Shopping with Kurt was like nothing Blaine had ever experienced.

When he'd finally emerged, smoothie free, from the bathroom, Kurt had shooed him towards one of the changing rooms that were off to one side of the store. There, he'd found at least 10 different shirts, in all different styles, awaiting him. He'd held up a tight white and silver t-shirt that looked about two sizes too small and an elaborately embroidered button down and looked at Kurt questioningly, to which the other man had replied that he couldn't tell Blaine's style from the plain, white, long-sleeved shirt he'd been wearing, so he'd just grabbed a little bit of everything.

When Blaine had admitted that he didn't really have a style, Kurt had gotten an excited look on his face, clapped his hands together excitedly and squealed, "I love a makeover!"

Thus, the transformation of Brandon McCartney began.

Blaine hadn't really paid much attention to clothes since he'd left Columbus, and all of the expensive but staid clothes that were part of his former life, behind. Instead of boring business casual, he now bought whatever was easiest — jeans, plain t-shirts, and sweatshirts. The generic choices had served a purpose when he'd first arrived in the city by helping him blend into the background, but now that he was more comfortable and not expecting someone to recognize him at any moment they were just habit.

Blaine came out of the dressing wearing a complicated shirt that fastened with several buckles and snaps, feeling a little bit like he was wearing some sort of bondage Halloween costume.

Kurt snickered when he saw him. "Um, no. Way too complicated. You need something...simple, classic, but with personality. Just a second." He rushed off into the store, Blaine looking after him bemusedly. Kurt was so full of life, so expressive and engaging, that Blaine had a hard time looking away.

"Here, try these on." Kurt handed him a lightweight green sweater with a navy and white pattern along the collar and hem and a pair of navy pants. He slipped back into the dressing room and put the new items on. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. He looked...familiar. Not in an I've-seen-this-look-on-someone-else-before way, but in an isn't-this-what-I-was-supposed-to-look-like-all-along sort of way. It looked right. It looked like him.

He pushed the curtain aside and stepped out, moving to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall.

"Please tell me you like them, because if you don't I might have to give up on adopting you as a friend due to your extremely tragic lack of taste," Kurt teased as he came up behind Blaine and gave the sweater a little tug to straighten it out in back.

"No, I like it. I really do," Blaine was quick to assure him, a prickle of awareness running up his neck, through his jaw, and up the back of his head as he felt Kurt's finger tips glance across his waist.

Kurt flashed him a bright grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "It's perfect. Except...how would you feel about adding a shirt underneath for that added pop? Layering is often the key in creating a real personal sense of style, you know."

That set the pattern for the next hour. Kurt brought item-after-item back to Blaine to try on and he ended up with a stack of about 10 that felt as if they were calling for him to take them home. He piled the selected items in his arms and made his way to the front of the shop, where Kurt was talking with the sales person who was actually working that day. He glanced up at Blaine with a smile, which quickly turned to a look of dismay.

"I didn't bring you here to rack up a bunch of sales, I swear. I just wanted to replace your shirt. Please don't feel like you have to buy anything. I—"

"Kurt, it's okay. It's about time I upgraded my wardrobe and you were just the push I needed. I'll take all of these." He dumped the clothes on the counter and smiled at the woman behind the register.

Kurt came to stand beside him and Blaine could see that he was still worried. "Are you sure? Because—"

"I promise." Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand, which had been flailing a bit as he spoke, and held it. "Kurt, I want them. I do."

"Well, who am I to stand in the way of fashion?" Kurt murmured, the last of the tension leaving his face.

They stood looking at each other and Blaine suddenly realized that he was still holding Kurt's hand. He let go as casually as he could and turned his head to watch the saleswoman begin to scan the items into the computer.

"How do you feel about sushi?"

Blaine leaned a hip against the counter and angled himself slightly towards Kurt. "As a general concept, or...?"

Kurt bumped his shoulder into Blaine's playfully. "As lunch. I'm off for the day and I'm starving. I know a great spot just a block away. You could leave your bags here and pick them up later."

Blaine's first instinct was to decline the invitation. He hadn't socialized much since getting to New York, afraid what people would do if they learned who he was. Though most of Richard's fleeced investors had been in the mid-west, the story had been pretty wide spread and the cable news channels had covered the trial extensively.

