Here is a random five-part Fanfic I've started since my holidays began. These ideas seemed to be buzzing around in my head, refusing to leave until they made sure I made full use of them. Hence, this fic of sorts.

I do not own anything of Glee; make no money from the stories; the original characters belong to the creators, producers, and scriptwriters. Any events related to real life are purely coincidental.

With that being said, I present to you, The Beatles: Summer Flings.

Quinn stood in the public library by the newsprint archives, back pressed against one of the shelves, peering round the shelves cautiously. No one knew she was here, and she wasn't going to let anyone find out any time soon either. As far as her Mum was concerned, she was attending a very long evening sermon at church that could very well end past 8PM, knowing Pastor Mikaelson and his ongoing lifelong dream to spread the word of the good Lord to the world.

Dressed in dark skinny jeans, high-cut black Converse sneakers, black tank top and a black hoodie, Quinn could not blend in any better with the dark gothic students her age reading suicidal novels in the library, considering that they were the only ones that seemed to hang around in public libraries while normal people were outside enjoying the summer evening. She was never one who particularly preferred dark clothing, because it contrasted with her pale skin, but whenever she visited the library, she made exceptions as to not be conspicuous.

'I'm hardly normal either, considering I'm in the library dressed up like them, too,' the blonde smirked to herself knowingly. 'Now, where are they? The librarian had said it was around the corner here...'

She rounded the corner to find herself right where she wanted to be: at the old vinyl record archives. Smiling quietly to herself, Quinn began to rifle through the stacks upon stacks of records. Even though the records weren't arranged in alphabetical order, she was perfectly content with going through those vintage records herself, since she had so much time in her hands now that summer has started.

After minutes of flipping through the sleeves, she finally found the record she had been looking for. Proudly hugging the vinyl sleeve with the record itself nestled safely inside, she backtracked her way to the checkout counter with a light spring in her step.

Upon rounding a corner at the biography section, she collided with a solid body. The impact caused Quinn and the other individual to land on their bums, various thick encyclopaedias that the other person must've been carrying strewn around them both. A particular volume bounced off her shin, and she winced in pain at the sudden contact. 'That's going to leave an attractive bruise,' she grimaced.

Recomposing themselves quickly and hastily, but at the same time, the two hurriedly picked up the fallen books, muttering strings of apology, which both were deaf to. As they both reached for the last offending volume that had hit Quinn's leg at the same time, their heads collided none too softly against each other's. Quinn clutched at the affected spot on her head, groaning softly, face scrunched up in another grimace. Then she looked up, registering for the first time who she had literally bump into.

"Jeff?" she blinked.

"Oh, shit. I'm so sor-" The blonde Warbler was mumbling before Quinn spoke up. He looked up at the acknowledgement, his face breaking into a wide grin in recognition. "Quinn!" he cried, a sparkle in his brown eyes. Then his smile faltered as he remembered why the two of them were kneeling on the carpeted library floor. "I'm so sorry for running into you, and bumping your head, and the-" His eyes lowered unconsciously, suddenly noticing the encyclopaedias she had stacked on her lap. "-books," he trailed off, exasperated and a bit red in the face from embarrassment.

Quinn was still rubbing the sore spot on her head with her free hand. A look of confusion crossed her face as she studied Jeff before blurting out, "Didn't you feel any of the pain earlier?" Honestly speaking, he didn't look at all affected at the collisions prior.

He chuckled in response, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, Dad was always saying I had a hard head."

"No kidding," she mumbled. He had heard her, though, because he burst out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners. An annoyed "Shh!" came from the adjacent aisle, which then made Jeff slap a hand over his mouth reflexively, a small still playing on his lips.

He pointed to the thick volumes on Quinn's lap. "I should relieve those from you, though. They're pretty heavy. And this-" He picked up the forgotten vinyl sleeve that had skidded underneath a nearby shelf. "-is yours."

The petite New Directioner nodded, and proceeded to exchange the encyclopaedias for the old record. Both stood up simultaneously upon the trade.

