A/N: This is a re-write. Based on a personal experience.
It's 2:15 in the afternoon – not yet time for the usual afternoon rush, but the store is still fairly busy. Blaine glances down the conveyor belt at the items currently being purchased by the elf-ish man standing behind the counter. The man looks back at Blaine, a shy grin curling his rosy lips as he waits to hand Blaine his money.
He's polite, quiet, and slightly impatient, so Blaine does his best to speed things up for him.
Working as a cashier at this boutique little catch-all market isn't Blaine's dream job by any means, but it does have its perks. Money being one of them, of course - the biggest one since he'll have completed his master's degree soon, and then the age-old tradition of dodging the college loan officer will begin.
Another is people watching. As a performer, it is essential that he observe people from all walks of life. Over the past few years, Blaine has come to discover that he can tell more about someone by the way they stand, the movement of their eyes, the quality of their smile (whether it's tight, genuine, if it reaches their eyes, or if it's plain non-existent), and from the things they buy than from any amount of conversation.
His favorite customers so far have been a twelve-year-old girl who comes in every Friday around four with her brothers and sisters for hot dogs and ice cream (he is constantly amazed by her cool under pressure, her wisdom beyond her years, the unconditional love she shows her siblings even though the eldest of them is half her age and screams constantly); and an older gentleman who stops by two to three times a week for lemon meringue pie, who talks to Blaine about his deceased wife, his kids, and his time as a combat veteran until he backs up the line. But Blaine doesn't mind. He assumes the man doesn't have anyone nearby to talk to. And his life has been so interesting. Blaine's other customers usually understand, and either wait patiently, enjoying the tales themselves, or go to another line.
As far as purchases made, his fave combinations of products have been, on one occasion, a can of baby formula and twelve six-packs of beer; on another - a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, and a meat cleaver; and the pièce de résistance - a bottle of lubricant, a Winx DVD, sixteen cans of aerosol whipped cream, and a box of condoms.
In the three years Blaine has spent working at this store, never once has he found himself drawn to a customer in anything other than a professional way. He constructs an invisible wall between him and them – a line that should not be crossed. So he's surprised at how this one customer has managed to capture his attention so completely. Though the man in front of him, rolling endlessly back and forth on the balls of his feet, isn't necessarily Blaine's type physically, the items on the belt are painting a picture that is quickly winning him over.
James Patterson's Invisible – only one of Blaine's favorite James Patterson books ever.
"I've read this," he says nonchalantly as he scans the book and puts it into a shopping bag. "It's fascinating. A real page turner."
The man smiles wider, preening beneath Blaine's approval of his book selection. It's a nice smile. He doesn't seem to like showing his teeth, but that's alright. The fact that he also smiles with his eyes makes up for it.
Blaine moves on to the next item - a container of gourmet chicken noodle soup, the kind they make from scratch here at the store. Chicken noodle soup is one of Blaine's all-time top choice comfort foods, and he can definitely appreciate a person who spends a little extra money to get the best.
A cronut – cronuts happen to be Blaine's all-time favorite bakery item … and his biggest weakness. If not for cronuts, Blaine wouldn't have gained fifteen pounds his first semester of college. He's managed to lose the weight and keep it off since then, balancing his love of cronuts with a healthy diet and exercise. But amongst his other actor and model friends, he stands alone in his cronut obsession. It might be nice to find someone to share it with.
Blaine scans a bottle of Camus - a nice mid-brand cognac. Cognac is another one of Blaine's guilty pleasures - an indulgence introduced to him by his first high school boyfriend his senior year. He's not a heavy drinker, but sometimes he slips a bit in his coffee at bedtime, especially when he feels under the weather.
A bar of Yardley's lavender-scented soap – Blaine's grandmother always used this soap. Her skin, her hair, her entire house used to smell like lavender. It was her signature scent. God, Blaine misses her so much.
A dozen sterling roses – for some reason, sterlings are extremely difficult to get in the city. The store where Blaine works stocks them once in a blue moon, and he tries to buy them when they do. He's a little sad to see this bunch go, but considering everything else, maybe this time he can let it slide.
Topping it all off, this month's copy of Vogue, indicating a man with an interest in fashion, style, and sophistication. Blaine likes to consider himself fashion-forward, though he hasn't exactly graduated from the 50s retro crooner chic he sported in high school - mainly sweater vests, wingtips, and bowties. They've been his go-to for so long, he doesn't really own anything else.
But he'd be willing to learn from someone knowledgeable, who could spare time to give him a few pointers.
Plus, Blaine notes as he packs the magazine in with the other groceries, the man brought his own reusable bags to boot. Whether out of thrift or concern for the environment, Blaine finds the gesture very attractive.
If Blaine were ever to fall for a man based solely on his purchases, this man would be perfect.
