Kurt likes winter in New York so much more than winter in Ohio. It's just as cold, and the snow gets just as deep, but winter in this city is such a magical time. Even when the radiator doesn't kick in and he wakes up to frosted windows, clouds of his own breath, and chattering teeth, Kurt will take a New York winter to an Ohio winter any day of the week.

Kurt bundles up in a thick velour robe and down moccasins, and walks lazily to his window, a mug of fresh brewed fair trade certified Italian Roast warming his hands. He takes a towel to the glass and wipes it clean so he can look out on his city. This view, though not exactly skyline, is one of his favorite things about his Upper East Side loft. New York cannot fully be appreciated from the ground. Even when he was starting out, living in a converted warehouse-of-a-loft in Bushwick, he's always been spoiled with an incredible view.

Kurt doesn't have work today, so he slept in late. Well, 8:30 a.m. instead of 5:00 a.m. but it's late for him. The sky is cloudless and blue, and there's a crisp layer of snow covering the ground that Kurt has no intention of going out in.

There's barely a soul outside - rare for a Tuesday morning but Kurt's not about to complain. A little snowstorm definitely isn't going to stop the city that never sleeps, but maybe it'll slow it down for a while – long enough for Kurt to enjoy the serenity of the new fallen snow.

Kurt hears a door below his window open and close, and he smiles. He's just in time to see his upstairs neighbor, Ms. Paldecki, walk her brand new Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.

Ms. Paldecki, the epitome of a nosy middle-aged ex-debutante – happily single so she spends as much time as possible trying to set up everyone else. So far, she's attempted to match Kurt up with every available gay/bi/pan dentist, lawyer, chiropractor, hair dresser, etc. on the Upper East Side. Kurt has to admit she's got some great taste in men, and her screening process is amazingly thorough, but Kurt doesn't subscribe to the whole blind date approach to the dating game.

Currently, she's given playing Cupid a rest to devote her attention to her precious bundle of floof - Snicker.

Kurt remembers the day she brought Snicker home, wrapped in a plush baby blanket that she bought just for the occasion. She gushed about him as if he were her newborn grandson. She talked and talked and talked for over an hour about his exceptional pedigree and his prize-winning parentage. Apparently, Snicker is the equivalent of puppy royalty, descended from the bloodline of one of the few bitches and sires in the United Kingdom to survive World War II, which nearly devastated the breed.

Kurt watches the tiny bundle of silky white and tan fur bound into a snowdrift twice his size. His head pops up, eyes bright, yipping cheerfully at his neighbor holding the end of the leash out of Kurt's line of sight. Kurt chuckles, taking a sip of his cooling coffee. The puppy climbs out of the snow, feet covered in specially made waterproof booties, body wrapped in both a sweater and a coat. The puppy, bigger now than the day Ms. Paldecki brought him home, is dressed in head to paw Burberry. Kurt smiles approvingly at the ensemble. He raises a hand to the window, ready to wave at Ms. Paldecki when she comes into view, but the person holding the leash isn't Ms. Paldecki. In fact, it's no one Kurt recognizes. The man, dressed stylishly in a grey wool peacoat, dark wash jeans, and Sorel snow boots, raven curls and tan skin visible above the red scarf he has wrapped around a good portion of his face, throws a glance over his shoulder, looks suspiciously around, and then heads off down the street. Kurt walks through his loft, following the man from window to window. Kurt watches him walk to the corner and then cross the street in a direction Ms. Paldecki never takes Snicker when they go out on their walks.

Kurt gasps when he realizes what he's witnessed.

This man with the impeccable fashion sense is stealing his neighbor's dog!

Kurt leaves his mug on the windowsill, throws on his boots and his long cashmere coat, and races downstairs. How did the man even get the dog? Ms. Paldecki has about seven dead bolts on her door. It's always locked up tight. If she went out, why didn't she take Snicker with her? She never goes anywhere without her dog. It doesn't make sense, but Kurt can't be concerned with that now. He has to go after the dog-napper before he gets too far away.

