Quinn walks into the cafe between 7:25 and 7:35 every weekday morning without fail, and Mike still looks forward to it just as much as he did before he knew her name. Now that he doesn't need an excuse to talk to her, he's back to running the espresso machine the majority of the time. (Matt's grateful, and Mike's convinced that if the guy hasn't learned how to work the espresso machine without burning himself after this many years, he isn't ever going to.) It actually makes it easier for him to chat with her for the five or so minutes it takes him to finish whatever he was already working on and make her drink. He's been making lattes for long enough that he can do it on auto-pilot.

Even though he's busy when Quinn comes in on Thursday morning, he makes a point of catching her eye and smiling before he turns to the sink to rinse out the rag he's using to clean the steam wand. He knocks out a large hazelnut latte, a large caramel macchiato, two small Americanos, and an iced mocha before he even reaches for a cup to make Quinn's skim latte, no foam.

"Hey," she greets, stepping up to the bar after the customer in front of her walks away.

He glances at her and smiles. "Hi."

"Are you busy tonight?"

He doesn't even need to think about it. "Nope. What's up?"

"I have cupcakes to bake," she says. "Are you interesting in helping?"

He's quiet for a second, concentrating on pouring the milk into her cup, using a wide spoon to keep the foam he inadvertantly made in the pitcher. "What kind?" he asks, grinning when she bites her lip as if to hold back a smile.

"White cake with vanilla buttercream."

Mike snaps the lid on her cup and hands it to her. "All right."

He hears Quinn call for him to come in when he rings the bell at her house later that evening, and he freezes in the doorway when he sees her standing in the kitchen. It looks like she's measuring flour, standing there at the counter. She's still wearing the pale blue shirtdress that she had on when he saw her this morning, but now she has a pair of fuzzy gray socks on her feet and an orange checked apron tied on over the dress.

"I love the socks," he tells her before he can stop himself.

She shoots him a look over her shoulder. "My feet were cold."

He crosses to where she's standing and leans down to kiss her cheek. "Do you have an apron for me?"

"I do," she answers, grinning wickedly. She rises up onto her toes to kiss his lips quickly. "If you want to wear an apron, I have more."

"Gimme," he says, totally prepared to wear something pink or frilly for the rest of the evening. He kisses her again when she produces a plain blue apron from a drawer, circling his fingers around her wrist to hold her in place for just a moment.

"Whose birthday is tomorrow?" Mike asks when she slides the tins into the oven to bake. She's very sure of herself in the kitchen, moving deliberately, without any hesitation. All he did was sift the dry ingredients and crack some eggs while Quinn did everything else, but he likes keeping her company while she works.

Oh, who is he kidding? He likes her, and he likes being with her regardless of what she's doing.

"Henry Burton," she answers, setting the dirty dishes in the sink and opening the cabinet for another bowl. "We'll be decorating with green sprinkles because green is Henry's favorite color."

Mike realizes that she's making the frosting when she drops half a stick of butter into the bowl. "Do you ask the kids these things, or do you just know?"

"I have them do a 'getting to know you' project at the beginning of the year, and I keep them until summer," she answers, going after the butter with a wooden spoon. "At this point in the year though, I know them well enough that I don't have to look."

"You're just a really good teacher, aren't you, Miss Fabray?"

Her cheeks go a little pink. "I am," she agrees softly. "That sounds conceited, but I know I am. I work really hard to be a good teacher. I like to be the best."

"It's not conceited. It's...self-awareness." He shrugs when she looks over at him. "I know I'm a good dancer."

"Well, I can't speak to that, but I can confirm that you're an excellent barista," she teases.

"Oo, what an accomplishment," he laughs and leans his hip against the counter. "My father would just love to hear that, Quinn."

"Why haven't I seen you dance?" she asks, ignoring his sarcasm. It's like she's just realized that she's never seen him perform.

"I haven't done any shows since we started...this," he says, gesturing vaguely between them. They haven't labeled what they're doing, though he supposes most people would call it dating. It's not really important right now.

She lets go of the handle of her spoon and turns to face him. "Can I come to the next one?" she asks, stepping closer to him and reaching up to trace her fingertip along the strap of his apron over his collarbone.

He kisses her instead of answering because she's totally adorable right now, looking at him through her lashes and smelling like vanilla and powdered sugar. He figures she's smart enough to figure out that he'd like it if she came to a show he was dancing in.

He really did invite Quinn over to watch this movie with him, but her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck while she traces her tongue along his bottom lip is infinitely better than watching Mila Kunis flirt with that guy from The Office.

Besides, she started it.

She hasn't said it in so many words, but Mike can tell that Quinn loves kissing. The thing is, he's been with girls who loved sex and saw kissing as little more than a means to an end, and he dated a girl once who was pretty inexperienced and therefore insecure about a lot of the physical stuff for a long time. Quinn is totally sure of what she's doing - totally aware of the fact that she makes him half-crazy, he's convinced - but as hot as this is, he can tell that she's not trying to make it lead somewhere. This is making out for the sake of making out, the kind of kissing that Mike hasn't done a lot of (sober, at least) since high school.