Only just noticing the band's name on the vinyl sleeve, Jeff piped up, smirking as he did. "The Beatles, huh? Didn't take you for an old school kind of girl." The two walked side-by-side toward the checkout counter, Jeff's arms laden with at least seven volumes of encyclopaedias while she cradled the record protectively to her chest.

Quinn beamed at Jeff, flashing brilliant white teeth. "I absolutely love The Beatles! Their music is the epitome of perfection." Laughing, "Don't take me for the pop-rock type of girl, though. The hair's just a phase," she added with a roll of her eyes and a flip to her shoulder-length hair. "You've gotta appreciate the classics, after all, am I right?"

"Of course, of course!" The Warbler nodded animatedly, obviously excited; the brilliant smile on his face was a dead giveaway. "Favourite Beatle, go," he shot.

"John Lennon," she answered quickly without pausing to think.

He rolled his eyes and made a face. "How predictable of you, Fabray. It was either him, or Paul," he retorted, which earned him a hard punch to the arm. He grimaced at the impact before asking another question. "Favourite Beatle song, go."

"Easy. The most beautiful song in the world: Let It Be." She began humming the opening notes to the song.

Jeff softly belted out the instrumental part of the opening vocally, harmonizing along to her singing, and soon, the both of them were singing the song together in perfect sync under their breaths, only audible to each other's ears.

"When I find myself in times of trouble,
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be,
And in my hour of darkness,
She is standing right in front of me,
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be,
Let it be, let it be,
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be."

The two had started to slow their pace to the checkout counter, having similar thoughts: to finish the song before checking out their respective items they held in their hands.

"And when the broken hearted people,
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be,
For though they may be parted,
There is still a chance that they will see,
There will be an answer, let it be,
Let it be, let it be,
Let it be, let it be."

Oblivious to the silent glares thrown their way, Quinn and Jeff continued singing, easily picking up where each other had left off as they took turns at each verse.

"Oh there will be an answer, let it be,
Let it be, let it be,
Ah let it be, yeah let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be."

They arrived at the counter just as Jeff hummed out the last note, a smile playing on his lips. He dumped the thick volumes on the counter unceremoniously, startling the elderly librarian who jumped from her seat behind the wide oak desk. Quinn was sure the expression on her face mirrored his as she placed her item on the counter next to his.

"You know," a voice cut in. "You two should really keep it down. It is the library after all."

Without taking his eyes off Quinn, Jeff piped up. "Sorry, Mrs Clark." With a discreet wink to the girl next to him, he added to the librarian, flashing another charming smile to the lady, "Won't happen again, pinkie promise." He offered out his right hand, said pinkie extended. Quinn giggled.

Rolling her eyes with a smile on her face, Mrs Clark entwined Jeff's offered pinkie with her own. Quinn couldn't help but to stifle her laugh with a hand over her mouth as she watched both Jeff and Mrs Clark bobbed their entwined hands up and down twice, rubbed their own thumbs with each other's, then retrieved their hands back.

"Anyway," Jeff continued, propping his elbows on the counter and leaning forwards as Mrs Clark scanned the encyclopaedias. "You're in here -the public library- to check out an old vinyl record?" He asked with great emphasis to the word 'public'.

Feigning shock with a hand clutched to her heart, Quinn gasped dramatically. "Jeff Sterling, Warbler extraordinaire, is judging me, innocent Quinn Fabray?" Laughing, she dropped her hand, returning to composure. "I'm into these old school things nowadays," she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

He jutted his chin at the record. "You have a gramophone?"

She nodded, the smile on the face widening as she replied with, "I was going through all the old stuff in my attic the other night, and I literally stumbled on the old thing. There was a box of old records nearby as well," Quinn said, gesturing excitedly with her hands. "They still play and all, though the sound coming from the gramo's a bit crackly, with age, I s'pose."

