddenly pop out in the darkness like headlights and he's a deer trapped in them, with nowhere to go but head-on. So he kisses her and asks what smells so good (besides her).
The giant wooden spoon is like an annoying cousin, wedging itself between them while she holds it to keep him at bay.
"My own special recipe," she declares proudly with an approving nod at him. "It's pasta with artichoke and sun-dried tomatoes and a little white wine." She's curled her hair and it's all shimmery and perfect looking. They'll have the hottest looking kids in Ohio. "Why don't you shower and get changed for dinner? I still have to let the New England clam chowder simmer a bit. I've laid out clothes on the bed for you."
Of course.
He does as he's told. It's just easier that way.
He's never seen the shirt before. It's new. He feels like Antonio Banderas n' shit as he buttons the soft, loose material with slightly billowy sleeves. He wonders if he's expected to leave a generous expanse of skin showing at the chest.
He decides there's only so far you can play into someone else's game. He only leaves the top two undone.
He takes a few deep breaths before braving the she-demon that was once his girlfriend.
When he walks into the combined kitchen and dining area, he doesn't know how she does it, but she knew he was coming. She's waiting behind the table, the places set with their first course, the soup with a bit of basil sprinkled on top and a perfectly sliced piece of toasted, buttered French bread on a little plate to the side. Her face is softly lit with the glow of the tall, elegant tapers nestled in polished gold candlesticks, one for each place setting. Actually, the entire room is aglow with strategically placed candles flickering eerily in the still air. The soft strain of violins fill in the gaps between conversation.
A flute of sparkling champagne is in her perfectly manicured hands.
She's changed the tablecloth. He's positive it's shimmering gold with embossed stars and really, it wouldn't be the first time she's tried the candlelit dinner trick, but it would be the first time she's sprinkled rose petals over the table surface and somehow managed to form a heart with crumbled crackers haloing the basil at the center of their bowls.
"Wow." Her insanity should cease surprising him by now. "Ten for presentation, babe."
Her smile is blinding.
"What's the occasion?" he asks. Not that he needs to. Not that he EVER needs to. The woman has a one-track mind and after the first time or the first fifteen times, he's pretty much got her figured out.
She shrugs (completely unconvincingly) and tells him nonchalantly, "Nothing. I just wanted to stretch my culinary wings. No reason not to be fully committed."
He doesn't say anything. Because what do you say to that?
He pulls her chair out for her and kisses her by her ear when she sits down. They play the how-was-your-day game (and damn, he loves that she can cook) and by the time they're finishing up the pasta, he can tell she's a little tipsy.
At this point, he knows it can go two ways. She'll either be extremely easy to divert from her seemingly relentless plan, or she'll be more determined and more emotional than ever about it when he fails to produce a ring.
He's complimenting her on the most romantic dinner he's ever had and she's basking in his praise and looking at him with such hope and expectation, he knows he's going to feel like the biggest jackass in exactly two seconds.
"Well, time to hit the books," he pecks her quickly on the lips and gets up to go. He's almost to the hall when she recovers.
"Wait!"
He can't not notice the warble to her voice.
She's standing now, too, and looking like that stupid fuzzy alien thing screaming "I'm lost!" in the woods. "That's it?" she whimpers.
Damn her adorableness.
"I can help clean up if you want."
The sound her foot makes when she stomps it on the kitchen floor is too cute. "NOAH!"
She's all gathered up in his arms and he's making little soothing "oooh" sounds into her hair and telling her he's sorry. When she's done pouting, he waits for just the right moment to spring the question:
"You wanna have sex or something?"
She shoves away from him, a scowl on her pretty little face. "I don't know why I bother with you! You're hopeless!"
She storms past him and slams her bedroom door shut. It's times like these he's glad they actually have their own bedrooms. A little personal space does a person good.
He puts the dishes in the sink, turns the music off, and blows out all the candles before heading to his room to strip down to his boxers. He knows he's going to blow off studying, but he's pretty sure he'll be able to wiki the shit he needs to know and fake his way through class tomorrow anyway.
She yells something about not speaking to him until their stars get uncrossed and would he kindly leave her to wallow in her own anguish when he knocks quietly.
He rolls his eyes and opens the door.
Her dress is in a heap on the floor and he knows she's going to cry about it tomorrow, so he picks it up and lays it over the back of her chair. She's face-down, under the covers of her bed, which is generously scattered with red and white rose petals. There's a candle burning on her nightstand.
Sliding in next to her, he traces circles on the skin of the small of her back. They're both in their underwear. He likes those odds.
"Hey..." he whispers against the shell of her ear.
She doesn't answer.
"I'm not sure what I did to upset you..." (yeah, he is SO going to burn for that one) "...but I know it's my fault. You know I'm kind of an idiot. If you're not telling me what's going on, I won't take the hint. Aren't you always saying communication is like WD-40 or something?"
When she turns her face toward him, she's smiling. "It keeps the relationship running smoothly."
He kisses her funny Jewish nose. "Right. And you know what else keeps a relationship running smoothly?" He slides a finger down the cleft of her tight little ass over the cotton of her panties. "Lube. Lots of lube."
She bursts out laughing even though he knows she doesn't want to.
"Worst boyfriend ever."
Oh, he's in.
"Probably. But you know I love you."
And just like that, he's really in and he knows he's gonna want to say a prayer in the morning because jesus. Well, not like Jesus, because you know, but whatever.
His life will be complete if he can manage to get her to stop her crazy girl scheming because he's pretty sure the ring he's had hidden in his guitar case for the past few months is going to like, rust, or some shit if he just leaves it there.
But he knows that's kind of a fool's errand because he knows Rachel Berry.
And Rachel Berry is no quitter.