Of the four fundraisers Harper has dragged him to since he hired him to re-do the guest suite in his Gramercy Park apartment, this is by far the most boring—and after last week's Hoedown for Hospice, that's saying something.

"You're hiding," Harper says, handing Kurt a vodka tonic.

"Not at all. I'm observing."

Harper, all long limbs and brushed tweed, sits down two stairs above Kurt and lets out a deliberately dramatic sigh. "It's all so… nothing."

"Right?"

"Champagne bar notwithstanding," Harper adds.

"Of course."

They watch the tuxedos and bling move about, the well-manicured hands on forearms, the too-loud laughs, the preening. After a few moments Harper moves down to sit next to Kurt and says, "All I want in life is to meet a boy."

"Then you should let me stay home next time. People are beginning to think we're an item," Kurt teases.

"I know. I just… I hate going to these wretched things without an escort."

"So how will you meet a man?"

"I didn't say 'man'; I said 'boy.' I want to meet a boy."

"Should I be concerned? I've been told I still look seventeen."

Harper laughs, leans back, elbows on the stair behind him and says, "I'm only 36, Kurt. I'm not a fucking troll. And it's not the age I'm talking about. It's the innocence."

"You want someone… what? Uninitiated?"

"Your mind! The rosy cheeks are a cover. You are a kinky bastard, I just know it."

Kurt giggles and leans back, mirroring Harper. He scans the crowd for anyone who might fulfill Harper's wish, someone he can coax into meeting his lonely, isolated, filthy rich friend.

"Well, no one seems to be wearing a nametag that says 'virgin' so—"

"You're terrible. It's not that either. I just want—Remember what it felt like to fall in love the first time? How it all seemed so exciting, and possible, and the boy was enthusiastic, and fun, and up for anything… and sweet. So sweet. I want that. I want a man who still loves like a boy."

Kurt sips his drink and says, "That sounds like a nice summer fling."

"Have you ever loved anyone like that?"

"A boy? Sure," Kurt replies. "I'm almost 25. I've loved more than one."

"No, I'm not talking about sex. I mean, really loved. Have you ever loved someone perfect?"

Kurt looks down again, eyes scanning the crowd. He's searching for someone else now, someone he knows is not here, someone far, far away. He hasn't been doing that as much lately, looking for Blaine. It was a habit he picked up after Blaine moved to London, searching stranger's faces for that infectious smile, searching ticket lines for the curls, the curve of his ass. But at some point very recently, he stopped; he can't remember exactly when.

It's only been a couple of months since David's wedding but it feels like years, as if in that short time he'd somehow gone through puberty and growth spurts and awakenings and cold hard truths all at once; as if he's suddenly all grown up.

After Blaine left the reception, after he'd let him slip through his fingers once again, Kurt had spent an entire day drinking himself silly, head on Rachel's shoulder. His hangover seemed to last for days, no matter how many ibuprofen he swallowed, until he realized he wasn't hungover at all; he was heartsick. And weary. So, so weary.

Maybe that was the last goodbye. There have been so many…

"I did, once. But it wasn't reciprocated," Kurt replies.

"I get it. This is the story you'll never tell. Everyone has one?"

"Probably."

They sit like that for a bit, both thinking of boys they cannot have, until Kurt notices a man looking up at them and smiling. He's blond, tall and fit, classically handsome and overdressed in a black tux from two seasons ago.

"Studly professor is vying for your attention," Harper says.

"Do you know him?"

"That's Paul James, Andrew Cuomo's right hand. He's going to get us all married one day," Harper explains.

"As in Governor Cuomo?"

"The very one. Paul eats, sleeps and breathes GLBTQ rights. But don't fuck him," Harper says, leaning in to whisper in Kurt's ear. "I hear he has rainbow sheets and a tattoo of Harvey Milk on his ass. I mean, just, why?"

Kurt laughs and when Paul smiles at him, all bravado and white teeth, he smiles back and considers it. Why not? He hasn't had a real date since before Christmas and he isn't getting any younger.

The man, Paul James, walks toward them and Harper says, "Oh look. He's going to meet you on the stairs, like in 9 � Weeks."

"That's a sex scene, Harper."

"Yeah? So?"

Kurt hits Harper with a death glare, to which he responds with, "Okay. Gone With the Wind."

"Also a sex scene."

"No. No. Rhett simply carried Scarlett up the stairs to have sex," Harper says.

"Against her will."

"Titanic?"

Kurt is laughing now, watching Paul sneak looks at him while trying to extricate himself from a tall woman with deep cleavage. He's into it now, flirting with his eyes, his smile; leaning forward. It's only when Harper starts talking about the romance of meeting on the stairs that Kurt snaps to attention and says, "I'll meet him halfway."

The staircase is his; he doesn't want a new memory to replace the old.

Kurt picks up his drink and walks to the bar, waving at Harper as he goes. He smiles at the bartender and orders lemonade so no one will ask him why he's not drinking.

"May I buy that for you?"

Kurt turns to see Paul James standing to his right, warm brown eyes smiling at him, his face pinched a bit, like he's suddenly not sure of himself.

"It's an open bar," Kurt says.

"Right. Right. May I sit with you for a minute?"

"There are no chairs."

"Oh, right. That's why you were sitting on the stairs," Paul says, little beads of sweat forming at his brow.

Kurt takes a drink, waits for a moment, and then lets Paul off the hook. "I would like to take a walk around the garden."

"Yes. That would be… May I join you?"

"I'd like that, yes."

Outside the noise of the party fades almost instantly as they are enveloped by the warm, fresh air of spring. They walk for a bit, exchanging vital facts and flirtatious comments, until Paul gestures to a small bench surrounded by a patch of purple crocuses.