Jeff grinned at the flushed girl. "That's so -I don't know how the hippies used to say it- rad." He stopped when Mrs Clark said, "Your books are all scanned, dear. Due date's in two weeks for each book." The elderly lady then took Quinn's record without hesitation. "By the way, the word 'rad' is being used by you youngsters," the librarian mumbled loud enough for the both of them to hear, not looking up once from the computer. "I believe the word you were looking for is 'twitchin'," she pointed out.

Quinn had to stifle another laugh, but Jeff simply chuckled. "Thanks, Mrs C; I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"There you go, Quinn. Two weeks for you, too," the librarian smiled at blonde girl, sliding the sleeve across the counter. "Be sure to take care of it."

"Sure, Mrs Clark," Quinn smiled back. "Thanks."

"Thank you, Mrs C!" called Jeff across the lobby of the library as the two blondes strode toward the exit. A loud "Shh!" sounded from across the hall, causing Quinn to burst out from the library's double doors with a loud unladylike guffaw, snorting a little, to which Jeff raised an eyebrow at.

Collecting herself, Quinn flushed a light pink before raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow of her own. "You're the one to look at me like that. Pinkie promises with old Mrs Clark?" She gestured back to the library with a thumb as they crossed the road to the pavement across the street. "And twitchin'?"

Jeff shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, anything helps. Besides, I'm only like this with Mrs Clark; gives me leeway when I return the books I borrowed way past the due date," he grinned cheekily. "And she said twitchin', not me," he added with a mumble.

"Suck up."

The Warbler gasped. "Excusez-moi?"

Quinn nodded to him. "You heard me," she said with a playful challenging tone in her voice.

"You are so lucky that I have these bricks to carry, or I'd tackle you to the ground."

"What's up with those anyway?" she questioned. "Light reading for the summer, eh?" She raised an eyebrow.

He faked a laugh, and then recomposed his face. "Hah, no. My mother's doing a research on something, or rather; I'd not like to find out anytime soon though," he said in all seriousness. "She's part of a research team in Harvard University, hence these cinderblocks." He jutted his chin down at the books. "Has to be thorough and all that professor nonsense."

"I see," Quinn responded half-heartedly, shedding the hoodie; the evening sun was blazing down upon them. 'Guess wearing black was a terrible idea,' she thought. Out loud, she asked, "You're in Lima just for these books? Don't they have libraries in Westerville?"

"We do, but Mother wants every detail to be researched and covered, so she sent me here for the books that Westerville doesn't have," he replied with a roll of his chocolate brown eyes.

Quinn gave him a look that one would give when seeing a newborn infant. "Aww, do we have a Mummy's boy here?" She ruffled his hair.

"Hey, quit it!" he pouted, flipping his hair to its original position as best as he could. "You're really lucky that my arms are occupied," he said, huffing slightly.

She looked at him, puzzled. "And why didn't you drive here? We're heading towards the park, by the way."

"Follow me," came the simple reply.

The blondes walked in silence for the remainder of the journey, cutting through the Lima Recreational Park. In his haste, Jeff managed to trip and stumble on at least five tree roots, earning him looks from passersby, but he managed not to drop any of the books he was carrying in his arms. Quinn had offered to relieve some of the books from him, but he refused, angling the books away from her when she tried to take a few from him. On occasion, Jeff would glance at her from the corner of his eyes, face a deep scarlet every time he managed to trip himself on something.

Quinn heard him mumble to himself, "I could see better if these books weren't in my way." It only took an immense self-control from her not to burst out laughing when he said that.

Finally, the two of them exited the park through the west entrance. Crossing the street, Jeff led her to the part of the town that the Lima citizens had dubbed 'Old England Market Square.' True to its name, the ground of the market was paved with cobblestones, the buildings carved out of limestone. Little stalls dotted the already-narrow walkway, the vendors calling out bargains to the shoppers, fighting to be overheard over one another as the Warbler led her through the throng.

"Jeff," she called. "Where are you taking me?"

"Just follow me." His reply was barely audible to her; the evening market din of the Sunday flea market drowned out his voice as she struggled to catch up with him with a small crowd between them. She barely kept up with him, eyes never straying from the back of his bleached blonde head.

