Back on that newly constructed library set, Rachel enters after hours to prowl through the darkened stacks alone. Suddenly, an invaluable hardback for any future musical theater professional drops to the floor in front of her! DUN! Rachel shoves aside the remaining books on the shelf to discover... Jesse St. James, basking in his key light on the other side of the bookcase! Dun-dun-DUN! "I'm so glad you came," Jesse St. James opens before confessing, "I picked the Stephen Sondheim biography section for our clandestine meeting place because only he would be able to express my melancholia." Yeah, I still totally want to make out with his hair. Jesse St. James feels bad about how their Wiggles and skee-ball date ended last Friday evening, and does she still have his Care Bear? Rachel nods. Jesse St. James heaves a weighty sigh of relief. They need to hire Jonathan Groff for the rest of this show's run. I don't care how and I don't care why and I don't care how much it costs, Murphy. Just do it. In any event, seeing as how they're already lurking in the shadows, Rachel has something she needs to confess. "Me first!" Jesse St. James whispers. "I was out of line the other night," he tells her. "You deserve more than that. You deserve Romance -- no! You deserve Epic Romance." Rachel visibly melts. Get in line, sweetie. With catlike grace, Jesse St. James slips around the far end of the stack and, while never breaking eye contact with Rachel, apologizes for pressuring her into Going All The Way, promising to wait. "You tell me when you're ready," he smiles, "and I'll make sure that I'm... fastidiously groomed." By this point, he's standing inches away from her, and he reaches out a few gentle fingers to caress her hair. "Now, what did you want to tell me?" he asks, finally allowing her to speak now that he knows she's like wet sauerkraut in his hands. Devious little fucker. I think I'm in love. "I'm ready!" Rachel bleats, all little lamb to the slaughter. Jesse St. James gathers her up in his arms, and as they clinch, a faintly wicked smile crosses his face. Hooray!

Out on one of those external walkways no high school in the Northeast would ever bother installing, Emma catches up to Will and, in the interests of personal empowerment, informs him that foreplay will begin at 7:30 that evening at his apartment, with The Nasty to follow as soon as is convenient for them both. It's a date! It's also... a commercial!