Jan West towers over Blaine in her three-inch heels — conservative in the fashion world, but at nearly six-feet-tall, she doesn't need the boost — making quite a scene dressed in head-to-toe black, her silver-white hair pinned back in a tight chignon. She reminds Blaine of his paternal grandmother, all prickles and ice, and absolutely no warmth.

Grandmother Anderson came from old money and made it clear she'd never approved of her son's decision to marry someone outside of their pretentious inner circle of New England WASPs. She seemed to direct a lot of her disdain for Blaine's mother at Blaine, perhaps because he'd been unfortunate enough not to inherit the Anderson height or their stunning blue eyes. His brother Cooper had gotten both; Blaine favored his mother.

He takes a deep breath and pockets his phone; Lorelei will have to wait. If he's already lost this account, he'd rather get a chance to clear out his desk and say goodbye to Yvonne before Lorelei fires him.

Blaine puts on his best smile and squares his shoulders, falling back on his prep school upbringing and all those years of his mother telling him to sit up straight, as he approaches his client. "Ms. West, Lorelei didn't tell me you'd be coming by today," Blaine says, holding out a hand for her to take. "What a pleasant surprise."

Jan West's own blue eyes pierce through Blaine like he's made of straw, a sad sack of brainless oaf, which Blaine thinks might be pretty accurate at this point. He can't even manage to keep from hurting his best friend for more than five minutes at a time.

Standing next to a force of nature like Jan West, Blaine has never felt quite so small or childlike in his life. A former model herself, she towers over nearly everyone in the loft, except for Sebastian and Adamo. How had Kurt just walked up to her like that? Blaine never would have taken the initiative like Kurt had if Jan hadn't sought him out first. Well, screamed for him, more like it.

Blaine looks up expectantly, hand still extended.

"That's because she doesn't know I'm here," Jan says, looking down her nose at Blaine as if she refuses to lower her head, or herself, to his level. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he says, pulling his hand back abruptly when he realizes she's not going to take it. "Blaine Anderson. I'm the art director for your holiday campaign."

She sniffs.

"This model is too short," she says waving a hand at Kurt. She doesn't even look at him. "We need to reshoot."

Kurt is shooting daggers at Jan with his eyes; the similarity between the two when they're judging someone is uncanny. Blaine wonders if Kurt realizes it or if it's one of those situations where you hate someone because subconsciously they remind you of the things you hate most about yourself.

Jan strides over to the rack of clothes that Ben is working from and starts rearranging his styling. Blaine sees him tense up as she destroys hours of work in a matter of seconds.

"Don't you think that's a little rash?" Blaine asks, approaching her cautiously. He's not quite sure if he means reshooting or restyling, maybe both.

Jan turns and looks at him, hand frozen in mid air with a silk tie between her bony fingers. She's looking at Blaine as if he's just suggested she wear off-the-rack.

"I was clear about the height requirements for my models, was I not?" she asks.

"You definitely were," Blaine says, "but I think if you–"

"So my instructions were clear, but you chose to ignore them?"

"Not at all Ms. West, but I thought you might like to see what we've been shooting," he says. "I think you'll agree that Kurt is exactly the right model for the One West line."

"You think I don't know my own style, Zane?"

Blaine resists the urge to correct her as he tries to remain diplomatic. "I just think if you saw what we've been working on, you'd see that we're going for something edgier, something that I think will wipe the floor with the competition. You'll be the name on everyone's lips next season."

She narrows her eyes at him and says, "You have that much confidence in your work, do you?"

Blaine nods. "I do."

"That kind of arrogance will either get you promoted or fired," she says.

The two stare at each other for a moment, Blaine worrying that his fate will be the latter, when she says, "Okay, wow me."

Blaine claps his hands together sharply and glances around frantically trying to remember where he'd left his laptop. He spots it next to Zach's camera bag and opens it up, their last 100 or so frames still on the screen. He pulls up the group shots, thinking he stands his best chance if he can show how they managed to mask Kurt's height next to the much-taller models.

"So what we're going for here is this twist on the urban chic thing–"

"Isn't that kind of overdone?" she asks.

"Exactly," Blaine says. "Which means that all the other designers will be going in a completely opposite direction. So we thought, let's take urban chic and turn it on its ear. Why not contrast the edginess of your line against a rural backdrop and then intersperse that with this more whimsical, but slightly stark style?" He clicks through a few shots from the shot at the lake and then shows her some of the stuff they've shot today. "See how the two styles play off each other and the garments just pop?"

He doesn't mention the models, even though they were chosen for their eclectic looks too. The deep brown of David's skin next to Kurt's fair complexion provides a sharp contrast for the lake shots, while Sebastian's lanky, muscular build and Mike's chiseled physique set off the sharp angles of Kurt's thinner frame. David's body type is different still, and in each shot there's something to draw the eyes in. Blaine hadn't realized before what great work they were really doing. He's proud of it.

He looks up at Jan expectantly.

"This one is still too short." She points to Sebastian, though. Blaine bites his lip to keep from correcting her. He looks over at where Kurt and the other models are now standing, fascinated by the scene unfolding before them.

