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Rachel dashed around the kitchen in a flurry of energy, giving a quick stir to the spaghetti sauce simmering in a pot before flipping the light on in the oven to check on the garlic bread and the meatballs. Satisfied that both looked good, she cracked several handfuls of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water and whipped out the largest knife they owned to begin chopping the vegetables for a salad. She sang along softly to the original cast recording of Wicked playing over the kitchen's sound system. The whole house was wired with speakers in every room set up to broadcast a single channel throughout the whole house or separate music in each room.

"Mmm, smells good, kitten," her father said as he opened the refrigerator door to get a bottle of water. "Ben, doesn't this smell incredible?"

They both laughed at the faint affirmative of her other dad from his office.

"So, this boy is something special, huh?" he said, taking a drink as he watched her work.

She paused in the chopping to think about it. "I don't know, Daddy. He's actually been kind of a jerk to me up until now, but I think that's because he doesn't know any better. I think that his father isn't very good to their family. Nothing like the two of you. And since he's in Glee, I can offer my friendship and help him so that our chances of winning are better."

Her father moved over and took the knife, placing it on the cutting board, and grabbed both her hands in his. "Be careful with that, kitten. He's not a project."

She sighed. "I know. I've just-I've just liked this other boy for so long while Noah was such a jerk and now that I know a little bit more about him, it changes things. I don't think I'm ready to give up…"

He pulled her into a hug. "I know it's hard, but you've got to be fair to the both of you. Just let things happen the way they're supposed to and don't worry if things seem to be working out different than you wanted." He kissed her forehead. "It might be better than you think. And, whatever happens, we're here for you."

"Thanks, Daddy," she said, hugging him back. She retrieved the knife as he headed back upstairs and made quick work of the remaining components for the salad. Layering it all into a bowl, she covered it with plastic wrap and placed it in the refrigerator to keep cool. The timer for the meatballs went off right then, so she pulled those out of the oven and plucked them from the tray to drop into the sauce. She was just about to drain the spaghetti when the doorbell rang and her whole body twitched in nervous anticipation.

"I've got it," she called as she turned the music off and slipped down the hallway to the front door. Clicking the locks open, she took a deep breath before she opened the door.

Puck nearly turned around and left a total of five times before he rang her doorbell. As he waited for her to open it, he adjusted the strap of his guitar over his chest and reminded himself that it was only Rachel Berry and he was only here to get some vocal coaching while he helped her out with accompaniment. Nothing special.

He was all prepared to be pleasant and say all the right things, but when the door opened every thought in his head disappeared, except one. Though she was standing in the doorway looking perfectly ordinary in her usual skirt and sweater getup, he saw her on a bed beneath him with her hair spread around her in disarray and her mouth tinged red from kisses. Somehow she had misplaced her shirt and…

"Would you like to come?" she said.

That startled him and he said, "What?"

Rachel looked at him quizzically. "Would you like to come in? I've got to drain the pasta kind of right now or it'll be too mushy."

"Oh," was all he could manage. Reining in his hormones tonight was definitely going to be a challenge, he thought with despair. "Yeah." Shaking his head, he stepped inside.

She closed the door and turned the locks, smiling at him when she was done. "So, this is my house," she said with a little wave. "If you'll just follow me…" She started down the hall, pointing out things as they passed them. "That's the downstairs bathroom, if you need to use it while we're down here. And that's my dad's office, over there."

"Which one?" he interrupted.

"What?" she asked as she continued into the kitchen.

He indicated the office with his head. "Which dad?"

She blinked at him for a few seconds. "Oh, um, Benjamin. Ben. Paul has his office upstairs. They can't be around each other when they work." She shrugged. "I guess it's too distracting. I'm surprised you remember."

He made some kind of sound. The place smelled wonderful, like he imagined the entirety of Italy smelled. His stomach growled.

Rachel crossed over to the stove and flipped off a burner. Then she grabbed a couple of pot holders and proceeded to try to wrestle a huge pot over to the sink.

"Here," he said, moving behind her and trying to ignore the heat of her body all along his front. "Let me get that." Her body stiffened for a second in the circle of his arms. Letting go of the handles quickly, she let him take hold and ducked out under his arm.

"Thanks," she told him with a smile. "Just pour it out over…"

He carried it over to the sink and poured the contents, spaghetti noodles and water, into the waiting colander. "I know how to drain pasta, Rachel. Looks like you made enough to feed an army."

"Well, I figured that with you coming to dinner, I'd better be prepared," she said, shaking the colander to get out all the water. "Could you bring me that big bowl over there?" She dumped the noodles into the bowl he held out and took it from him.

"Do you need me to do anything?" he offered, the manners drilled into his head by his mother taking over.

She set the bowl on the island and put her hands on her hips, looking around the kitchen. Shaking her head, she said, "No. I think I'm good. You can put your guitar in my room, if you'd like. It's the second door on the right up those stairs. And could you tell my dad that dinner's ready? His study is across from my room."

Puck nodded, glad that her dads seemed cool with them practicing in her room. He climbed the stairs just visible around the corner from the kitchen, slowly absorbing everything around him. Her house was so orderly and clean. His own house was clean, or had been clean, too, but the contents were no where near as nice. A collection of tastefully hung pictures lined the stairs, Rachel at various ages in various costumes, a huge grin on her face and a prize ribbon in her hand in nearly all of them. No wonder she was crazy about making it big.