He has buddies who'd give him shit for it, but he's really into doing this with her.

He curves his hand around the side of her neck when she moves to straddle his thighs, and she makes a little humming noise when he strokes his thumb over the skin just behind her ear, shifting her hips forward against his. He slides his free hand up her thigh over her jeans, his fingers digging in just a little when she strokes her tongue against the roof of his mouth. He can feel her smile when she pulls back a bit to nip at his lips. He loves her like this, all playful and teasing and hotter than he thinks she realizes that she is.

She practically melts against him when he sinks his hand into the back of her hair so he can kiss her the way he wants, gentle at first and deepening it slowly. He slides his other hand around to the small of her back, slipping it beneath the back of her shirt just so he can feel her skin, smooth and warm and so soft against his palm.

"Mike," she almost gasps, pulling back. He chases her lips, leaning forward and kissing her again until she puts both of her hands on his shoulders and pushes him back against the couch. "Wait."

His mind feels a little fuzzy when he opens his eyes to look at her, and her pink cheeks and swollen lips don't do much to clear things up. But she said wait, so he waits, struggling to keep his eyes open when she scratches her fingernails gently over his shoulders through his shirt.

"I want to take this slow," she finally says, not quite meeting his eyes. "I just...I've rushed into things before, letting things go too far, too fast, and it always ends badly." She swallows thickly. "I really like you. I don't want to mess this up with sex."

"Okay," Mike says easily. He wasn't looking at this as a casual thing. Not at all. Fuck, he's basically been in love with her since before he even knew her name. He leans forward to kiss her lightly. "I really like you, too, Quinn." The words feel a little silly, like he's thirteen years old again, walking home from school with his first girlfriend, but then Quinn is feathering kisses up his jaw and breathing out a thank you against his ear before tugging lightly at his earlobe with her teeth.

He might go crazy in the meantime, but he's willing to wait for as long as she needs.

"Are you any good at trivia?" Quinn asks Mike out of the blue one afternoon. They're at a nursery, and he's pulling the red wagon in which she's placing all of the plants that she's buying to take home. It's a little difficult for him to imagine her on her knees with dirt under her fingernails, but she told him that she's done this every spring since she moved into the house she's in now. (He likes that he was right.) She said it was something that she did with her mom when she was little, and he thinks it's cute that she's still doing it all these years later.

"Like Jeopardy?"

She chooses a cell pack of flowers that remind him of brains, except they're bright orange. "Like a bar trivia night, where you play in teams."

Mike shrugs. He hasn't ever done anything like that. "I know a lot of random stuff," he offers.

Quinn turns away from the table of petunias - those he recognizes - and giggles. "That's pretty much the point," she says, stepping close and setting her hands on his shoulders. "Tomorrow is trivia night at Wilde's, and I'm on a team with a couple of friends. You should come play."

There's isn't anyone nearby, so he puts his hands on her hips and pulls her closer. "Yeah?" She nods, tipping her head back the way he's learned she does when she wants a kiss. He obliges her, brushing one of his thumbs over her hipbone through the denim skirt she's wearing. "You can't hold it against me if I suck though."

She pecks his lips and turns away from him, moving to another table of flowers that he doesn't recognize. "No promises, Mike."

Wilde's is a pretty standard pub with some Irish-style influences. A carefully lettered chalkboard behind the bar lists the forty-seven beers they have on tap year-round, while a second board shows a selection of seasonal specialties. The place seems pretty chill, with music coming from a digital jukebox in one corner and a couple of waitresses in fitted red tee shirts running around.

Quinn leads him through a doorway into the back room that's way more chaotic than the main bar. The space is smaller, but there are more people crammed in back here, and most are milling around, chatting like they're all old friends. It's crowded, sure, but Mike decides that he likes the atmosphere, even if he is a little nervous about meeting Quinn's friends.

They haven't done this yet. They still haven't put a name on what they're doing, so it probably makes sense, but other than Matt at the cafe and a couple of random teachers at the music recital at her school, neither of them has introduced the other to any of their friends. Mike knows that he's a pretty likeable guy, and even though he was shy when he was younger, he hasn't ever had a hard time making friends. He still wants to make sure that he makes a good impression on Quinn's friends though.

Quinn holds his hand when she leads him across the room, stopping at a table where two guys and a girl are already sitting. "Hi!" she greets brightly, leaning down to kiss the top of the blonde guy's head. Mike pulls out her chair so she can sit while she says, "Everybody, this is Mike." They're all three watching him, not Quinn, when he takes the last chair, between her and the other girl. "Mike, this is Mercedes, Sam, and Artie," she introduces, pointing at each of the guys when she introduces them. Sam is the blonde, and Artie is wearing dark-rimmed glasses.

"I've heard a lot about you," Mercedes says, looking at him appraisingly.

"I haven't," Sam offers, but he's looking at Quinn, not Mike. She rolls her eyes, and Sam takes Mike's hand when he holds it out across the table for the guy to shake.

"It's nice to meet you," Mike says, giving Artie a nod when he shakes his hand.