He opened his mouth to offer up some excuse, but instead found himself agreeing. "In that case, I feel very positive towards sushi."

Kurt nodded happily and grabbed the bags containing Blaine's new clothes and carried them to the back office, showing Blaine that he was tucking them into his locker until they came back to retrieve them later. They waved goodbye to his co-worker and headed off down the block. Kurt tucked a friendly arm into Blaine's as they crossed the street. He was chattering away about how he'd first found the restaurant, but Blaine hardly heard him. His entire world had narrowed down to the few small inches where his arm and Kurt's were intertwined.

They entered the restaurant, setting the bells over the door jingling, and before Blaine knew it, they had their food and were jammed into a tiny table in the back.

Kurt lifted a piece of tuna with his chopsticks and carefully dipped it in a small bowl of sauce. "I don't do this, you know."

"Eat sushi?" Blaine joked as he struggled with his own chopsticks

"Pick up strangers in coffee shops." Kurt lifted his hand, showing Blaine the right way to position his fingers. "Or anywhere else for that matter. I'm usually much more reserved and cautious than this. You're a unique case."

Blaine's heart stuttered at Kurt's use of the phrase "pick up". He probably meant just as a friend. He took a calming breath and attempted to copy how Kurt was holding his chopsticks. "I'm honored," he teased as he finally succeeded in lifting a piece of his California roll. He couldn't hold back a triumphant noise. "Yes!"

Kurt laughed and they spent the rest of their lunch talking about Kurt's recent graduation from college, his job at the clothing store — which was just his day job as he auditioned for acting roles — and Blaine's job at the burlesque club.

After lunch, Blaine expected that he and Kurt would go their separate ways, but instead they drifted around the neighborhood, window shopping and talking. Blaine felt swept up in the energy that Kurt exuded and it felt good, like he'd met someone he could really be himself with. Not the perfectly behaved son and not the flying-under-the-radar Brandon, but himself. Finally.

The day grew long and soon it was almost time for Blaine to go in to work. They walked back to the clothing shop and Kurt retrieved the bags from the office. As they stood on the sidewalk saying their goodbyes, Blaine gathered his courage.

"Today was great, Kurt. And not just because I got free expert fashion advice." He lifted his overflowing bags up to illustrate his point. "I-I was wondering if maybe you'd like to do it again sometime. N-not the shopping, but the hanging out. With me."

"I do believe that can be arranged," Kurt replied coyly.

They exchanged numbers and promised to talk that weekend. Blaine returned home to his small, quiet apartment and dropped off his bags before making a run for the subway with just seconds to spare. As he stood in the crowded car, he thought about the enormous turn the day had taken and for the first time in a long time, he was hopeful about what tomorrow might bring.

=^..^=

Blaine bent over to retie the loosening bow on his right shoe then reached over to tighten the left one also, just in case. He stood back up and turned slightly to catch his reflection in the pane glass window behind him, eyeing his bow tie critically to make sure it was straight. He was wearing one of the new outfits he'd bought at Kurt's shop and he wanted — needed — to look perfect for when Kurt arrived.

It was their first official date and Blaine was more nervous than he'd been for any date before. He didn't know why, exactly. This one just felt...important, like he was standing at one of those crossroads of life, where the ultimate direction of his future depended on whether he now choose to go left or right.

He tamped down the urge to fidget, falling back on his old habits of perfect posture, regular breaths, and an internal pep talk to force himself to calm down. He had nothing to worry about. He already knew that he and Kurt got along and had chemistry. Everything would be fine. Kurt was just a guy. Sure, he was the most incredibly striking man that Blaine had ever met in real life, but he was just a normal person and he...was dressed in the tightest pants Blaine had ever seen and he thought for a second that his heart might jump right out of his chest, it was beating so hard.

Kurt had just emerged from the nearby subway entrance, his bounding steps making him stand out from the crowd around him. Aside from the snuggest pants known to man, he was wearing a dark brown tuxedo-style jacket with lapels in a slightly lighter color over a crisp white shirt. He looked put together and confident and so damned gorgeous that Blaine had to look away or risk embarrassing himself right out there on the street.

With a casually elegant move, Kurt swung his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder and looked around. He paused as he caught sight of Blaine and a warm smile overtook his face, exposing the smallish teeth that Blaine suddenly found that he had a slight obsession for.