Reaching the top, he let himself into her room and was surprised to see not the explosion of pink he expected, but a carefully neutral room with only a few pink accents. He unslung his guitar and set it next to a music stand sitting in one corner. Taking the opportunity to examine her room without her standing over him, his eyes wandered over the impeccably arranged trophy case, the little offset that contained a workout area. More pictures, these mostly of herself with her dads, decorated the walls. Wandering into the workout area, he had to laugh at the glittery "Sectionals" sign taped to the support beam in front of her elliptical. She sure had a one track mind. Well, two track, he thought as he saw a picture of Finn wedged into the mirror over her vanity table. His libido was temporarily quelled.

"Did you want to eat?" Rachel's voice behind him made him jump.

He spun around and tried not to look guilty. "Food sounds good. It smelled delicious. I didn't know you could cook."

She smiled and his libido was right back on track. "There's a lot you don't know about me," she said and turned on her heel. Knocking on the door right opposite hers, she poked her head in and informed her father that dinner was on the table.

Puck exited her room a few seconds after she hopped back downstairs and came face to face with one of her fathers.

"Hello, Noah, right? I'm Paul," the man said, sticking out his hand.

Puck shook the outstretched hand, his manners kicking in again. "Yes, sir."

Paul chuckled. "Don't fall in to that 'sir' bit. I'm not that old."

"Daddy!" Rachel called from downstairs.

"We'd better go. I don't think Rachel would appreciate us letting dinner get cold when she spent so long preparing it," Paul said. He gestured for Puck to take the lead down the stairs.

They chatted a little about the weather and Puck was surprised to learn that Paul was a collector of music. "Oh, sure. We've got all the show tunes, as you may know, but my tastes range from The Beach Boys to Metallica to Chris Botti. I love it all." Tromping downstairs, they met Ben and Rachel in the kitchen. Puck introduced himself as Rachel handed each of them plates.

"Have as much as you want," she told him. "Would you like something to drink? We've got water, maybe some Pepsi, juice…"

All at once it felt surreal to be in her house having dinner with her and her dads. She was acting so normal, even amazing with her cooking and well-honed hostess skills. He felt like a bum. "Water's fine. I can-" he started but she waved him to silence.

"Of course not. You're the guest." She flitted over to a cabinet and pulled out a glass. "Lemon?"

He shook his head. That was a little too classy for him. "Plain water's good for me. Thanks." After that, dinner passed in a blur. He could recall nothing of the conversation. All he knew was the bliss that was a very well executed home-cooked meal. She was just full of surprises.

"That was delicious, honey," Ben said, stretching his arms and patting his stomach.

Rachel grinned happily as she cleared the dishes from the table. "Good."

Ben stood and pushed his chair in. "It's good that she can cook, because the two of us would starve if it were up to us. While she was growing up, we had a delivery service for meals so that she didn't eat frozen food for every meal." He shook his head in mock despair. "It really is pathetic. I swear, we could burn water."

Laughing, Paul stood with him and scooped up some dishes to carry into the kitchen.

Puck gathered the will to move though he felt disgustingly full, like he had just eaten Thanksgiving dinner at his grandparent's house, so it was a good kind of disgustingly full. He started to pick up his dishes, but Rachel was there before he could move.

"Don't be silly," she admonished. "Like I said, you're the guest."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to let you do all the work. My mother taught me better than that."

She set her jaw and looked him straight in the eye. "Well, tough."

"Ahem."

They both looked over to see her dads watching them with amusement. "Well," Ben said. "You kids have a good time. We're heading out to a movie."

Puck's stomach did an odd flip. He was going to be alone with Rachel in this house, her house, for at least a couple of hours. A quick look at her did little to calm him. Color was high in her face and she seemed to be breathing faster than usual. Faster than he could have seen if he hadn't been watching her closely, she slapped an unconcerned expression on her face and smiled.

"Okay. Have a good time," she said, running around the table to give them both hugs and kisses. "Drive safe."

Puck shook their hands again, saying, "Nice to meet you," to each of them and they were gone. And he was alone, truly and utterly alone, with her for the first time.

Rachel was in a mild panic. How could they do this to her? Were they crazy leaving her alone in the house with this sex-crazed boy she hardly-they hardly knew? Though, she had to admit, he had been very pleasant all evening and she supposed he was too stuffed to make any sudden moves. The amount of food that he had put away astounded her. She didn't know a person could eat so much and still live. She wondered if there was a discernable bulge where his stomach was. Taking a deep breath, she kept the smile on her face and turned to him. "So, I'm guessing you enjoyed dinner?"

Puck groaned. "Yeah. It was really good." He pressed a hand to his stomach. "I think I might need to lay down for a while."

A genuine smile curved her lips. "Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so much. I don't think there are any leftovers or I would offer to let you take them home." She carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen with him trailing behind. Placing them on the counter, she turned around to find him directly in front of her and close enough to touch for the second time that evening. And again her heart beat wildly at his proximity. Her skin, even under her clothes, tingled in an odd way though he hadn't touched her.

"Wh-why don't you go lay down in my room while I finish cleaning up," she suggested while she could still cling to rational thought. His gaze was almost magnetic and she found that she was unable to look away once their eyes met. Her weight tipped forward onto her toes and her body shifted forward toward his without her express consent. He seemed to lean toward her as well, but then he blinked and the spell was broken. She leapt back against the sink and he clenched his jaw, moving back a few inches.

"Yeah. That's probably a good idea. I feel like I'm going to pop," he confessed. Without looking at her again, he ambled out of the kitchen.

She waited until she heard him reach the top of the stairs and she let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. Holy shit. Jerking herself back to reality enough to concentrate on the ordinary task of rinsing off the dishes, she frowned upon noticing that her hands shook as she reached for the rubber gloves. This most definitely would not do, she decided as she turned the music on and set to work.