She followed him to a cute little café at the end of the street, where a beautiful and petite lone woman in her late thirties or early forties was seated outside by the café's garden hedge, a stack of books on the wicker chair next to her. Her blonde hair was pulled back to a tight ponytail, accentuating her high cheekbones. She was dressed comfortably in a white sundress. On the table sat a cup of what Quinn suspected was chai, surrounded by pieces of paper, and pens of various colours. The woman was currently staring blankly into the cup of tea, nibbling at one end of the pen she had gripped in her bangle-adorned wrist.

"Mother," Jeff called warmly. "Your darling son has returned!" Quinn gaped at her friend. This woman is Jeff's mom?

Without looking up from the tea, the woman smiled to the mug. "Hello, Jeffers."

Her son cleared his throat. "Mother," he repeated, this time in a more serious tone. "This is a friend of mine, Quinn."

The woman looked up then, bored eyes sparkling to life when she noted the girl next to Jeff. Smiling, the warm brown eyes Jeff must've inherited from this woman travelled up and down, studying Quinn apprehensively as the latter fidgeted under the woman's gaze. Finally, "Hello, dear. I'm sorry I didn't notice you earlier; my mind was somewhere else," she apologised with a small laugh, waving a hand flippantly by her head. She got up from her seat, extending a hand. "Clara."

Quinn took the woman's proffered hand, returning the smile. "Quinn Fabray. Nice to meet you, Mrs Sterling." They politely shook hands.

Shaking her head, Mrs Sterling said with a warning tone in her velvety voice. "No, no, dear. You must call me Clara." She gestured to Jeff. "All his friends do."

Rolling his eyes behind his mother's back, Jeff dumped the encyclopaedias on an unoccupied chair. "Your books as requested, lovely maiden. Don't frighten the girl, please, Mother," he added.

Mrs Sterling threw her hands up in the air. "Must you imply that I always frighten your lovely-" she cut off, leaned towards Quinn and quickly added to her in a whisper, "You, my dear, are by far the loveliest-" She turned back to her son, eyes rolled heavenward. "-friends? I'm wounded, dear son of mine!"

Quinn giggled at Mrs Sterling's dramatic reaction while Jeff rolled his eyes again, head shaking, sighing. She didn't know how to make of this little family exchange. The both of them seemed so close, judging by the way that they were communicating with each other.

The older Sterling swooped down on to her seat and reached for the Kate Spade tote at the foot of the table. Gingerly placing it on her lap, she rifled through the contents inside, pulling out a black quilted Chanel purse. She handed her son a hundred-dollar bill. "Take this, Jeffers." He plucked the note from his mother, smiling; he knew what his mother would say in the next few seconds. Then she turned to Quinn, smiling brightly, absently addressing her son while looking at her, "Treat her to something nice, dinner preferably; she deserves it."

At that, Quinn blushed a furious red, stammering, "Oh, no, it's no need, Mrs Sterl-"

"Clara," the woman cut her off, still smiling softly. "I'm Clara."

"I'm sorry. Clara," Quinn quickly corrected herself. "You don't have to make Jeff do that. It's perfectly alright."

"Ah, but wait, dear," the woman said knowingly. "I, as Jeff's darling mother-" she planted both hands, one over the other, on her chest. "-can make him do what I want him to do. And, I want him to treat you."

Quinn looked at Jeff with a pleading look in her eyes, her mouth opened to start protesting before Mrs Sterling raised a hand to stop her. Tutting, she said, a small smirk playing on her lips, "I'll be hurt if you refused, Quinnie, dear. Do you want to hurt this old lady?" She ended with a dramatic sigh, pouting.

"No, of course not! I-"

"Great! Then it's settled then!" clapped Mrs Sterling. She turned to her son standing by her elbow, took his forearm, and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. Quinn gaped at Jeff, who was smiling gently at her while his mother whispered to him. He hadn't said a word during Mrs Sterling's insistence on him taking her out.

