"I'd like a small mocha, please." The customer gave him a ten dollar bill, which was really way too much.
Kurt Hummel turned on his winning charm. Make it friendly. "Would you like a pastry to go with the coffee? I always like something sweet in the mornings."
He had gorgeous arms and a chest that filled out that t-shirt and casual blazer very nicely. Well, Kurt could only imagine the arms, and yes, he was imagining them, but – Kurt brought himself back abruptly to the present. To his job. The customer's long-lashed green eyes shifted to the glass display. "I'll take a chocolate croissant. And some time with you while I ate it."
That last line was a bit weird. Kurt coughed and flushed. "I'm sorry. I can't socialize with the customers." He looked to the left and to his right, but neither side had any hints for him. Was it something in the water? The tides of the moon? His new serum treatment? What was going on today? Kurt plated the croissant and made the coffee, as quickly as he could, without spilling it all over himself or on the customer, and wow, if that happened, he would never live it down, and getting out the stains would be worse.
The guy looked into his eyes and smiled again, just a little too wide and white for Kurt's liking. "That's a shame. Maybe another time." He took out a small card from the inside pocket of that blazer - a knockoff, but it fit him so well - folded it, and put it into the cheery tip jar. It was overflowing. He had to wedge it to make it fit amongst the other cards and scribbled-over scraps of paper. "You're cute. Just remember - my name's Peter." Peter gave him a smooth, practiced wink.
Kurt bit his lower lip and rang up the order. "Thank you, and please come see us again." He started to pass him the change, but Peter stopped him: "Keep it. And believe me - " and he smiled again, and despite his creepy comment earlier, it was an extremely attractive smile - "I will come see you again." He made sure to brush his fingers over Kurt's as he took his food and drink away.
Thank God for breaks. Emily popped up next to him, so new that her apron didn't have wrinkles in it, and she grinned – she'd seen that little conversation, which meant he'd hear about it about fifty times before their shift was finally over. She took over at the counter, her perky red ponytail bobbing as she deftly handled the lineup. Kurt couldn't run away fast enough. He found a little table near the back office and a plain black coffee to soothe himself with.
"So you've had a busy morning," Santana said. There was a little singsong dance in her voice. "Did anything happen?" She settled on the chair opposite his, like a gorgeous bird settling into a nest, or a throne, and rested her elbows on the table.
Kurt sipped his coffee, his blue eyes wide and disbelieving. "All these guys have come on to me since I got on shift this morning. It's nice. I haven't been in the game since Adam and I broke up a year ago." He gave her a smile that was only half-sad now, and he rubbed the spot that had lingered under Peter's flirtatious touch a few moments ago, even though it felt, to his imagination, kind of greasy.
Santana's black, secretive eyes lingered on the hippopotamus brooch Kurt had chosen to wear, jauntily, with his new shirt. Her smile was too triumphant. "Maybe it's the brooch, Lady Lips von Hummel. Maybe it's a sign from the universe."
"Sign? What sign?" – and at that moment, all the secrets came to light, just as another very attractive guy stopped to look at the black street sign posted right in front of La Colombe. He looked down the sign, looked into the window, saw Kurt – he must have seen Kurt – and gave him a little wave.
"Santana. Lopez. What. Did. You. Write?"
"Nothing! Just a little incentive for new customers to discover our coffee shop – "
But Kurt was well on his way out the door, coffee in hand, slipping and weaving through the throng inside and outside, like an eel.
The sign was not what he would have written.
TODAY YOUR BARISTA IS:
1) Hella fucking gay.
2) Desperately single.
FOR YOUR DRINK I WOULD RECOMMEND:
You give me your phone number.
Kurt felt the horror overcome his face in a wave of blood.
"Santana! I – You!" and for once in his life, Kurt had nothing coherent to say. The words finally came as Santana came right up behind him, and, turning on his heel, hard, they spilled out, furiously. "This is so far out of line!"
… but it wasn't Santana. It was a young man, and he had impossibly gelled-down brown hair, and eyes, and a blue-striped bowtie under a black v-necked sweater and ironed white shirt. He'd had earphones in and so he hadn't noticed a raging Kurt about to give Santana – or him – what for. They collided, and both Kurt and the stranger fell hard and ungracefully down to the rough pavement. Some of the books pulled down the balled-up apron hanging out of Kurt's pocket, too. Papers sprayed everywhere, and so did the coffee in Kurt's hand, over both the stranger's things and over the front of that beautiful sweater. Kurt dropped the cup. It rolled on and bounced off the curb.
"Oh! Oh my God! Are you okay?" and the stranger had had hot coffee poured out all over him, and it must have hurt, but his face was so open and the voice was full of concern. "I am so sorry! I wasn't looking. I'm new here – "
He reached over, but Kurt was already scrabbling to gather all the stranger's things before they flew out and disappeared forever under and over the relentless New York City traffic. "No, I should be apologizing! I – just – I've been having a hard day and this sign and – "
The stranger's eyes flicked over to the sign, then back at Kurt, and his golden hazel eyes melted with sympathy. "That's rough. I'm sorry. I'm guessing you didn't write that?" The stranger got up, lithely, and reached down a hand towards him.
"No. But – wait, I should be helping you instead. I got coffee all over you." Kurt gathered the stranger's books and papers close to him with one arm and reached up with his free hand, and as the stranger's hand grasped his and pulled him up – so strong – their eyes locked.
The stranger's mouth opened, but it took a second for words to come out. "No, uh, it's okay! Really – I'll just throw it in the wash and it'll be fine. Are you really okay? You've been having the bad day." He let go of Kurt's hand and patted him on the back.
But despite this being the most beautiful stranger he'd ever seen, Kurt couldn't help himself. He just couldn't. "You can't just throw that in the wash. It looks like merino."
"It is merino," the stranger said lightly. He had a wide, friendly smile. "Hey – I need a study break. Why don't I buy you another coffee and you can give me some laundry tips? Just don't forget your uniform. I'm Blaine, by the way."
Kurt's eyelashes fluttered down as he clutched Blaine's papers. "Kurt. And it's really nice to meet you."
As she watched the two of them turn back towards the front door of the coffee shop, Santana couldn't help but give herself a self-satisfied invisible pat on the back. She wiped part of the schedule board clean and magically gave Kurt the rest of the day off. Just call me a sign.