"Brandon! Sorry I'm late," Kurt called out as he approached. "My audition took forever. You'd think they were looking for the next Fiyero or Phantom of the Opera on Broadway instead of Featured Ensemble Male for a show on Bleeker."

"How'd it go?"

Kurt scrunched his nose up adorably. "Unclear. The show is kind of pedestrian, but for once I wasn't lost in a sea of well-dressed, semi-flamboyant Kurt-clones at the audition. They're making the decision by the end of the week, so hope remains. Now, I distinctly remember the promise of the best beef bourguignon I've ever tasted. Please tell me that wasn't a dream."

"Nope, not a dream and I stand behind that pledge 100 percent."

Blaine led the way to the tiny little French bistro tucked behind an ivy covered trellis. They were seated quickly and he felt a rush of satisfaction when Kurt couldn't contain his exclamation of pleasure at his first bite of the rich beef dish. As they ate, their conversation bounced all over the map, from Kurt's amusing stories of clueless shoplifters, to Blaine's recounting of a catfight that had happened at work the week before, to the latest celebrity gossip. They seemed in sync on almost every topic and things were going incredibly smoothly until Kurt asked about Blaine's family.

Suddenly Blaine's food tasted like sawdust in his mouth. The question hung in the air as he sat his fork down on his plate, unable to take another bite. This was the moment he'd been dreading. He didn't want to lie to Kurt any more than he already had (he still winced inside every time he heard his fake name pass Kurt's lips), so he really had only two options, both of which could lead to this being both his first and last date with Kurt. He could tell the truth, lay out all the ugly details and hope that Kurt didn't hold his father's sins against him or he could just say that it was a subject he didn't want to talk about and risk seeming closed-off and secretive. He knew which one was the right option, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, so he took the coward's way out.

He looked down at the table, his hand reaching out to toy with the stem of his wine glass absently. "Kurt, would you hate me if I said I didn't want to talk about it? I came to New York to get away from a lot of stuff and I just..."

A soft hand settled over his and he brought his head up until his eyes met Kurt's in the candlelight.

"I could never hate you," Kurt said earnestly. "Let's make a pact. No talk of the past, or at least not of the past before New York. As far as we're concerned, life began right here in the shiny Big Apple. Deal?"

Blaine let out the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding and smiled gratefully. "Deal."

"How about we splurge and order some of those petit fours that are going to go straight to my hips?" At Blaine's nod, Kurt lifted a hand and snapped to get the waiter's attention. "I have this theory about how there's this section of the human stomach that can only be filled with sugar, so there's always room for dessert, even if you couldn't eat another bite of dinner."

Blaine settled back in his chair as he listened to Kurt talk. While part of him was shocked at how easily Kurt had agreed to leave the past alone, the other part of him recognized a kindred soul who also had demons he'd rather forget. Maybe together they'd be stronger than they were apart.

=^..^=

The next morning they returned to the scene of the crime that brought them together and this time Kurt ordered coffee instead of a smoothie, saying that he couldn't afford to keep replacing Blaine's clothes if another disaster should befall him. By unspoken agreement, French Press became "their" spot after that and they met there almost every day that Kurt didn't have the morning shift at work or an early audition.

For their second date, Kurt took Blaine to the Met, which was featuring a fashion exhibition that Kurt had been dying to see. Blaine found the elaborately designed dresses interesting and beautiful, but he was more interested in looking at Kurt to be honest. Everything he did was enchanting: the concentration he showed as he pressed his nose up against the glass to see the details of the stitching and beadwork, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he was longing to run the fabric through his hands; the awe on his face as they watched the video presentation of the over-the-top theatrical runway shows from the featured designers; the light in his eyes as he pointed out innovative uses of textiles and accessories, informing Blaine that he could expect to see him paying homage to some of those looks in the near future, if he could only find some of the needed pieces during his regular rounds at the local vintage stores.

Blaine could have happily spent the whole day just watching the different emotions playing over Kurt's delicate features.

Conflicting schedules kept their interactions limited to just their morning coffee for the next week. Blaine didn't want to complain; after all, an hour at the coffee shop with Kurt was better than an entire day spent with anyone else, but the lack of forward momentum in their relationship was frustrating to the say the least.

