“You really don’t want to go with fiberglass.”

The unsolicited advice from behind his right shoulder startled Blaine, spinning him around and into the airy voice. “I’m sorry?”

“Fiberglass. It’s only good for so long. It can chip and crack and break and, let’s face it, no. Just, no. If you’re thinking about a new shower, why not go tile?” said the man, holding out his hand. “Kurt Hummel, design department.”

“I’m Blaine and … um … are you really supposed to talk about your merchandise like that?”

“My job is design and that,” he said, pointing to the generic shower enclosure, “is not design.”

“You work for Home Depot? Aren’t you supposed to be wearing an orange vest?”

Kurt shot him a look that said, You must be kidding. The design department was allowed a certain amount of discretion, he said, and his discretion said that Home Deport orange was much too bright a color to ever compliment his skin tone. 

Indeed. 

Blaine had been known to occasionally enjoy the view at his local home improvement center. But Kurt Hummel, design department manager, had a look that put the employees in the lumber, plumbing and electrical sections to shame. Skinny jeans that belonged on a dance floor, not in a showroom, a slim-fit Henley shirt and a tailored vest — gray heather, not orange. It left Blaine wondering why he hadn’t considered a remodeling project earlier.

“What are you really looking for in a shower, Blaine? It can be utilitarian, or it can be inviting. It can be zen. It can be decadent. What do you want in your shower?”

Blaine had a feeling the answer that first came to mind couldn’t be purchased at Home Depot. 

Kurt held a finger parallel to his lips, and eyed Blaine from head-to-toe and back again, leaving Blaine feeling a little exposed — and a little like Kurt Hummel, designer might also be Kurt Hummel, mind reader.

“I was just going to clean it up,” he gulped.

“Have you ever thought of your bath as a refuge? As a reflection of yourself? It’s not just paint and a shower stall, Blaine. Think how much more you could get from a steam shower, or a double tub.”

“More?” Blaine asked, off-balance.

“And here, look at these glass tiles,” Kurt continued, pointing out the mosaic panels of square glass in rich shades of olive, amber and brown. “They’d make a spectacular shower stall. Very soothing — and they’d go with your eyes.”

With that, he held his stare beyond a comfortable beat before scribbling on the back of a business card and handing it over.

“If you’d like to go into more detail, just give me a call.”