Would it be weird to admit that to him, considering he's at work and the man hasn't spoken a word to him yet?
Blaine watches the man fidget uncomfortably, as if he knows his purchases are being scrutinized. He rises up on the balls of his feet and takes odd peeks out the window at a blue Honda parked out front.
He probably left his doors unlocked, Blaine surmises. Blaine would prefer to believe that as opposed to the possibility that he's creeping this poor man out so much he can't wait to grab his bags and run.
Blaine gives the bags a final once over before he loads them into the man's shopping cart. Should he take the plunge and ask him out? This might not be the most appropriate of circumstances. Lord knows what his manager would think. Blaine isn't so desperate that he needs to shop for a boyfriend at work, but it feels like decades since he's gone out on a real date with someone he didn't meet at a bar or on a dating website. He considers himself outgoing, he's definitely not shy, but he can never seem to find someone he shares any real interests with. His type or no, this man seems oddly tailor made for him.
And he has blue eyes.
Blaine is a sucker for a beautiful pair of blue eyes.
"I'm going to need to see some i.d.," Blaine says. When the man furrows his brow, Blaine explains, "For the liquor." Blaine points to a sign hanging behind him at the register that explains the rules on carding for alcohol purchases in New York City. "It's the law."
"Oh … oh yes, of course." The man shakes his head with a nervous laugh, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.
A wallet that's basically one big rainbow flag, the same wallet Blaine's friend Brittany gave him at NYC Pride March last year.
Another interesting sign.
He opens it, pulls out his driver's license, and hands it over.
"Chandler Kiehl," Blaine reads out loud.
"That's my name, don't wear it out." Chandler giggles.
"I'm Blaine," Blaine says, handing Chandler back his driver's license.
"I know. It's on your name tag." Chandler reaches a long finger and taps the tag pinned to Blaine's navy blue polo shirt.
"Right." Blaine looks down at the tag, then back at Chandler. "Look, this might seem weird …" he starts out, trying to sound as sincere (and look as non-threatening) as he can. "I mean, I've definitely never done this before, but can I maybe ask you for your phone number?"
Chandler's eyes open wide, his smile overwhelming his face.
"Ooo-la-la!" he exclaims, blushing to his roots. "Of course you may!"
Blaine hands Chandler a pen and a scratch piece of paper, and Chandler quickly but neatly scrawls out his name and number. When Chandler's done, Blaine takes the pen and the slip of paper back, putting the number safely in the pocket of his khaki slacks.
"So, I'll call you tonight?" Blaine asks.
"Sounds like a plan." Chandler hands over a hundred dollar bill, keeping his hand out for the change.
"There you go." Blaine hands Chandler the change, his own smile growing to match Chandler's infectious glee. "Do you need any help out to your car?"
"Nope," Chandler practically sings. "I think I've got it."
"It was nice meeting you, Chandler," Blaine says with a wink.
"Et vous, aussi, Blaine," Chandler coos. He skips away, pushing the cart with the bags inside, swaying his hips in case Blaine is watching him leave.
Caught up immediately with another customer, Blaine doesn't watch Chandler as he heads for the blue car out front. Chandler puts the bags in the back seat of his car, then climbs into the driver's seat, still aglow and giddy, doing a tiny dance as he buckles his seatbelt. Then he turns to the passenger seat, reclined all the way, with his best friend laying back on it, a tissue pressed to his nose.
"Dank you so much vor dis, Chadler," Kurt mumbles around a cough, sniffling when he catches his breath.
"No problem," Chandler says with a wave of his hand. "I promised I would take care of you until you got better, and so I shall. How are you feeling?"
"I veel like cwap." Kurt blows his nose. "Der waz no way I waz going to be able to go in that store and buy my gwoceries."
"Well, I do have to say you have some interesting tastes," Chandler comments, looking over his shoulder at the bags in the back seat. "Oh! But you totally missed out on the hot cashier Blaine."
"Oh?" Kurt raises a brow.
"Yup." Chandler sighs dreamily. "He's dark and handsome, with a sort of Elvis Presley-thing going …"
"Did he have a cute smile?" Kurt asks with more interest. He's a sucker for a man with a smooth, seductive smile.
"The cutest!" Chandler chirps, putting a hand dramatically over his heart. "And the best thing is he asked me for my number!"
"Weally?" Kurt asks, a twinge of jealousy pinging inside his chest.
"Yeah, out of the blue," Chandler explains, starting up the car. "I don't really understand it. I barely said a word to him."
"Well, maybe it's just meant to be."
"Maybe," Chandler says, smiling at the thought of fate steering him in the path of this handsome man.
Kurt smiles at his besotted friend and closes his eyes, daydreaming of a mysterious man asking for his phone number.