"It's all part of the concept," Blaine says, his confidence waning. "I promise you, it will all come together and you're going to love it."

"And if I don't?" she asks, skeptical.

"Then Price will reshoot the entire campaign for free." He's taking a big risk, but there's no way he's backing off from this idea now. Blaine believes in it. It's strong, and Kurt is the perfect model for this line – the embodiment of urban chic with a twist of whimsy. Not to mention, the group shots are some of the best work he's ever seen from Zach and it's a fresh concept.

"You've got balls, kid," she says, a tight, clipped smile on her face for the first time since her arrival.

Blaine lights up. "I promise you," he says. "This campaign will blow your mind."

"It had better," she says, standing up and flipping her scarf over her shoulder. "Don't tell Lorelei I came by. She'll get all clingy and start calling me every day to see if I'm happy. I can't stand that."

"No problem," Blaine says.

She nods curtly at him, slipping her large Dior sunglasses over her nose. She makes a noncommittal "mmm" sound, and then, almost as quickly as she came, she's gone.

Her exit reminds Blaine of a movie character – a ridiculous cross between Miranda Priestly and the Dowager Countess of Grantham. He bites back his laughter as he turns to face his astonished crew.

Ben looks like he's about ready to cry, taking in the mess Jan made of the clothing racks; Zach is grinning at Blaine excitedly. The models are still standing nearby, slack-jawed and confused, especially Adamo. All except Kurt, whose expression is unreadable.

Blaine claps his hands to get their attention. "Alright people, let's get to work."

Blaine takes a seat in the coffee shop he's come to think of as his and Kurt's, even though they haven't met here in weeks. He taps his foot nervously as he waits for Kurt to arrive; he's 20 minutes late already, and Blaine's starting to think he's backed out.

Kurt had said he wanted to meet up for coffee and talk about things, but he'd been pretty vague when Blaine had pressed for more info, insisting that Blaine should just meet him at their usual place at the usual time. It's starting to feel a bit like a drug deal.

Blaine is nursing his second cup of coffee, never more thankful that he doesn't drink espresso because he's already jittery as his mind works overtime trying to figure out what Kurt wants to talk about. Unable to piece together a coherent thought on the matter, he swirls the dregs of his coffee, noting a few grounds in the bottom of the cup mixed with some undissolved sugar crystals. This place doesn't even have particularly good coffee, but he's contemplating a third cup anyway. Just as he glances toward the line at the counter, Kurt walks in.

No, not walks… glides. Drifts? Floats? None of the words do justice to the way Kurt looks stepping through the door of the coffee shop. In all the excitement at work, Blaine had forgotten how utterly magnificent Kurt is. Transfixed on the sight before him — a vision in leather, cotton and silk — Blaine feels his stomach bottom out, like going over the first drop on a roller coaster. Similarly, there's no going back from this point, he realizes suddenly. He's going over that hill now whether he wants to or not. The question is, how big is the drop and is Kurt up for the ride too? The idea makes him feel shaky and weak, and also a little bit thrilled at the prospect.

"Hi," Kurt says, sounding out of breath and pretty much perfect. "Sorry I'm late. I almost got tackled by one of those bike messengers on my way over here and stumbled into some lady who couldn't be bothered to put a lid on her latte. So I had to rush home and change. I'm pretty sure the vest I was wearing is ruined. Thank god it was from a sample sale."

"It's okay," Blaine says, already feeling more at ease in the wake of Kurt's cute, nervous rambling. "I got caught up on emails while I was waiting." He presents his phone as evidence of his lie, wiggling it around as if that might make it true. He had intended to check his email, but then he got nervous and spent most of the time watching the clock and fidgeting instead.

Kurt smiles at him and says, "Good… then I don't feel as bad. Did you need a refill? I'm going to go grab a mocha."

Blaine nods and hands Kurt his cup. "Thanks."

"Still stuck on that horrible drip coffee, I see."

"I like the drip coffee."

"Old man."

Blaine shrugs. "I like what I like."

There's easy affection in their banter; it calms Blaine's nerves even further, and he's grateful. Perhaps Kurt is ready to move on from their argument after all.

However, when Kurt returns with their coffee, his mood is undoubtedly somber, like he's had time to think about what he wants to say, and it's not good. Blaine doesn't like the look on his face. He braces himself for the impact of Kurt's words.

"I wanted to thank you for defending me to Jan West," Kurt says. "You didn't have to do that… especially after I yelled at you."

Blaine exhales in a rush of breath, relieved that Kurt isn't angry.

"It's my job," Blaine says, shrugging it off like that's the only reason he did it.

"It's your job to please the client," Kurt corrects. He purses his lips and looks thoughtful for a moment. "Did you mean it?"

"That you're the right look for the campaign? Yeah, I meant it. You're the best model we have on One West. Hands down."

Kurt smiles, but he looks like he doesn't quite believe Blaine. "Well, I can't help but pull focus." He laughs.

Blaine reaches across the table and puts his hand over Kurt's. The sudden contact clearly startles Kurt and he tries to pull back, but Blaine stops him.

