The next morning, I arrive at the coffee shop almost an hour late.

Its not my fault. I leave my house with plenty of time to spare. But theres an accident on Route 117, and traffic is at a standstill for more than two hours. The temperature outside is hovering right around freezing, so I let my car engine idle to keep the heat on. So do all the drivers around me. Theres nothing good on the radio, and nothing to do but people-watch. I look around at all of my highway neighbors, and think about how isolated we all are from each other, stuck in our own little insulated worlds.

Theres a guy in a Buick to my left, reading a newspaper. Our faces arent even five feet apart, and he must know Im watching him, but he doesnt look over. I make a game out of it, imagining who he is, where hes going. Hes a businessman, I decide, and although hes late to a meeting, its one he doesnt particularly want to attend. So hes flipping through the Dispatch to pass the time. He feels compelled to read up on corporate news even though hes secretly anxious to get to the latest Fox Trot comic strip.

Once Ive exhausted the amusement factor he provides, I turn to my right, where theres a teenaged girl with punky neon-dyed hair and facial piercings, smoking a cigarette and fogging up the windshield of her Corolla. I start in on her, too, imagining that she once was an angelic church-going cheerleader, but a scandalous teen pregnancy and subsequent adoption left her feeling–

A series of loud, blaring car horns startle me, and I notice that the traffic ahead has cleared. The people in the line of cars behind me look furious. I shift my car into drive and take off, muttering a profanity under my breath.

Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I do need to go back on medication.

When I finally arrive at the Lima Bean, the parking lot is full, so I have to park on a side street. After dropping several quarters into the meter, I hurry into the coffee shop, craning my neck to search for Kurt. Hes sitting at our usual table. At first his face looks strange, but when he notices that Ive arrived, he gives me a wide smile. The line for coffee is long, and I dont know where to look while I wait. Kurt is watching me brazenly, but I feel too bashful to stare back. Eventually I just take my phone out to play Solitaire.

"Medium drip?" asks the barista, a guy Ive never seen before. I gape at him, and he looks impatient. "Yes or no, buddy?"

"Uh... yes, please. And a plate of biscotti." I go through all the motions – paying, retrieving my coffee, preparing it with cream and sweetener and a few shakes of cinnamon – while Kurts eyes follow my every move. Once Im done, I pick up my coffee and the biscotti and march over to the table, dropping into the seat across from him with a thud. "Sorry Im late," I sigh. "Car accident."

His eyes widen. "You got into a car accident?"

"No, not me. I just got the traffic end of it."

"Oh." Hes fiddling with his coffee cup, turning it in slow circles.

My eyes widen as realization dawns. "You were worried about me."

He scoffs. "No I wasnt."

"You were. You were totally worried about me," I tease.

"I... Okay, maybe just a little."

I swear I can actually feel my heart melting into a puddle of goo. "I really am sorry. I wouldve called to let you know, but I didnt have your number."

He holds his hand out, palm up. I blink at him, surprised – the coffee shop is bustling this morning, and he hasnt tried to hold my hand before unless the place was empty. Far be it for me to complain, though. I slip my hand into his and squeeze it–

Kurt laughs at me. "I want your phone, Romeo."

"Oh. Right." My cheeks flushing, I pass my cell over to him.

He hunches over it, his thumbs flying across the keys, and when he hands it back, I see that he has programmed a new number into my contact list. "Now you can call or text me if you ever run into a problem again."

He wants me to have his number. So I can get in touch with him in the future. "Caffeine Fiend?" I read aloud, a little giddy.

"Well, I figured I needed a pseudonym. We wouldnt want your mom or dad finding my name in there."

"Why not?"

He shifts in his seat. "They might freak out if they suspect youre dating me."

My face falls. "Hey, thats not fair. You dont even know them." I like this guy, I do, but Im not going to sit here and listen to him belittle my parents. "They dont have a problem with me being gay." He raises one eyebrow silently. "They dont," I insist.

"So youve dated a lot, then?" he asks. "I mean, youre attractive, smart, nice. Good sense of humor. Must have had a ton of boyfriends, right?" My gaze slips down to the table, and he nods. "Yeah, Im sure it has nothing to do with your parents."

"I had a boyfriend once," I shoot back sullenly. He doesnt respond. When I glance up, he looks stricken, and a little part of me takes a mean satisfaction that Ive made him jealous. "Before the attack. At some point I did have a boyfriend."

"They, uh... they told you that?" he asks shakily.

"No."

"Then how do you–"

"It doesnt matter. Im just saying I had one once."

He nods, slowly. "Have you ever tried to find him?"

"No. I figure we must have broken up sometime before the attack."

"Why do you say that?"

I give him an incredulous look. "I was beaten within an inch of my life, Kurt. I was in a coma for months, and recovery for even longer. What sort of a boyfriend would have abandoned me during a time like that?" Hes chewing at his bottom lip now, his eyes welling up with tears, and I shake my head at him fiercely. "Dont do that. Dont pity me."

"Im–" He clears his throat, takes a deep breath. "Look, Blaine..."

"Hey, Im fine," I tell him quickly. "It all worked out okay for me in the end. If he hadnt left me, I wouldnt be here with you now, would I?" I smile at him shyly. "Honestly, Im starting to think fate led me to you."