Friday night was destined to be more of the same when Kurt collapsed gracefully into a chair, mocha grasped firmly in his hands, and declared that come hell or high water he was going to spend time with Blaine that day that didn't involve sipping caffeinated beverages.

"But you work until 6, right?" Blaine asked. Kurt rechecked his schedule on his phone and nodded. "That's when I have to be at the club. We've got two shows tonight."

"Perfect!" Kurt exclaimed, a smile lighting up his face. "I'll come to the club tonight and watch you play. Then I can keep you company between shows."

Blaine tried to act cool and collected, so he promised to leave Kurt's name at the door and reserve him a table near the stage. Except for his classmates at boarding school, no one he knew had ever seen him perform. His parents had dutifully signed him up for piano lessons as a child, but had never once attended a single recital and since neither of them had ever come to visit him in New Hampshire, they'd also never seen any of his choir performances. When he was a kid, his brother had always claimed to want to come see him play, but there was always something that came up and prevented him from making it. Eventually, Blaine had stopped asking.

The warm, fuzzy feeling deep inside at the thought of Kurt in the audience caused Blaine to float through the rest of the day and his silly grin garnered him more than one side-eyed look as people tried to puzzle out why someone would be so happy about the strawberry selection at the local market.

Wait. Maybe Kurt was allergic to strawberries. What if he came over after the show and all Blaine had to feed him were strawberries that would kill him? Cake was safer. Yes, cake. He hurried over to the bakery section and sorted through the options. But what if Kurt didn't come back to his place after the show? He probably wouldn't; it was only their third date, after all, and so far they'd been taking things slow. If Kurt didn't come over then Blaine would have an entire cake that he'd have to end up eating all by himself and he actually didn't have that much of a sweet tooth, so it'd just end up going to waste.

After several minutes spent debating with himself in front of a rack of freshly baked French bread, Blaine picked up a single-serve chocolate cake and a single-serve fruit tart. Better to be safe than sorry and if they didn't eat them that night he could always bring them to the coffee shop in the morning. He put the desserts in the basket with the rest of his groceries and headed to the checkout line, his good mood restored.

He was actually impressed with himself over his restraint. If faced with the same situation when he'd been in high school he probably would have had the bakery make a cake especially for the occasion, had them decorate it with "Happy 3rd date, Kurt! I hope we're together forever!" and hired one of those strolling violin players to walk back-and-forth outside his apartment while they ate it.

When it came to dating, subtlety and restraint were not his strong points. Maybe he was getting better at this whole romance thing.

But then again, violin music would be really romantic...

=^..^=

Blaine peered out from behind the curtain that separated the main customer section of the club from the backstage area, checking — for the third time in five minutes — to see if Kurt had arrived. The show was about to start, though, and the table he'd reserved was still empty. He knew that if something had come up Kurt would have at least texted him, but as he glanced down at his phone again it remained stubbornly silent.

Trying not to think the worst, he headed back to the dressing room to finish putting on his costume. Since the band performed from the stage during the show and interacted a lot with the dancers and singers, they had to wear full costume and makeup (which Blaine was actually grateful for, because him he didn't know if he could get up in front of all those people without feeling at least a little bit disguised). When Blaine had first gotten the job, the show's theme had been "World War II in Paris" and the band's outfits had looked a lot like Alan Cumming's when he played the Emcee in Cabaret: tight black pants, white suspenders, black bow tie, and a black leather jacket.

Thankfully, the show had switched over to a 1920s theme just two weeks before and every night Blaine said a little "thank you" for being able to wear a shirt as he played. The band's pinstriped 1920s suits and black gangster-style hats might not incite the excited squeals and cheers that the more risqu� outfits had, but they certainly made for happier musicians.

Blaine did one last check just as the band was about to take the stage and was relieved to see Kurt at last standing at the table, carefully folding his jacket over the back of his chair. With a grin and a lighter step, Blaine turned to join his bandmates at the stage entrance, raising one finger to poke his hat into a jaunty angle.

He had always drawn energy from the crowd when performing, but this time was different. If he was a little more animated on stage, played with a little more gusto, and flirted with the dancers a little more than usual, he could be excused. His (unofficial) boyfriend was in the audience and half a lifetime of pent up showing-off-for-your-friends-and-family energy was hard to contain.