"No, it's more than that, Kurt. You're so talented, and I think this job could be the jumping off point for your career. I bet everyone is talking about you come December."

Blaine moves his hand away and leans back in his seat, watching Kurt, something unreadable in his features.

"Maybe." Kurt takes a drink of his coffee and looks out the window for a moment, his eyes following a woman in a billowing green sundress. When she passes out of view, he turns back to Blaine. "Do you really think I'm talented?"

"Definitely."

"Thanks," he says softly, his hands toying with his cup again. He suddenly straightens up. "And it's none of my business if you date Sebastian."

"I'm not dating Sebastian."

"Still–"

"I'm not," Blaine says, trying to reassure him with his eyes. "It was one date, and I'm not interested."

Kurt leans toward Blaine, holding out his hand tentatively. Blaine looks down at Kurt's outstretched hand, his slightly curved palm, long and slender fingers, perfectly manicured nails, and then back up at Kurt questioningly. The warm smile on Kurt's face urges him on, so he takes Kurt's hand and squeezes. It's a friendly gesture, Blaine thinks, nothing more, but he can't help but consider that Kurt has somehow let him in, and it feels really, really good.

"Okay," Kurt says. "I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

Kurt squeezes back and then lets go, turning to look out the window again. Blaine takes the opportunity to rest his hand in his lap, flexing his fingers and savoring the lingering warmth from Kurt's touch. He looks down at his palm, no different than before, but the sensation lingers, a feeling of belonging and acceptance. Safe. It feels like coming home, to a place he knows he can just… be.

So for a moment, he lets himself, reveling in the comfort of Kurt's presence and the background noise of the café, until the contrasting silence reminds him of his family and the uncomfortable quiet of the dinner table. He wonders what Kurt's family meals were like. Were they cold, formal affairs like at the Anderson home? Or warm, family moments that you want to savor? Probably the latter if Kurt's concern for his father's health is any clue.

"So, how's your dad?" Blaine asks. Maybe he's steering the conversation a bit, but he doesn't want to reveal too much. He can't scare Kurt off when everything still feels so new, like it's precariously resting on the head of a pin and could tip over and be lost at any moment.

"Better," Kurt says. "My stepbrother Finn says he'll keep an eye on him for me, go home on weekends more often. He's a sophomore at Ohio State, you know."

"Good. I'm glad to hear you've got someone you can trust."

"I do," Kurt says, affection in his eyes. He must really be close to his brother. Kurt shakes his head a little, just a fraction, but it looks like he's trying to shake off a stray thought. "I talked to my dad yesterday, actually. He wants to come visit. Says he wants to meet all my 'fancy New York friends.' " Kurt uses the air quotes and laughs. His lips curve into a smaller smile. It feels private, intimate. "I told him about you."

Blaine swallows his coffee abruptly and it catches in his throat. "What?" he sputters around a cough.

"Yeah, I told him I'd made friends with the art director." Kurt pauses and smiles impishly at Blaine. "And then he told me not to piss where I eat." Kurt laughs. "He thought we were dating. Can you believe it?"

Blaine shakes his head, eyes wide as he tries to look appropriately shocked, but in reality, he's not sure what to say or how to react.

"But I told him we're just friends," Kurt says. His voice pitches up on the end of the sentence, like he's asking Blaine for clarification, like he's not quite sure they are anymore.

"Of course we're friends." Blaine chuckles softly. "I just can't believe he jumped from 'hey I made friends with my art director' to 'oh, they must be fucking.'"

Kurt laughs, all traces of worry gone from his face.

"Well, to be fair, my dad's only examples for gay men are me and that one time we watched Brokeback Mountain together."

"God, that must have been awkward."

"You have no idea."

"Still, I can't imagine my dad even agreeing to watch that movie, let alone watching it with me," Blaine says. "You're lucky, Kurt."

"I am," Kurt says. "My dad's great."

"I hope I get to meet him sometime."

Kurt's eyes go wide and he tilts his head to the side. Blaine panics. Did he say the wrong thing? He tries to recover. "I just meant–"

"Blaine, it's okay," Kurt says, reaching out and patting Blaine's hand. "You just shocked me that's all. But it's sweet that you'd want to meet my dad. I'm sure he'd love to meet you… I- I mean… well, he did say he wanted to meet my friends. So I'm sure–"

"Kurt…" Blaine begins. Kurt pauses mid sip and raises an eyebrow. Blaine feels that weird swoopy feeling in his gut like he did the first time Kurt looked at him like that. He exhales a shuddering breath. "I–"

"I think I love you," Kurt says.

"What?" Blaine's jaw drops open.

Kurt points up nonchalantly, taking a sip from his mocha. "The song," he says. " 'I Think I Love You.' The Partridge Family? I can't believe they're playing this."

"Oh yeah…right," Blaine says as his heart races in his chest, adrenalin coursing through his veins. "The Partridge Family."

The song is just audible over the din of the coffee shop, and Blaine strains to hear it. When he picks up the words, he stifles the urge to sing along: "So what am I so afraid of?"