Sun streaking in through the uncovered window woke Blaine early the next morning. After showering, brushing his unruly curls and putting on a simple pair of jeans and a thick sweater he called into town to make an appointment with Peter's lawyer for later in the day, then headed downstairs. The fire had died overnight, but the house was still warm and he was heading into town soon, so he didn't bother relighting it. A quick breakfast of cereal and toast and he was ready to begin tackling the project he had come to do. Blaine spent several hours going through the items in the library and living room, marking each item for later packing or donation. The task would have gone much quicker, but so many items evoked memories that had to be savored – the first photo of Blaine and Peter at the camp, the didgeridoo that Blaine had given to Peter after a spectacular trip to Australia, DVDs of every musical performance that Blaine had ever taken part in. Some of the objects resulted in reminiscent smiles, some laughter and some a few tears, but they all spoke to him in some way.

As the lunch hour approached, Blaine retrieved his wallet, keys and winter coat from the foyer, then grabbed the garage door opener from the kitchen counter. He backed his car out of the garage and pointed the vehicle in the direction of town. The lawyer's office was housed in an old brick building in the center of town. The small but neatly decorated reception area was empty when Blaine arrived, but he was soon greeted by the administrative assistant who showed him into Mr. Grayson's office. Charles Grayson had been Peter's lawyer for over 20 years, managing all of his non-business affairs. He and Peter had been good friends, so his expressed sympathies to Blaine were heartfelt and the two men settled down to complete the paperwork needed to settle Peter's estate. With the papers signed and the details taken care of, they settled back to reminisce about Peter, trading stories and humorous moments. Finally, it was time for Blaine to leave, but on his way out Charles stopped him. "I'm sorry that I didn't know you were coming this weekend, or I would have gotten the house prepared for you," Charles apologized, "I hope the snow and the lack of electricity weren't too much trouble. We decided to turn off the power when Peter died to save money."

"Well, you might not have prepared the house, but someone did. When I got here yesterday the driveway was plowed and there was a roaring fire and full fridge. The electricity works fine." Blaine gave Charles a puzzled look.

"Strange. Well, maybe someone at the power company heard you were coming into town and turned the juice back on. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?" Charles clapped him on the back and walked him to the front door. "Make sure to call if you have any questions regarding the estate or anything else. Just mark anything you want packed and shipped to you and I'll get it taken care of next week."

Blaine thanked Charles and headed out the door, still baffled from their discussion about the house. He stopped at the local diner for a quick lunch, too distracted by the mystery of the phantom caretaker to notice the obvious interest from the waitress who spent way too much time refilling his water glass (not that he would have returned the interest even if he had noticed it). Who could have prepared the house when no one knew when he would be there? It seemed unlikely that a neighbor would have been keeping things ready for him every day on the off chance that he would suddenly show up. After almost a half hour of turning the thoughts over in his mind he abruptly shook his head and forced himself to stop obsessing. He removed his phone from his pocket, checked a few messages, paid the bill and decided it was time to return to the house.

As soon as Blaine walked into the house he knew that someone had been there. A quick check of the kitchen proved him right when he saw that the breakfast dishes he had left in the sink had now been washed and put away and a vase on the table now held a bouquet of the off-season blooming roses. Should he call the police? Should he leave the house and return to town? He had left his car in the driveway again, so it would be a quick getaway and… wait…he had left his car in the driveway the previous day also, so how had it been in the garage in the morning? Someone had obviously moved it overnight, but how? He had put the keys in his pants pocket and they had still been there when he left the house earlier. As he retraced his morning routine in his mind he was suddenly struck by the feeling that someone was watching him. A shiver ran up his spine, but for some reason it was more a shiver of anticipation than of fear.

"Wow, it is such a beautiful day out. I think I'll take a long walk out by the lake." Blaine walked back towards the front door, trying to look as casual as possible. He slipped out the door and walked down the shoveled path toward the water's edge. He stopped behind an outcropping of trees, stepping behind them and turning back to watch the house. Within minutes, smoke began to rise from the chimney and a tall, slender figure moved past one of the windows of the living room. Blaine crept back up to the house, cursing the soft crunching noise of his boots against the snow. He slowly turned the door knob and slipped inside. Once there he paused, attempting to sense the location of his mysterious intruder. A slight sound echoed from the kitchen and Blaine followed it. There, placing a pot of coffee on the kitchen table, was a man dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt with his back to the entryway. He looked to be a few inches taller than Blaine and had soft, neatly trimmed chestnut hair, but other than that Blaine couldn't tell much about him.

"Hello," Blaine called softly.

The man startled and turned towards the entryway. When he saw Blaine standing there he got a panicked look on his face and turned to move towards the back door.

"No, please stay! I didn't mean to scare you. Please don't run away. My name's Blaine"

The man paused with his hand on the doorknob. He seemed to gather himself, then take a deep breath. He turned around slowly and lifted his eyes to meet Blaine's. "Kurt."

Blaine was unable to respond at first as he was stuck dumb by the beauty of the man in front of him. His eyes flickered over Kurt's face, briefly noting the pale skin and delicate features before coming to a halt, captivated by his eyes which seemed to be a swirling mixture of blue, green and grey. They reminded him of Hubble Telescope photos of distant nebulas — shimmering and glowing in the depths of space — and for a minute he found himself mesmerized, unable to look away.

"My name's Blaine," he finally repeated.

"I know, Peter told me." Kurt's voice was delicate and high with a musical quality that fit his appearance perfectly and Blaine found it quite soothing.

"You knew Peter?"

"Yes, we were friends. I was with him here…at the end."

"Are you the one who has been taking care of the house? The driveway, the fire, the food?"

"Yes, I…I just wanted to make sure that you were comfortable when you arrived. I knew that coming here was not going to be easy for you. I wanted to help."

"It was much appreciated. Thank you very much." Blaine noticed the Kurt was making slide glances at the door, as if trying to determine if he could make it outside before Blaine caught him. "Please, will you join me for some coffee? I can't live without my coffee and I'd love to talk to you some more."

Kurt gave a shy nod and walked over to the wall cabinets to retrieve two coffee cups and a cookie jar full of biscotti from the counter. As the men sat down together at the table Blaine couldn't help but get the feeling that his world had just changed.