After the show, Blaine ducked into the dressing room to quickly wipe the sweat from his face and take his jacket and hat off. Then, he slipped out into the dining area and snuck up behind Kurt's chair.

"Hey, baby. You look like the cat's pajamas in those glad rags," he murmured in Kurt's ear with a 1920s gangster-type accent.

Kurt swiveled his head around, his surprised look giving way to a coy smile as he played along. "I had to get all dolled up to meet the guy I'm stuck on."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I'll just keep you company until he gets here." Blaine slid into the empty chair and motioned to the waitress to bring him his usual. "How'd you like the show?" he asked hesitantly, slipping back into his own voice.

"Everyone was great. Especially the really cute piano player. I should try and get his number." Kurt propped one elbow on the table and nibbled at his thumbnail. "His suit is really...great."

Blaine looked down and smoothed a hand over his chest. "Oh yeah? Suits do it for you, huh?" he teased.

"Every man looks better in a suit, but you? You look like you stepped out of some old classic Hollywood movie. Although..." Kurt reached up and grazed a finger by Blaine's ear, "what's going on with the hair?"

"It works for the character, right?" Blaine reached up to touch his gelled down hair anxiously.

"I was just joking," Kurt soothed. "It's very dapper. Very in character."

The waitress stopped by to take their orders, and after making their selections, they settled in to talk while they waited. Kurt asked about his efforts to turn Barbie Girl into an a cappella arrangement, which led Blaine into a groaning description about how his friend had asked him to re-do the work because he hadn't matched the "emotional intensity" of the original.

"Emotional intensity? Is he talking about the deep seeded love and longing in the lyric 'Come on Barbie, let's go Party?' because I..." Blaine trailed off as he noticed that Kurt was looking at him, but not exactly meeting his eyes, his gaze settled a few inches above. "What? Is there something...?" He reached up and touched his forehead self-consciously, wondering if one of the dancers had gotten make-up on him again during the show.

Kurt shook his head and reached out to still Blaine's hand. "No. Sorry, I'm just trying to learn your eyebrows."

"Learn my...?"

"They kind of change shape based on your mood." Kurt lifted his hand again and impishly began to trace some outlines in the air. "Triangles, squiggles...I'm just trying to learn the language."

Blaine felt an overwhelming desire to pull Kurt over the table and kiss him senseless. The language of eyebrows? Who even thought of such a thing? (and did his eyebrows really move around that much? How embarrassing). He settled for reaching out and placing his hand over Kurt's on the table. Kurt stilled for a moment, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, before lightly stroking his thumb across Blaine's skin.

They stayed in comfortable silence until their food arrived several minutes later.

In between eating their own meals and sneaking bites of each other's, Blaine suddenly remembered something that he'd been meaning to tell Kurt.

"One of the dancers said she knows a theater that's looking for some actors for their upcoming season. It's a children's theater, so it's not like they're doing Next to Normal or anything, but I guess it's pretty popular. I can get the info if you want to look into it."

"I guess. Thanks."

Blaine was a little surprised at Kurt's listless response. Up until then, he'd always seemed so excited about opportunities to audition.

"What's wrong?"

Kurt sighed dolefully. "It's just that sometimes I wonder if getting my degree was worth it. Like maybe I should have spent that time auditioning full-time instead. Every time I lose out on a part to someone with half my talent but three times the credits on his resume I want to scream. As if having played the Flying Carpet for one performance in Aladdin on Broadway because you were the swing and both understudies were out sick on the same night means you'd be a better Will Parker in Oklahoma! than someone who has a degree from..." He stopped his tirade and smiled at Blaine sheepishly. "I may be a tiny bit bitter. Just a bit." He heaved another sigh and leaned heavily back in his chair. "I'm just not sure that my now extensive knowledge of quarterstaff stage fighting and Argentine tango were worth it is all."

"I kinda know what you mean. Every time my history professor spent the whole hour simply reading from the textbook I wondered if I wouldn't have been better off out in the real world, learning actual skills. I'm sure it'll all pay off someday soon, though, Kurt. You'll see. Somewhere out there is a casting agent looking for a tall, elegant, countertenor who can defeat the villain with a quarterstaff and still end the second act with a kick ass tango. And then where will your Flying Carpet nemesis be, I ask you? You just have to be patient."