Jeff finally straightened his posture after his mother released his arm. Grinning, he said to Quinn, "Let's go!" He bounded toward her as an excited puppy would, grabbing ahold of the hand that wasn't clutching the record, and gently tugging her away.

"Bye, darlings! Be good," Mrs Sterling called absently after them, giving a small wave to which Quinn returned as Jeff dragged her through the market again.

Halfway through the square, Jeff slowed to a walk, never once letting go of Quinn's dainty hand. He led her to an alleyway between two buildings, rounding many corners and finally coming to a stop at a crossroad clearing. Straight ahead was a dead end, so that definitely wasn't the way they were headed. The left and right were similar, but Jeff was tugging Quinn to the right. They stopped at an unmarked wooden back door after walking a few steps, to which Jeff just barged in without knocking. Quinn, too shocked at Jeff's sudden and, not to mention, rude action, mutely followed him, hand still in his.

"Bonjour, Jeff, m'boy!" a heavily accented booming voice shouted upon the both of them entering. "Gaston!" Jeff had exclaimed at the greeting.

"Your maman called ahead; your table is all ready for you!" continued the heavyset man.

Quinn just stood rooted where she was, taking note of her surroundings, face in awe. She seemed to be in a kitchen, with many cooks dressed in crisp white uniforms bustling about, yelling in distinct French. 'I'm in standing in the kitchen of a French restaurant,' she thought in awe. Gleaming utensils hung from the island counter, and wonderful smells were tickling her nose, tempting her.

"Merci beaucoup, Gaston," Jeff beamed at the portly man also dressed in white, a chef's hat sat atop his curly black hair. He led the two blondes through another door, and into the dining area of the restaurant, gesturing to a waiter to show his guests to a secluded booth nearby. Before ducking back to the kitchen, the head chef called out to Jeff, "Vous avezune petite amietrès belle (You have a beautiful girlfriend), Jeff!"

Laughing and waving the hand that wasn't holding Quinn's, Jeff yelled back a "Merci, Gaston!" before settling himself down at the booth after she seated herself on the plush cushions.

The waiter then left Jeff and Quinn alone with a platter of hors d'oeuvres between them and a tall flute of what seemed to be sparkling cider each, throwing a smile at Jeff, who returned it with a grin of his own, before walking away.

Quinn studied the restaurant's interior décor. The high ceiling was hand-carved with intricate designs, swirls, and various flora. A large crystal chandelier that she had suspected, without a doubt, was made of real crystals hung from the middle of the ceiling. Dim light bulbs and wall lamps hung at intervals, providing an intimate ambience while a single candlelight burned at every table, which were strategically spaced apart, ensuring private moments for intimacy and quiet conversations. Faux hedges partitioned each booth. Overall, the décor was simple, yet it created the cosiest environment the restaurant could offer its guests.

Silent since the odd exchange between Jeff and his mother, Quinn finally spoke up. "What was that all about? What did your mother tell you? Did she ask you to take me here? Did you not wonder if I had any plans before you dragged me here?" she demanded with a frown, hands fidgeting under the table, lips a thin line.

"Well, do you?"

"No," she admitted after a short pause.

Jeff smiled up at her. He dropped the little crab cake he had reached for on the table and held up a hand, fingers splayed. Using his other hand, he ticked off Quinn's questions one by one. "Gaston is Dad's part-time personal chef, and also a family friend; I've known him since I could chew properly. He's from France, and this-" he swept a hand over the restaurant. "is his bistro!" he smiled proudly before continuing. "Two: yes, Mother suggested bringing you here. It is her favourite bistro in Ohio, besides Gaston being her favourite chef." Satisfied, he flashed another blinding smile at her.

She let out a sigh, cheeks puffing out. She obviously couldn't go against Mrs Sterling's wishes. "Your mum sounds fabulous," she finally said wistfully.

Jeff nodded, bouncing in his seat. "Oh, yes, she is! She might've have been born into an obscenely wealthy family, but she's really down-to-earth. Hence, the whole taking part of the research thing. When she isn't researching, she's a part-time professor teaching Medical Science in Harvard. Claims she "doesn't want to lose her intelligence with her age rapidly catching up-" He made quotation marks with his fingers. "What a load of nonsense, if you asked me."