Kurt races in the direction the dog thief took, buttoning up his coat along the way. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” he yells, dodging pedestrians and barely missing oncoming taxis as he shoots across the street. Who would steal Snicker? What kind of person would be so vile and loathsome as to break into someone's home and steal their dog?

Kurt crosses another street and spots the dog-napper leading Snicker into Carl Schurz Park. Kurt, still about a full city block behind, catches up to them when the dog thief stops at the crosswalk to wait for the light to change.

“Hey!” Kurt calls out, turning a multitude of heads but not the one he's trying to get the attention of you. “Hey you! Dog thief!”

The man doesn't turn around, doesn't indicate in any way that he heard Kurt yelling as he shuffles through the snow toward the park. Kurt looks around for a police officer, a security guard, anyone who might be able to help, but all he sees is the herd of morning foot traffic, and a few truant kids, loitering on their way to school to start a snowball fight.

Kurt gets an idea.

He bends over and gathers up a handful of snow. He forms it into a ball with frozen hands and lofts it at the thief. It hits the dog-napper square in the back of his head.

The thief turns slightly, still walking, but with a peek over his shoulder at Kurt advancing on him. Kurt feels his adrenaline spike. He hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't pictured the moment when he would catch up to the thief and take back Ms. Paldecki's dog.

“Excuse me,” the man calls over his shoulder, brushing snow off his coat, “did you just throw a snowball at me?”

Kurt doesn't particularly enjoy confrontations. He feels his body shake. He can't think of anything to say. The man smiles at him, somewhat amused by Kurt's attack, and God, his smile is beautiful. But then, Snicker barks, and Kurt remembers that this man in the form fitting peacoat and the – are his eyes gold? – well, he's stealing his neighbor's dog! Kurt gathers up another snowball.

“Give me back that dog, you thief!” Kurt spits, tossing the snowball and hitting the man between the shoulders, knocking him forward a step.

“Hey!” the man yells, speeding his steps. “Would you mind cutting that ou-oof!” Kurt tosses another snowball and gets the thief on the cheek this time.

“Why?” Kurt yells, lobbing snowball after snowball as he closes on the man, aiming at his turned face, hoping to blind him long enough to snatch Snicker back. “So you can run off with my neighbor's dog? You jerk!”

“Wait! What are you (splat)… I don't understand what (splat)… COULD YOU STOP THROWING SNOWBALLS AT ME (sploitch)!?”

“Not until you stop walking!” Kurt yells, stooping for another handful of snow and forming it into a ball.

The thief stops walking and turns around, holding his hands up in defeat. “Okay, I'm stopping! I'm stopping!”

Kurt stomps up to the man who's been absconding off with the small spaniel. Keeping hold of his last piece of ammunition in his numb grip, he grabs the leash out of the startled man's hands.

“Hey!” the man says, reaching forward to grab the leash back, but Kurt holds the snowball higher, shooting the confused man a significantly threatening look. “Uh…I'm going to need that leash back.”

“I don't think so, dog-napper!” Kurt accuses in a raised voice to attract the attention of passersby, hopefully someone with a cell phone who can call 9-1-1 since Kurt left his phone back at his loft in his haste to chase down the puppy thief.

“I'm…I'm not stealing that dog!” the man exclaims, looking severely offended.

“Oh yeah?” Kurt says, taking a step back, rolling the leash in his hand to shorten it and keep a hyper Snicker from bouncing into the thief's arms. “Then what are you doing?”

“I'm taking him to the dog park,” the man says, arms still raised as if Kurt has a gun and not a snowball, “for Ms. Paldecki. She hired me. I'm a dog walker. My name is Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt glares at the man, unconvinced, though it would be nice if his story were true. For a petty criminal, he's awfully cute. Kurt sees the man move his hand to reach inside his jacket and Kurt raises the snowball, melting down his arm and into his sleeve, higher over his head.