Kurt looked buoyed by the pep talk and began to recount some of the funnier moments from his past auditions. Blaine didn't think he'd ever laughed harder than at the story of an audition that had turned into chaos after a pompous British director had announced in an interview that he was holding an open audition for "delicate looking men and beautiful frogs." Instead of the lovely, leggy French women he'd been expecting, over 20 people had shown up with their prized pet amphibians. Kurt's description of the director standing on his chair shrieking when two of the candidates escaped from their cages was priceless.

While Blaine was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Kurt considered him thoughtfully.

"I almost hesitate to ask, but...what was your major in college? You mentioned a history class."

Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I was still undeclared when I dropped out."

"Dropped out? Why?"

"I-I don't—" Blaine wanted to say something, he really did, but it had been so long since he'd talked about anything from his past. So long and yet not long enough.

"Oh god, I'm sorry! Forget I asked." Kurt's voice was a little frantic, as if he expected that Blaine might get up and run away if he didn't change the subject quickly. "What are you doing for the second show? Is it the same or do I have some new fashions to look forward to?"

Blaine was grateful for the new topic, though he was frustrated with himself for not being able to open up to Kurt. Even if he wasn't ready to talk about his family, what harm would talking about his college classes do? He swore to himself that next time he'd try harder.

They finished dinner and before long, Blaine made his way backstage to get ready for the second show (same costumes, different songs). When he was done and had changed back into his street clothes, he grabbed Kurt by the hand and they headed off down the street towards the subway.

The train wasn't crowded that time of night, so they practically had the entire car to themselves. They dropped into their seats, no longer holding hands, but allowing their fingers to slide together between them.

Kurt looked around the sparsely populated car, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you always go home this way after work? It's kind of dangerous to ride the subway alone this time of night."

Blaine couldn't remember the last time someone had worried about him. Maybe when he was 12 and had needed emergency surgery to have his appendix removed? The idea that Kurt cared settled around him like a warm blanket and made his eyes sting. He cleared his throat to clear the lump that had lodged there. "Two of the other musicians take the train one stop further than me, so I usually ride with them. I told them to go ahead without me tonight."

"Well, make sure you take a cab on nights they can't make it. Better to be ripped off legally by a cabbie than mugged at gunpoint in a subway tunnel."

"I'll promise no late night solo subway riding if you do the same."

Kurt nodded his agreement and dropped his head back against the window. "You were amazing tonight. I could listen to you play for hours."

"You kinda already did," Blaine laughed.

"No, I mean you, just you. You really feel the music, you know? I could see it on your face, hear it in the notes."

"Does that mean you'll come back again to see the show?"

"I'd like to see you try and stop me. You might as well get them to permanently reserve that table for me. I'll be one of those regulars that everyone knows. They'll call my name out when I come strolling in and have my drink waiting for me at the table. People will tease you about having your own private groupie. It'll be a whole thing. Maybe someone," Kurt elbowed him pointedly, "will write a song about me like Tiny Dancer and I'll become famous."

"You won't need me to write a song about you to become famous. You're going to do that all on your own," Blaine protested loyally.

Kurt ducked his head and smiled, his fingers creeping over to cover Blaine's a little more.

The ride went too quickly and before Blaine knew it they had reached their stop. They climbed the stairs and walked down the block to the intersection where Blaine would turn right to go to his apartment and Kurt left to go to his.

It was his chance to invite Kurt back to his place for dessert and coffee, but instead Blaine remained silent. It had been a wonderful evening and he didn't want to ruin it by pushing too hard. Kurt seemed to sense his decision, because he leaned forward and softly kissed him on the cheek and didn't try for anything more before murmuring a quiet "good night, sweet prince" and walking off down the street that would lead him home. Blaine watched until he reached the corner, lifting a hand in response to the little wave Kurt sent him right before he disappeared out of sight.

Blaine turned towards his place, kicking the curb a few times as he second-guessed his decision. Stupid. So stupid. Maybe Kurt was looking for him to take the initiative. Well, next time he wouldn't chicken out. After all, fortune favors the brave, right?

Remembering back to his shopping trip earlier, he was thankful that he hadn't gone with the strawberries. A little chocolate therapy sounded pretty good just about then.