“I'm not going back there,” Kurt stamped his foot melodramatically, “and you can't make me!”

Isabelle let loose with a melodious tinkle of a laugh. “Oh my God, Kurt. You look like you're about a second away from holding your breath until I give in. You're gonna miss me,” she teased, folding her arms and puffing out her cheeks in mock exaggeration of a two-year old.

She giggled again and then motioned to the gargantuan box on her desk, “If you go there and bring me back an antoccino, I'll let you have first dibs on this giant collection of Ozwald Boateng samples we just got in.” She gave Kurt a wheedling smile, “C'mon Kurt; you know you want to see him.”

Kurt stamped again, then he brought two clenched fists down to his side. “Fine! Fine! But there better be a suit in there, and if I don't get a mocha today, I promise I will be impossible to live with.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Isabelle said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Kurt! It's so great to see you.” Blaine's words and broad smile were so genuine Kurt felt like Blaine's long lost cousin instead of a virtual stranger he had met only a few days ago.

“It's nice to see you, too,” Kurt mumbled, rather lamely, although it really was good to see Blaine. Blaine radiated warmth and vitality, and there was something about him that made Kurt want to rub against him like a cat.

"Spin," Blaine instructed, indicating with a twirling finger that Kurt should turn around to show off what he was wearing.  

Kurt complied and was rewarded with a, "Wow, that outfit is amazing!" which simultaneously caused him to blush and made him feel very smug.  

“I need an antoccino and a…” Kurt began.

“Oh my gosh!” Blaine interrupted. “I have the perfect drink for you! Don't go anywhere. Let me make this for you?” Blaine started moving around the coffee truck with economical movements.

“Yes,” Kurt replied.

WHY do you keep saying that? Kurt berated himself. He couldn't believe he constantly turned into a spineless jellyfish in front of a guy who used expressions like “Oh my gosh.” What was he, a fangirl?

“You're going to love this,” Blaine enthused. “It's like a mocha, but so much better.”

Kurt could cry. He didn't want something so much better than a mocha. He wanted a mocha. He also wanted to strip all the clothes off of this handsome barista-slash-law student and wallow in him like a dog in a sunny spot on the lawn, but clearly he wasn't going to get either of those things. Kurt sighed.

Blaine looked up, “Hard day at work?”

Kurt's eyes widened, then he realized Blaine couldn't read his thoughts. Thankfully. “Um, yeah. A little bit,” he recovered.

“Tell me about it,” Blaine encouraged as he continued to work on the drinks.

“Well, today we had in these European models…” Kurt began, and five minutes passed companionably with Blaine laughing and commiserating with Kurt's tales. Blaine looked almost regretful when he passed two cups to Kurt.

“Antoccino,” he said, placing one cup on the counter, “and Cafe' Medici.”

Kurt paid Blaine who thanked him. “I'll see you tomorrow,” Blaine said with a voice so hopeful that Kurt must have been imagining it.

“See you,” smiled Kurt.

Back at the office, Kurt delivered Isabelle's coffee and took his own back to his desk. He took a sip, and his eyes rolled back in his head. What had Blaine said? Like a mocha, but so much better. This was mocha's creamier, better looking sister with a hint of orange peel. Kurt peeled back the lid and looked at it. Floating on the coffee was about a pound of something that looked like cream but was far, far more sinful.

If Kurt ran to Connecticut and back on his lunch hour, he couldn't burn off all of those fat grams.

With a sigh of regret--his second of the day--he went into the restroom and poured his coffee down the sink.