"I'm so relieved to know you're not 18," Paul says. "You look very young."

"I know. Do you date younger men?" Kurt asks.

"No. I mean I would. I just, I don't really date, actually. I work, and sleep when I can. That's really it. My life in seven words."

Kurt tilts his head to one side and says, "Are you lonely?"

"I don't know. Maybe I would be if I stopped to think about it."

"You're quite handsome and—"

"And you are beautiful," Paul gushes.

Kurt laughs and says, "—and you could easily get a date."

"Sorry to interrupt," Paul says.

"No problem. And thank you."

Paul leans in closer and says, "Could I get a date with you?"

Kurt looks at him for a moment, takes in his soft, hopeful expression, his eagerness, his wonder, and then says, "Sure."

It's nearly three weeks before they can both find a break in their schedules. Their first date is lunch at The Spotted Pig, which lasts exactly two hours and features many interruptions from Paul's staff, texting and calling with urgent questions.

Paul cancels the next two dates due to unexpected travel, and Kurt cancels the next one in order to deal with angry contractors and bed-ridden Harper.

The second date is dinner at Kurt's apartment, where they talk about their pasts, and crazy ideas, and share some secrets while they eat homemade sushi and drink wine. After, they go up to the rooftop garden and make out on the rattan chaise as the Staten Island Ferry goes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

By the time they have their third date it's late summer, so they decide to take in a concert in Prospect Park before the season is over.

It's only when he's walking to meet Paul that Kurt remembers another walk through this very park, a day that went on forever and yet was far too short. He stares at the pavement beneath his feet and imagines blush pink cherry blossoms dotting a winding trail, the hope for a movie-perfect happy ending bubbling up around every turn.

Will I ever get over him? Have I ever really tried?

Hoping to let go of the melancholy, Kurt takes a swig from his mojito-filled thermos and then walks the long way around to the bandstand to avoid other reminders of that day, the day Blaine left for good.

He spots Paul sitting on a blanket about eight rows back, waving enthusiastically. Paul's eyes are fixed on him as Kurt makes his way through the crowd, careful not to step on outstretched hands, or blankets, or shoes. Paul looks so happy, waiting for Kurt; the look on his face is so sure, so accepting of whatever this is, so grateful, it almost takes Kurt's breath away.

Almost.

He stops when reaches the edge of the blanket and laughs as Paul pulls him down onto his knees, and then into a sweet kiss.

"Hey," he says.

"I'm so happy we could make this work," Paul replies, both hands on Kurt's shoulders. He digs in, strong fingers working over Kurt's muscles, grounding him.

He takes it all in—Paul, the music, the boxed dinners from Sidecar and says, "I'm happy, too."

A small orchestra plays famous songs from iconic 60s films. Kurt removes his boat shoes and settles in, passing the thermos to Paul.

"I've always wanted to do this," Paul says, surveying the scene.

"This is your first time, Mr. James? I'm honored," Kurt teases.

Paul's plaid blanket is scratchy, but Kurt doesn't mind. He sits close to him, thighs touching, and all through "Moon River," "The Bear Necessities" and "Goldfinger" he smiles so often his face hurts.

Halfway through an adequate rendition of "Where The Boys Are" Paul's phone vibrates in his pocket.

"I can feel that. It's fine. Just answer it," Kurt says. They'd talked about having phone-free dates, but he doesn't want to be a total boss rabbit about it.

Paul looks at the text, shakes his head and the slips his phone back in his pocket.

"Something important?"

"Not at all. Just Andy being inappropriate."

"Andy?"

"You know, my boss."

"You call the Governor, Andy?"

"Yup."

"And he's sending you inappropriate texts?"

"He's just been on me for working too much, that's all. He's razzing me a bit. It's nothing," Paul explains, shoving his phone further into his pocket.

"Let me see—"

"What? No. It's confidential."

"It is not. You just said—"

"I'm not showing you—"

Kurt has Paul pinned to the ground in five seconds, his hand reaching in his pocket for the phone. When he pulls it from his pants, Paul reaches up to grab it and Kurt stops him with a kiss. It's brief, but firm, with the promise of something more. Paul stops fighting and groans as Kurt sits back on his knees and reads the text.

"Don't come back to the office until you get laid, or I'm demoting you."

"Kurt—"

"You told people about me?" Kurt interrupts.

"Yes, of course I did. How could I not?"

Paul sits up, looks Kurt straight in the eyes and says, "What are the chances of me ever meeting someone like you? Zero. It's a miracle that we met. I'm going to tell everyone who will listen. Even the night janitor knows who you are, Kurt."

"I don't understand. We've only just met—"

"But haven't you ever known for sure that something was right?" Paul asks.

Yes, I have. I knew it in my bones.

But it turned out, I was wrong.

"I guess. Maybe," Kurt replies, picking at the pills on the blanket.

"Well I know you're right for me. And it's not about sex," Paul says. At the sight of Kurt's raised eyebrow he adds, "Okay, it's partly about sex. But it's mainly just… you."

"Paul. This is only our third date. I can't—"

"I know. I just wanted you to know that you can count on me. I'm not going to jerk you around, or play games, or waffle. I'm just here, knowing it's right, moving toward something. Okay?"

Kurt lets himself see it then, the beginning of something else, This Other Life, this life he gets to live instead.

His love is an ocean away but there's a gorgeous, kind, interesting man right next to him, a man who seems to have no problem telling him exactly how he feels, a man who could adore him, a man he could grow to love. It's the first time he truly understands that he has a choice: He could just move on; he could try for happy.

As the band starts in on the familiar first bars of "Mrs. Robinson" Kurt leans in, brushes his thumb across Paul's lips and says, "Okay."