On Wednesday, he’d pulled out his box of sketches from under his bed; wiping the dust off the top and fiddling with the strip of duct tape securing it shut. He’d peeled the corner off, then suffered a whiplash-like change of heart and shoved the box back under the bed and left the room. Hours later found him flicking idly through a magazine, glancing over the fashion ads and ignoring the painful jolt in his chest or the sour taste that flooded his mouth every time a D&G or Louis Vuitton advert appeared.

Thursday saw the busiest morning rush they’d experienced in months; Kurt was sure he’d turned grey by the time lunchtime rolled around and the queues died down. They’d also nearly run out of coffee, much to Kurt’s panic, and he’d been forced to dash home in order to grab the number of their supplier. He’d returned to find Rachel and Finn in the middle of a huge fight, the likes of which they’d not had since their high school days. He’d nearly fired both of them, but ended up sending them home early, with docked pay, just out of spite.

By the time Friday rolled around, Kurt was sure he’d spotted a few grey hairs in the mirror as he shaved and was really not in the mood for work when he opened up shop that morning.

“When are you going to tell me exactly what went down on that date of yours with Short Stuff?” Santana drawled in his ear, looping an arm around his shoulder as Kurt wrestled with the screw top bottle of caramel syrup.

“Oh my god Santana can you not do this now?” Kurt begged, trying in vain to dislodge the crusted ring of syrup that had firmly stuck to the neck of the bottle. “Actually can you just not do this ever, at all?” She sniggered, reaching over his shoulder to snag a chocolate cookie. Kurt only half-heartedly swatted at her, giving up on the bottle and tossing it in the glass recycling bin.

“I’ll stop,” Santana said through a mouthful of cookie. “When you give me all, and I mean all the details of your hot date.” She popped the remained in her mouth and brushed her hands off on her apron.

“Remind me again why I hired you?” Kurt asked nonchalantly, checking the card machine. She waved a hand.

“Don’t try and change the subject, Hummel, I’ve worked with you for too long to put up with your bullshit.” She grabbed his chin in one hand, bright red nails digging into his jaw. He sighed, admitting defeat.

“Fine, I’ll tell you; just let me get a drink.” He shook his head free and snagged a coffee cup from the shelf, quickly making himself a chai latte. He dawdled over frothing the milk and Santana called impatiently from the staff room.

“Come on Hummel; I don’t have all day!” Kurt grumbled under his breath and whacked the pressure up a few notches just to drown her out.

“I still don’t know why you won’t let me spike those old ladies’ drinks with rum when they come in. It’d make them a lot less stuck up.” Santana remarked idly as he sat down at the staff table in the back room while she filed her nails carefully.

Kurt rolled his eyes and said nothing, stirring the foam on the top of his cup with a finger, drawing patterns in the surface. Santana leant forward in her chair, re-pocketed the file and whispered conspiratorially.

“So, you promised me details; I wants em.” She pressed leaning on her elbows and Kurt sighed.

“There really isn’t that much to tell, Santana.” He took a sip, wincing as the liquid scalded his tongue. “It ended rather abruptly, really.” She raised an eyebrow.
“His girlfriend showed up.” Kurt said bitterly, leaning
back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Wait, girlfriend?” Santana repeated. “No way; he’s gay, I know he is; my gaydar has a 100% success rate.”

“Tell that to Melissa or whatever her name is.” Kurt spat, rubbing at a stain on the unvarnished table and slouching in his chair.

Santana stared at him critically for a few minutes, Kurt fidgeted under her gaze. “What did you do?” She said eventually.

“Huh?” Kurt replied, confused.

“What did you do when she showed up?” She rephrased, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, um, I left. Made an excuse and left. Then sulked all evening and ate Chinese with Rachel.” Kurt said, taking a mouthful of tea. “Blaine tried to call a few… well, a lot, but I really didn’t want to know. He stopped calling a day later and I haven’t seen him since.”

Santana nodded. “Uh huh, and what did this Melissa look like?” Kurt considered.

“Um, short, blonde… thin. I don’t know, okay? It’s not like I was looking at her.” Kurt replied testily, Santana snapped her fingers.

“Beard.”

“What?”

“Beard, she’s his beard. Believe me when I know what I’m talking about. Probably a girl his daddy picked out for him and he’s too much of a wimp to say no.” Santana sat back, satisfied. Kurt frowned.

“But, why wouldn’t he just say so?” He asked. Santana laughed.

“That’s probably what he was going to tell you every time he called, Prancy Smurf.”

Kurt groaned. “Oh god I’ve ruined everything haven’t I?” He hit his head on the table. “The one time I find a nice guy and I misinterpret everything and ruin it all. Oh my god.” Santana patted him on the head.

“Calm down Hummel, it’s not over yet. He’ll show up again eventually, and when he does,” She stood up. “I’ll have a plan all figured out for you, don’t worry.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence in me, Santana.” He shot back dryly, following her back out into the shop. He put the cup in the sink, running the tap over it a few times before putting it in the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel.

“I’m wounded by how little faith you have in me.” She drawled sarcastically, flouncing over to put the mop away.

“Are we all set?” Kurt shouted. Santana waved at him from the cleaning cupboard and Finn poked his head around the door of the disabled toilet, giving him a thumbs up. “Good, I’m opening us up.” He announced, walking over to the door and flipping the sign over.

Then he froze.

“Oh, oh my god. Santana.” He hissed, backing away from the door.

“What? Jeez Hummel, what’s got you- ohh shit…” She trailed off.

Blaine was pacing awkwardly up and down outside the shop opposite them, coat flapping in the wind. Kurt practically ran behind the counter.

“Okay, okay; come on Hummel, man up; you’re 21 for god’s sake. This isn’t high school.” He took a deep breath and looked up as the door opened and the first customers of the day came in, filling the shop with noise.

It took Blaine a long time to decide to come in. Santana had been watching out of the corner of her eye as she cleaned up a non-existent spill. She motioned frantically when he crossed the road and Kurt swallowed, handing a take-away cup over to a customer with a slightly strained
smile.

He smiled blandly at Blaine as he came up to the counter. “What can I get you, sir?” He asked with rehearsed coolness. Blaine flinched.

“Look, Kurt, I-” Kurt interrupted him.

“You’re holding the line up; do you want something to drink?” He snapped it just a little sharper than he’d intended to and Blaine’s shoulders slumped.

“Yeah, a medium drip to take away, please.” Kurt tapped it into the till.

“Anything else?” Blaine shook his head and stepped sideways as Kurt turned to the machine behind him. He watched the coffee trickle down into the espresso glasses and made a snap decision. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a message on the side of the cardboard cup.

If you want to talk, come to my house after seven. 186 Av B. Flat 6.

Then he tipped the coffee into the cup, sealed the lid and turned back to the till.

“$2.05, please.” He said, handing the coffee over as Blaine dug in his wallet for the correct change, tipping it into Kurt’s waiting palm. “Thank-you.” He quickly popped the coins into their correct drawers, shutting the tray with a jangle. He looked up just as Blaine noticed the scrawling black pen on the side of his cup.

By the time he’d finished reading Kurt was halfway through another customer’s order. He floundered momentarily, then squared his shoulders and walked away.

Kurt let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and glanced impatiently at the clock for the first of many times that day.