“Look, I'm…I'm going to prove it to you.” Blaine reaches into his coat and pulls out his wallet. He flips it open slowly and holds it out for Kurt to see. Kurt takes a hesitant step forward and peers down at it, keeping one eye on Blaine while he does. On one side of the wallet, beneath a sheet of clear plastic, there's a business card – glossy white cardstock with several stock snapshots of dogs printed on it. Written across it in black words, which Kurt reads out loud, it says, “Blaine Anderson, Anderson Dog Walking, Licensed and Bonded.”

“Yes,” Blaine says with relief in his voice, as if that solved everything. “Blaine Anderson, dog walker. I'm Blaine Anderson.”

Beside the business card in another pocket of the wallet is something that looks like a driver's license, except underneath the words ‘City of New York' it reads ‘Licensed Dog Walker'. The entire left-hand side is taken up by a photo of the man standing in front of him, a year or two younger, hair glued down to his head by way too much product, but still very much this man - Blaine Anderson. Kurt nods, slightly more convinced than he was before.

“Nice picture. Your hair looks better now,” Kurt says offhand. Blaine smiles bashfully as he puts the wallet away.

“Thank you,” he says.

Kurt drops the snowball to the ground. At this point, he can't help it. He can't feel any of his fingers. He wipes his drenched hand on his coat before sticking his hand into his pocket, but he doesn't relinquish the leash.

“So, why did she hire you?” Kurt asks, giving Blaine an official once over, from his curly hair, to his flushed cheeks peeking out from his red scarf, down his wool coat, his denim clad legs, and his thick snow boots. “Ms. Paldecki takes Snicker with her everywhere. She never leaves him home alone. She treats him like her baby.”

“Yes, she does,” Blaine says with a knowing grin. “Apparently she had to go out of town at the last minute. She didn't want to take him on the plane. She thought he might be more comfortable at home.” Suddenly, Blaine's eyebrows draw together. “Are you…Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt takes a step back.

“Yes,” Kurt answers skeptically, narrowing his eyes. “How did you know?”

“Ms. Paldecki said if I had any questions I should ask you.” Blaine smiles – a gorgeous smile – and suddenly it doesn't feel quite as cold to Kurt anymore. Of course, that could be a sign that hypothermia is setting in, but that's less romantic. “You live downstairs, right? In 4B? The artist's loft?”

“Yeah,” Kurt admits. He feels a nudge at his ankle and looks down at Snicker, panting up at him, huddled between his legs to escape the cold.

Blaine looks at the dog, too, hiding a chuckle, but Kurt hears it and frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing, it's just…” Blaine chuckles again. “She also said I should consider asking you out for coffee. I have to say, I really didn't expect us to meet this way.”

Kurt's head pops up.

“She said that?” Kurt asks, not even sure why he's surprised. Looks like Cupid's back from retirement.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, his flushed cheeks turning a deeper shade of red.

“Okay,” Kurt says, handing the leash back, “you're legit.”

Blaine takes Snicker's leash with a wholehearted laugh, one that lights up his face, and yes, his eyes actually are gold.

“So, what about it?” Blaine asks, watching the Burberry-dressed puppy race back and forth between their legs. “I mean, you chased me down, called me names, pelted me with snowballs…”

“Yeah, I'm…sorry about that,” Kurt says with an anxious laugh, stuffing his hands deep inside his pockets. “I guess I do owe you a cup of coffee, but…”

“But…” Blaine asks, his smile dipping at the corners at the prospect of being rejected.

“Um…I'm kind of…” Kurt looks at Blaine through wet lashes, unaware that for the last thirty minutes snow had begun to fall steadily again. “I'm in my pajamas, and I think they're soaked.” Blaine's eyes widen and he lifts his head, subconsciously looking over Kurt's long coat. “But, I just made a fresh pot,” Kurt offers, “and Snicker looks like he's frozen solid. Maybe we can go back to my loft and I can pour you a cup?”

Blaine bends down and picks up the shivering dog, not needing to give Kurt's offer a second thought.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he says, shaking lumps of broken snowball out of his scarf. “It might be nice to get out of this snow.”