Finn felt a little strange brushing his teeth next to Quinn the next morning. One bathroom just isn't enough when your ex-girlfriend is sleeping in the room next door, he thought, making room for her to spit. She did so, delicately, and rinsed the sink when she was done.
"I wanted you to know I'm moving my stuff over to Brit's house this morning," Quinn said, leaning on the door frame. "She has an extra room. Your mom's been really nice letting me stay here."
"Okay," he said. "Sounds like a good plan. Do you need any help?"
"I think I can still lift two bags," she said testily. Then she sighed. "Finn, I... I heard, okay? I heard you. Last night."
"What -" He turned bright red as he realized what she must have heard. He hadn't been able to keep quiet with Puck - his tongue... his fingers... Gah. "Quinn, I -"
"It's okay, Finn. We're not together. You've made it clear that we can't - be what we were. You can have your own life." She looked miserable. "Is it Rachel?"
"Rachel?" He swallowed. "No, it's not Rachel."
"I don't actually want to know," she said, but she looked somewhat relieved. She snaked an arm around his waist and looked up at him. "I hope you're happy."
"I really am," he said, but even as he thought of Puck, of the unbelievable night they'd had, he also thought of Kurt, and knew he had to see him, now, before the day could get any more complicated. He kissed Quinn on the top of her head, and she smiled at him, surprised, before heading down to get her bags.
Puck's grocery list was three pages long. He'd already picked up some of the more obscure ingredients earlier in the week, but most of it he'd get at Whole Foods before heading over to Finn's. He still had a little money left over from the open mic two weekends ago; this would pretty much take care of it, but he didn't mind.
He sat in his truck and remembered last night, feeling a rolling tension in his gut at the memory of Finn's words about them, about being a family. They hurt, those words did, especially the ones about the baby. His baby, he thought defiantly, holding the grocery list tight enough to wrinkle it. Finn couldn't tell him what to do about her. She was his, as much as he was Kurt's or Finn's. More, even.
He rubbed his forehead in confusion and kicked the car into gear, pulling into traffic a little faster than he needed to. This was too much thinking for a Saturday morning. He wanted to be in action. He wanted to get in the kitchen - he'd be prepping most of the day as it was.
Puck was browsing the mushrooms when he heard a familiar laugh. "God, Puckerman. Could you be any more of a fruit? What in the hell are you doing in the produce section?"
He grinned at Santana, knowing her words had no particular meaning, other than to annoy him. "I'm making dinner for my fabulous boyfriends," he said with over-the-top flamboyance, knowing she'd think the same about his words.
She laughed and poked at the dried mushrooms with a finger. "These look like they'd taste about as good as the crap my dog leaves in the yard," she said. "What are they?"
"Dried morels," he said. "They cost a bazillion dollars, but they actually taste pretty amazing."
"Well, they look like ass." She wrinkled her nose and put the package down, then picked up the other mushrooms, these with flat caps and long wrinkled stems. "What are these?"
"Shiitake," he said.
"Gesundheit," she said, glancing up at him through lowered lashes. He hit her with a bag of mesclun lettuce, and she cackled with satisfaction.
Then he remembered the texts. He picked up an avocado, felt for ripeness, put it back. "Hey, Santana, I need you to do me a favor on Monday."
"And I would do this for you because?" she drawled, finding two perfect avocados and passing them to him. He nodded in approval and beckoned for more.
"Because this is sneaky and you love that kind of thing. And, um, because you said you were on my side." He picked up a bag of sweet potatoes, another of red potatoes and three shallots and set them in the cart, thought again, added another shallot.
She raised her eyebrows. "This is about your secret girlfriend?"
"Something like that." He added several heads of garlic and a couple ginger roots to the pile in the cart. "Can you lie to Quinn?"
Santana rolled her eyes, taking his arm and strolling down the aisle with him as he pushed the cart toward the bulk foods. "Does the pope shit in the woods?"
Puck took a paper bag and poured a generous portion of slivered almonds into it. He folded and marked it and set it in the cart, then did the same with pecans and a smaller amount of hazelnuts. "Okay. On Monday, I want you to go to Quinn and tell her to stop chasing me. Like, to leave me alone. And then tell her you were sexting with me on Friday night when we were babysitting."
"Babysitting?" She got a look of disgust on her face. "She must really be hard up for cash."
They walked over to the cheese aisle. "It was kind of fun, actually," he said, shrugging. "Kids are easy. You just have to think like a kid."
"You're a kid whisperer," Santana jeered, poking him in the ribs, but Puck bore it stoically, long ago having suppressed his tickle urges in defense against a sneaky sister. "I never would have guessed it of you, Puckerman."
"I pretty much raised my sister, and she turned out okay," he said, selecting a big block of gorgonzola and smelling it. He held it up to Santana and she took a whiff, then waved a disgusted hand in front of her nose. He grinned. "Don't like the stinky cheese, huh? Get two boxes of cream cheese. No, the organic kind. Oh, and three pints of cream."
"These?" Santana asked, holding up the yellow bottles. He nodded and she set them in the cart. "So, you know she's going to come find your phone and check for the texts. This is Quinn we're talking about. What are you going to do about that?"
"Already handled," he said, smirking. He leaned across the deli counter. "Could I get a pound of sliced turkey pastrami?"
"Oh, really?" She dug in his back pocket, came up with his phone and browsed his texts. She frowned, finding the conversation with "Santana X. Lopez." "I didn't send these. Damn, they are kind of hot."
"Okay, that's enough," he said, retrieving his phone. Those were for me. Just for me. He reviewed the text history with satisfaction, his heart catching a little as he re-read the last words he'd sent: Dude, I fucking love you. What do you think? "So, can you help me?"
She shrugged. "Seems easy enough. What's in it for me?"
"I'll pack you lunch on Monday. Leftovers from dinner." He gestured to the cart. Her eyes widened and she nodded.
"Deal." She watched him order three pounds of free-range tenderloin and four tilapia fillets. "Can I...?" She coughed, embarrassed. "Can I have some of the steak and the fish?"
He smiled, then tapped on the meat counter. "Better make that five fillets. Thanks, Santana."