Quinn blinked. Mrs Sterling sounded really, well, exceptional. Intrigued, with eyes widened, she asked, "Please tell me more about your mom."

Shrugging, Jeff rambled on. "Before she married Dad, she was an actress in, um, France, if I'm not mistaken. She married dad young; 20, I think, and had me a year after. That's why she looks more like a sister to me, than a mother, or so says my friends. They -Mum and Dad, I mean- met on one of Dad's business trips there, in a farmer's market, believe it or not." He chuckled to himself, fingers toying with the linen napkin on his lap, reminiscing at the memory his mother often told him when he was younger. "Her family deals with aircrafts worldwide, since the early 1800s. Her maiden name's Brightman, by the way.

"Dad's Samuel Sterling the second, and originally from the UK, as were the Sterling lineage. His family provides security to various companies and private establishments worldwide, including to the Royal Family in Britain. Nothing much about him there, besides being in Europe almost all year, only returning to Ohio during festive seasons.

"I'm an only child. I've got cousins, of course. Twins, Evan and Ethan Brightman, who attend Dalton with me, and their sister, Audrey, is somewhere in Europe, too."

Quinn gaped, mouth hanging open. Jeff laughed at her reaction and promptly leaned over the table to gently shut her mouth by pushing her up chin gently. "You'll catch flies, Fabray."

"You- I mean, you're- Family- Your mum-" she stammered, unable to find the right words to string into a proper sentence. "She sounds wonderful!"

"Yeah, she is something." He grabbed another crab cake and started picking it apart, not exactly eating it. Jeff looked up and met her hazel-green eyes. "Tell me about your family."

Suddenly self-conscious with the spotlight on her, Quinn made a reflex grab at the flute of sparkling drink, toying with the elegant stem. "Nothing much about them, really."

He made a grab for the flute from her, almost spilling its contents. "C'mon," he whined.

"Not as great as your family," she mumbled. "Dad's a staunch Christian, and had imposed that on us ever since I could remember. Mum's the same, but not as strict. They're both divorced, by the way," she hastily added, ducking her head in embarrassment.

"Hey, it's not your fault." He covered her hand with his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

She smiled sadly at him. "I guess not; he went against what religion had taught him anyway. Mum's still the shining beacon of light in my life, besides my older sister, Frannie. Despite the divorce, she's still really strong, for me especially. Fran's married to some guy who owns chains of UPS stores across the country, but I don't know much about him."

Squeezing her hand again, Jeff said, "Hey, don't think too much about it. I didn't mean to pry, though," he apologised.

"It's okay. Only fair of me, since you've already told me about your amazing family."

Upon completing her sentence, the waiter appeared, oblivious to the pair until he cleared his throat and placed an elegantly decorated plate in front of them both. Standing ramrod straight, the waiter spoke with a heavy French accent. "May I start with the beautiful lady?" He gestured to Quinn politely, bowing slightly. "For her, Chef Gaston has personally prepared filets of sole véronique, complemented with a rich velvety cream sauce." Turning to Jeff, he inclined his head. "For Mr Sterling, Chef Gaston has prepared steak au poivre with a rich cognac sauce, served with a side of pommes frites and asparagus."

"Thank you, Pascal." Jeff grinned at the waiter, reaching for his silverware.

"Enjoy your food, moncher," the poised waiter said, inclining his head to Quinn. "Jeff," the waiter called in a warning tone. "Votremère vous a ditde se comporter (Your mtoher told you to behave)." He strode away with that being said, a smile on his lips.

The Warbler chuckled, shaking his head. He earned a questioning look from Quinn. "What did he say?" He watched her as she stabbed a piece of fish from her dish and pushed it in her mouth. Her eyes grew wider and wider with eat bite as she chewed.

