“It’s almost 8 o’clock, guys!” Rachel whines, dropping on the sofa between Elliott and Santana. Dani joins them, sitting in her girlfriend’s lap, and hands Santana her half-full glass of red wine. “Are we still going out to dinner or what? I’m starving!”

“Don’t look at us.” Santana wraps an arm around Dani’s waist, pulling her further onto her lap. “It’s Lady Hummel and Hobbit Boy’s turn to pick a place.”

“We’re thinking, we’re thinking,” Kurt says, walking in from the kitchen with Blaine by his side, sipping their own refreshed glasses of wine. Right before he finishes his cabernet, Kurt’s eyes go wide as inspiration strikes.

“Oh!” He grabs hold of Blaine’s polo and tugs. “Do you know what I’m in the mood for?”

“What?” Blaine asks, grinning at the hand throttling his shirt.

“The chicken with the stuff …” Kurt lets go of Blaine and makes a sprinkling motion with his hand “… and the sauce …”

“The red sauce or the white?” Blaine asks, raising a thoughtful eyebrow.

“No, no, the brownish-gray stuff. God, I wish I could remember. It was the chef’s special the night we went. He wouldn’t tell us what was in it, and I couldn’t tell because I’d burned my tongue on those awful chili fries …”

“Oh! The place in SoHo,” Blaine says, pointing animatedly, “with the overhead fans made from recycled scrap metal. Remember? The one over our table almost chopped off your hair.”

Kurt scowls, crossing his arms tight over his chest and almost spilling his drink. “We said we’d never mention the incident again …”

Rachel, Santana, Dani, and Elliott watch Kurt and Blaine, their heads bouncing back and forth between them as the boyfriends continue their debate.

“Okay, wait … are we talking about the place with the …” Blaine makes an obscure waving motion. Kurt shakes his head.

“No, the place you’re thinking of closed down. I’m talking about the other place with the …” Kurt gestures vaguely. Blaine tilts his head as he tries to decipher his movements. Santana squints her eyes as she deliberates between actually figuring this mess out, or waiting to see how it ends.

“You guys must suck at Pictionary,” she blurts out, and a snickering Dani buries her head into Santana’s shoulder.

“Isn’t that the place that always reeks of stale beer?”

“No!” Kurt exclaims, exasperated. “The place next door reeks of stale beer.”

Blaine jumps suddenly, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

“You mean the place with the plaid tablecloths!” he practically yells, a triumphant smile on his face.

“That’s the one! With that awful stuffed beaver statue next to the cash register and …”

“… the huge rubber duck painting on the wall!” they finish together.

Blaine suddenly winds an arm around Kurt’s waist and, with a devilish glint in his eye, kisses him, seemingly unaware of the multiple pairs of eyes watching them.

Santana’s mouth twists in disgust. “Ugh! Well, I’m pretty sure that just killed my appetite.”

“Then you don’t have to come,” Kurt says against Blaine’s kiss swollen lips. “But you’ll be missing out because the chicken caprese is to die for.”

“Let’s grab our coats,” Blaine says, swatting Kurt playfully on the behind. He yelps, skipping forward, his cheeks deepening a shade of pink. He glimpses their group of friends, still sitting on the sofa, and his brow crinkles.

“Aren’t you guys coming?” he asks, ignoring their quizzical stares.

“Uh … yeah. Sure,” Elliott says, standing and following Kurt to the door.

“Wh-what the hell just happened?” Rachel asks, grabbing her coat and slipping it on. “Did they actually pick a place?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Dani says, shoving a few stray strands of bluish-tinged hair underneath her knitted cap. “We’re going to the only lumberjack rubber ducky themed restaurant in the tri-state area.”

“No,” Elliott says, waiting for the group to leave before pulling the loft door closed behind him. “You’re thinking of the wrong place.”