Mercedes is the music teacher at Quinn's school, and she rolls her eyes when he mentions that he was at the first-graders' recital. "Those kids are about ninety percent hopeless as singers," she laughs. "They have fun though, and they're cute." She shrugs her shoulders and grins, and Mike decides that he likes her. He can tell, even that quickly, why Quinn does.

Artie's a PA on a sitcom that's been pretty popular since it first began a year ago, and a friend of Quinn's from college. "I'm the reason Q has swag," he says, making Quinn shake her head. "No, really," he says, looking at Mike seriously. "That girl was all prim and proper before she met me."

The waitress interrupts before Quinn can respond. Sam orders for the table - chips and salsa, green bean fries, a pitcher of Blue Moon, and a Sprite - before looking expectantly at Mike. "Sprite's fine," he tells the waitress. He knows that most people wouldn't have a problem with having one beer and then driving home, but Mike doesn't roll that way. Even if it's just a beer, he thinks drinking and driving is irresponsible.

"How do you two know each other?" he asks Sam after the waitress has gone. The guy rolls his eyes as soon as Quinn opens her mouth.

"Sam dated my freshman roommate," she says, smirking across the table at her friend. "She was mean, and Sam liked it."

"It wasn't like that," Sam insists, shooting Quinn a glare. "Santana was kind of mean, but that wasn't why we were together."

"That doesn't mean that you don't get off on being with a bossy woman," Quinn laughs.

"Whatever." Sam pushes a slip of paper and a yellow pencil across the table at her. "Go sign us in."

Mike learns two things going to trivia night with Quinn. First, he's really good at trivia. Years of being a straight-A student combined with a huge interest in pop culture has made him sort of perfect for this kind of thing. Second, Quinn's friends are great, and they're really protective of her.

Quinn volunteers to take their pitcher to the bar for a refill (their waitress is running her ass off, but they're all impatient), and as soon as she's out of earshot, Mercedes turns and levels him with a look.

"If you mess with that girl, I will mess you up," she says lowly. "You feel me?"

Mike nods. He doesn't know what that means, exactly, but he doesn't have any intention of messing with Quinn, at least not in the way that Mercedes means.

Apparently satisfied with that answer, Mercedes picks up her nearly-empty glass and takes another sip.

"Look," Sam says, looking at Mike seriously. "Quinn doesn't date much, and she has a history of dating guys who are real jackasses. It's been a long time since she's spent as much time with a guy as she has with you."

"We just don't want to see her get hurt," Artie adds, speaking just loudly enough that Mike can hear him over the rest of the people in the room.

Sam seems to be the one who's the most serious about this, so Mike looks him in the eye when he says, "I really like her, okay?" He doesn't have any intention of hurting her, but he'd like to think that most of the time, people don't get into relationships seeking to hurt the other person's feelings, so it feels like a hollow thing to say. "I think she's...amazing," he says. It doesn't seem like a good enough word. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"Good enough for me," Artie says, holding out his fist for Mike to bump.

"They liked you."

Quinn says it in the car when he's driving her back to her house. She's been checking her phone, and he assumes that at least one of them has been texting her. She leans her head back against the seat and looks at him when he slows at a stop light. "I like you, too."

He grins. She isn't drunk, but she is a little tipsy. It's the first time that he's seen her drink anything more than a glass of wine with dinner, and she's adorable like this. "You like me?"

She reaches over to take his right hand off the steering wheel, skimming the backs of her fingers over his palm before slipping them between his. "I really do."

He kisses the back of her hand, but the light turns green before he can say anything else, and she's quiet the rest of the way back to her house. It isn't until they're standing on her front porch - of course he walks her to her door - and she's slipped the key in the lock that she says something.

"Do you like me, Mike?" she asks, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She's still holding his hand, and her thumb is sliding back and forth slowly over the inside of his wrist.

He nods, leaning down to kiss her softly. "I really do, Quinn," he breathes against her lips.

She kisses him harder, standing on her toes and pushing her hand into the back of his hair the way she told him she likes to do. (I love the way your hair feels between my fingers, she admitted one night when they were watching a movie on her couch.) "Mercedes thinks we're cute together," she says, leaning back against her front door. He brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "I think we're cute together, too."

She's way too adorable right now. "I think you're cute," he tells her. It's not a lie.

She starts giggling then, shaking her head when he asks why. "We're so gross right now," she laughs. "I think you're cute," she parrots, biting her lip when he gives her a faux-wounded look. She curves her hand around his jaw and presses herself against him, her head tipped back so she can meet his eyes. "I think you're cute, too, Mike." She presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Good night."

She slips through her door before he has a chance to say anything, leaving him standing alone on her front porch, but he doesn't mind.

A/N: With all of the changes and poorly explained occurrences going on here lately - including deletion of fic - I wanted to take a moment to remind everyone that all of my fic - including some things that aren't here at ffnet - are available at my Live Journal, the link to which seems to have disappeared from my profile. (Another inexplicable change, I assume. Quite simply: nicalyse (dot) livejournal) Anything that I write will always be posted there first.