He does reach for my hand this time, and I let him hold it. We sit in silence, sipping our coffees and ignoring the ticking of the clock on the wall.

On Friday morning, I arrive so early I actually beat him there. Its worth it to see his face light up when he comes in.

We sit there for hours, talking about almost everything. Ive never known anyone as captivated by musical theater as I am, but Kurts enthusiasm for it might even exceed my own. We discuss our favorite Broadway shows, debating ones which have the best scores and the most striking scenes. Hes brought in old issues of fashion magazines, and we both laugh over his grudging acceptance of the hipster phenomenon.

There are things we dont talk about, though. I dont bring up his attack, and he doesnt bring up mine. Neither of us mentions his old boyfriend, although sometimes it feels like his ghost is flitting around our table. We talk about our mutual love for Rent, and when I tell him that "Ill Cover You" is my favorite song from that libretto, Kurt turns pale and doesnt say anything. I want to tell him that Ive always dreamed of singing it with the man I love, but he clearly has his own sort of history with that song, so I leave it alone.

We linger at the Lima Bean til well past noon. I keep expecting him to excuse himself and leave for work. But every time he opens his mouth after a silence, its to ask what I think of Adam Lamberts new look, or Beyonces new album, or the homoerotic subtext in Sherlock Holmes. Its only when I offer to buy us sandwiches from the counter that Kurt finally looks over at the clock.

"Ive got to get to the shop," he says regretfully.

"Play hooky," I suggest, flashing my most winning smile. "Stay with me instead."

He sighs, his eyes warm. "I wish I could... Ill miss you this weekend."

Im both gleeful that hell miss me and gutted that Ill have to spend two whole days without his company. Ive only known this guy for four days, and yet I already seem to divide up my days into Time Spent With Kurt and Time Spent Without Kurt. Its stupid, and borderline obsessive, and I can feel a blush spreading across my cheeks.

He has a life outside of this little coffee shop. He has a loving family and lots of great friends. Of course hed want to spend his weekends with them.

"Ill miss you back," I murmur.

"Youll be too busy to miss me," he claims dramatically.

"Impossible."

Its gotten easier, this flirting between us. Kurt has been a bit more relaxed every day. We tease each other gently, compliment each other often. Sometimes when our hands touch lightly, I have to fight the urge to shiver.

Is this what love feels like? Can you really love someone after just four days? A week ago I would have said that was absurd. But a week ago, I hadnt spent hours and hours talking with Kurt, smiling and listening to his sweet voice, my heart leaping at the brush of our fingertips–

Suddenly I have the strangest spell, imagining Kurt wearing a Dalton vest and leaning against a bookshelf, but I blink and the vision is gone. Hes gazing at me almost lovingly, and I have to drop my eyes to the table. Its overwhelming, being here with him.

"Ill see you Monday?" he asks hopefully, standing and slipping his overcoat on.

"Monday," I nod.

He reaches over to squeeze my hand, before heading out into the cold.

I think about him all evening. My parents and I have our usual family dinner, filled with polite conversation and the usual inquiries into my studies. Dad asks about an architecture project that he assigned me a week ago, and I have to admit that I havent even started it.

Its not like me.

And they notice its not like me.

Evading their questions, I claim to be tired and disappear into my bedroom. But staring at the wall of dried roses isnt enough for me tonight. I finger my cell phone, fighting the urge to send Kurt a text message. I dont want to scare him off by appearing too interested, too soon.

I dont sleep. I stare at the ceiling, my mind swimming with increasingly outlandish scenarios involving me and Kurt: dousing a crowd of girls with foam, singing and dancing around flaming purple pianos, riding pink unicorns across cartoon rainbows. Counting sheep doesnt make me drowsy; neither does my white noise machine. At dawn, when sleep is still eluding me, I finally creep down the stairs. My parents are never awake this early on a Saturday. I scrawl a note and leave it on the kitchen table: Going to sketch some bridges for my architecture project. Back in time for dinner, love you.

Its snowing hard outside. There are already several inches of snow on the ground, and Im grateful for my four-wheel drive as I pull out of the driveway and head towards Lima.

What am I even going to do when I get there? I dont know where Kurt lives. Ive passed by Hummel Tires and Lube on the drive into town, but it seems unlikely that hell be at work on a Saturday. I should have texted him before I left. But I dont want to look needy. Or obsessive.

God, what if I am needy and obsessive? Who stalks a guys town after knowing him for four days? Who thinks about him constantly, makes up bizarre daydreams involving foamy prep school girls and mythical creatures? At several points, I slow down, intending to make a U-turn and head back to Westerville. But every time, something makes me put my foot back on the accelerator.

The town is quiet. Between the foot of snow on the ground and the early morning hour, it seems that Im the only one to venture outside today. When I finally reach the Lima Bean, I see that theres one other car in the lot.

Its a Navigator.

My heart pounding in my chest, I park quickly and run across the lot, my boots crunching the snow down loudly as I go. I can see him through the window. His head is in his hands, but as I pull open the door, he looks up and sees me. And then hes on his feet, striding toward me, his eyes blazing, and god, I can feel myself crumble as he reaches me.

"I dont understand whats happening," I manage, as he grabs me and pulls me tight against him. He rocks me back and forth as I clutch at him, a sob trapped in my throat.