"What?" Jeff asked, alarm lacing his voice. "Has the fish gone bad?" The hand that was gripping the fork flashed out, speared a filet, shoved it in his mouth, and chewed quickly. He frowned. "No, it hasn't. Quinn? What's wrong with it?"

Swallowing, Quinn stared wide-eyed at her friend. "The fish. It's- It's- It's delicious."

"Oh," Jeff let out a breath of relief, slumping back on the cushions. "You frightened me there." He then cut his steak into neat squares, before placing the knife down and eating with the fork. He stabbed a piece and offered it to Quinn, who ate from the fork, chewing thoughtfully. Her eye widened again as Jeff watched her chew, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"It's- The steak- Oh, my Goodness," she breathed after swallowing the bite.

Smirking, he nodded towards the kitchen. "Gaston's talented like that."

She continued eating her filet. "Tell me about it; they're scrumptious!"

"Mother warned me to be careful." He absently answered her question as they both ate.

"Hm? About what?"

Jeff's eyes clouded over for a split second. "Maman," he muttered, head shaking. "Never mind," he said with finality.

'I can't pry anyway, so I won't ask anymore questions,' Quinn thought, shrugging internally.

In attempts of keeping the conversation between them going, she asked, "So, any plans for college?" She knew Kurt and Rachel have applied and gotten into NYADA, herself accepted into-

"Yale. I got into Yale," was his reply, shrugging lightly.

She studied him for a second. "Really? Oh, thank you," she said to Pascal the waiter, who had appeared as if out of nowhere, clearing the empty main course dishes from the two. Without hesitation, the waiter placed two smaller plates in front of the guests, followed by platters of dessert between them.

Sweeping a hand over the platters, he simply pointed out. "Desserts." He pointed with a thumb a platter with two slices of what seemed to be apple pie. "Tartetétin, caramelised apple pie with a dollop of whipped cream." He then gestured to a bowl. "Trou normand is a sorbet of your choice -apple or lemon- mixed with a hint of alcohol Chouquettes-," he continued, thumb pointing to another bowl of plum-sized chocolate balls. "-are choco balls topped with chunks of sugar. And of course, éclairs, which I believe are self-explanatory," he said with a wink to Quinn, who giggled. "Finally, we have a simple café gourmand: coffee that is complemented with a triangle of rich chocolate brownie, a serving of crème brulée and clafoutis." Pascal bowed slightly, and retreated back in to the kitchens.

Jeff looked up toward the direction of the kitchen, hand waving. The head chef was beaming at the two of them from the little window on the kitchen door. "Merci, Gaston!"

Quinn could hear the jolly man chuckle deeply. She turned, waving and smiling at the chef, mouthing a 'Thank you' to the chef, who only winked at her in response.

"Let's play a game," Jeff suggested, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

She gave him a questioning look. "What game?"

"You close your eyes, I feed you the desserts one by one, and you have to guess!"

"No."

His face fell. "No?" he pouted.

"Because the desserts are pretty obvious, don't you think? The apple pie would taste like apples; chocolates are, well, chocolates; the tinge of liquor in the sorbet would only give it away; and I think I know what éclairs taste like," she explained with a smirk.

He looked down at the dessertspoon he was holding. "You're right," he admitted. "I never thought of that." He chuckled softly to himself. "That was a lame attempt at flirting with you, I guess."

"Y'know," Quinn started, reaching for the apple pie. "For a Dalton boy-" she swiped at the whipped cream with a finger. "-you're pretty dumb." She finished, swiping the finger on Jeff's nose with a laugh as he went cross-eyed looking at his nose.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "You win, Fabray." He had polished off a brownie and was quickly reaching for the crème brulée, scooping out a helping and offering the spoon to Quinn, who closed her lips over it. "And for that, you deserve a prize."

"What is it?" she asked after swallowing the sweet pudding, eyebrows raised.

"Go out on another date with me."

I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Fret not, this is merely part one of a five-part story, so stay tuned!

Note: I would love to hear what you think of this chapter, so do drop a review or two if it's not too much trouble. Criticism is welcomed, so that I can improve on my future writing.

Thank you for reading! (: