“I'm not going there, Isabelle,” Kurt asserted as Isabelle and he were walking arm in arm back to the Vogue office from the photo shoot.

“But, Kurt, Manhattan Mochas only half a block away.”

Kurt came to sudden halt on the sidewalk, forcing Isabelle to stop, too. “Look, Isabelle,” he jabbed his finger to the west, “there's a Starbucks.” He jabbed his finger to the east, “There's another Starbucks.” He jabbed his finger to the north, “There's another Starbucks. They are not half a block away. They're right there.

“Please, please, please. I just need a grande, non-fat mocha. Just one, Isabelle. Not a caramel macchiato, not a café de Olla, not a café Medici, and certainly not a Yuanyang. I don't want a latte. I don't want a cappuccino. I don't want a medium drip. What's it going to take? We've been doing this all week. Who do I have to blow to get a mocha?!” Kurt suddenly realized he was shouting.

God, he needed coffee.

“Um, Kurt…” Isabelle started, raising a fist to her chest and uncurling an index finger to point discretely behind Kurt.

Kurt whirled around and came face to face with Blaine. Kurt's face instantly suffused with color. “Oh,” he exclaimed. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said Blaine in a quiet, shaking voice that was clearly strained from suppressing a giggle, “So, what I think I hear you saying is that you want a mocha today?”

“Yes,” said Kurt as he burst into flames.

“Non-fat?” asked Blaine.

“Yes.”

“Medium?”

“Yes.”

“Cocoa powder or syrup?”

“Yes…er, I mean, powder.”

Blaine smiled. “Well, come on then.” He took Kurt's hand and walked him the half block to his coffee stand.  Kurt went along in a daze, half embarrassed that Blaine saw his outburst, half dying from the fact that Blaine was holding his hand. When they reached the back door of the truck, Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand before releasing it. “I'll be right back.”

"Wait!"  Kurts hand shot out and grabbed Blaines bicep.  Both mens eyes were suddenly riveted on Kurts pale hand clutching Blaines muscular arm.  Kurt let go, self-consciously.

"Was there something else?" Blaine asked.

Kurt lost his voice, so he just nodded.  

Blaines honey eyes captured Kurts, "You have to tell me what you want."

Kurt swallowed, and found his voice, "Decaf," he croaked.  

Blaine smiled, "Anything you want." 

Kurt watched Blaine enter the truck and suggest to the guy already manning it to take a break. The guy seemed more than happy to oblige, and he stepped out of the truck, lit a cigarette, and walked away. Kurt suddenly realized he had no idea what had happened to Isabelle.

“I feel guilty that you're working on your day off,” said Kurt.

“Don't be,” said Blaine. “I probably would have stopped by anyway.”

“Why?”

“Oh, didn't you know? I own this truck.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My first year of law school being a student was all that I did. I ate, drank, and breathed law all day every day. It was too much. I missed being around people…well, real people. So I bought this truck, so I could meet people and just kind of keep my finger on the pulse of the city. Plus, its a passion of mine to introduce people to new kinds of coffee drinks; otherwise, people just tend to order the same thing over and over, and they never try anything new, which is so sad, dont you think?

"It's turned out to be a great thing. It's pretty lucrative, and, hey, I met you.”

Kurt's cheeks reddened at the compliment.

Blaine put a lid on the cup of mocha and slid a cardboard sleeve over the cup to protect Kurt's hands from the heat. He slid the cup to Kurt who took a tentative sip and then rolled his eyes heavenward. “This is amazing. This is the best mocha I've ever, ever had.”

Blaine gave Kurt a beatific smile. “I'm glad you like it.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Just a second.” Blaine walked to the cash register and was doing something that Kurt couldn't quite make out. He returned with a card. The front read:

Manhattan Mocha

Blaine Anderson, Proprietor

On the back was a handwritten telephone number. Blaine pointed to it. “That's my cell phone.”

Kurt looked up at him with curious eyes.

“You should call me tonight,” Blaine explained, “and I'll take you to dinner. And while we're on our date, Kurt…” he leaned down and brushed a finger along Kurt's cheek, “…we can talk about that blow job you owe me.”

Then he winked, leaned over, and kissed Kurt on the cheek. “Definitely call me,” he whispered in Kurt's ear.