I'm baaaack! So this story wasn't supposed to happen, but once again, some surprise inspiration had let me here. (Blame LauGS for making me want stockbroker!Blaine and waiter!Kurt so much I had to write it myself) So sit back, relax, enjoy the show, and please let me know what you think! I have chapter 2 almost done so if you guys like this, I'll have this up and ready by next weekend!

PS: The restaurant name in here is real, and I may keep looking at their menu. But I don't own it and it's probably nothing like the real place because it's a fancy restaurant and I don't know anything about fancy restaurants...or the stock exchange...(a lot of research goes into this fic). I also own none of these characters.

Ok, I'm shutting up now...

Kurt Hummel would never call himself a starving artist. His pantry may have been mostly occupied with Raman Noodles, Spaghetti-o's and other non-perishables, but he wasn't starving. Maybe he struggled to make ends meet, but he'd only been late on his rent payment twice in the two years since he'd been out of college. The New York Academy of Dramatic Arts was expensive and there were student loans that need to be paid off, but he had dreams of belting out a show stopping number in the center of a Broadway stage, and when he made it, every penny would be worth it. But his talents, while bountiful, were unique. So until he managed to find the perfect part, the perfect show, the perfect place in the world, he would have to make do with this thirty-five to forty hours a week, making two pennies more than minimum wage, running around taking orders, literally, from the high priced diners, as a waiter at Minetta Tavern. It was nowhere near his dream job, but all he needed was to something that paid the bills and gave him enough time off to audition for whatever he could get booked. And Minetta met all his needs.

On this particular Tuesday night, the restaurant was unusually busy. It wasn't a night anyone would consider date night, nor was it one of those Hallmark contrived holidays that forced everyone to go out on extravagant dates that were completely unnecessary. But Kurt had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off since the moment he clocked in. There were wine and water glasses to be filled, orders to be taken before he dropped them off at the kitchen and plates that needed to arrive at their correct destination while they were still hot.

When Kurt found a surely short lull in his hectic evening, he took advantage and leaned against the bar talking quietly to Puck, the bartender, while sipping on a glass of water. He only had about thirty seconds to spare before he needed to be back out on the floor, filling glasses, taking dishes, handing out checks, collecting tips. He was just about to remove himself from the bar and from the horrid story Puck was telling him about the girl he'd hooked up with in high school, when Kurt's eye caught the door to the restaurant as it opened and the most breathtaking man he'd ever seen walked through.

The man was about Kurt's age, although he was about the same height as their hostess, Santana, since she had on her extra high heels on. His hair was a rich chocolate color, but was, much to Kurt's chagrin, held tightly to his head with far too much product. Like most of the restaurant's patrons, he was dressed sharply in his black suit jacket that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders and his white shirt that was wonderfully accompanied by a tie that was striped with multiple shades of purple. The man was simply stunning and definitely knew how to put himself together nicely. Behind the handsome stranger stood a taller man, and much older too. He was at least twice the age of the stranger, his hair gone completely silver and cut short to his head.

"Your drooling Hummel," Puck said, "And I'm pretty sure that old couple at table seven is getting antsy."

Kurt pulled himself out of the trance he couldn't even pretend he wasn't in making sure to check his face to make sure that Puck hadn't been serious. Luckily, his face was spit free.

"I've got two more for you, Kurt," Santana called as he walked away to check on table seven.

Once he was sure that the nice elderly couple from table seven was happy (and it was their fortieth wedding anniversary, how could they possibly be anything but?) Kurt took the notepad from the front pocket of the black apron tied around his waist and headed toward where the handsome stranger and his rather grumpy looking companion sat.

"Good evening. I'm Kurt. Can I start you gentleman off with something to drink?" Kurt said as he pulled the pen from behind his ear, clicking it against his hip to expose the ballpoint.

They ordered wine, and when Kurt came back a moment later with a bottle of 2007 Nosotros, they ordered their meals. The grumpy man ordered the veal, and it was as his handsome stranger was reciting his order that Kurt noticed that he had had the most mesmerizing honey colored eyes. He could definitely see himself getting lost in them. Kurt forced himself to focus and even read back the order from his notepad to make sure that he hadn't missed something while he tried to not look the handsome stranger directly in the eye. With a smile on his face and dazed look in his eye, Kurt went immediately to put the order in with the kitchen before continuing to race around the floor to fill glasses and pick up bills and collect a couple generous ups (one from the happily married old couple), his eyes floating occasionally over to his handsome stranger who was speaking to the his grumpy friend while making wild gestures with his hands. Kurt had never found a customer so endearing before.

Kurt wasn't one to let himself eaves drop on the patrons as they sat and had their personal conversations over dinner, but Kurt couldn't help the way his ears opened each time he walked past the table with his handsome stranger; it was then that Kurt heard the grumpy man address his stranger as Mr. Anderson. Well at least it wasn't a date, Kurt thought, and almost immediately stopped dead in his tracks because of it. It was one thing to oggle Mr. Anderson while he waited for his dinner to be ready, noticing the way he supped one his wine while keeping his posture completely straight and his eye contact on the other gentleman; it was completely different to get jealous, or he would have gotten jealous if it had been a date, over a man he'd never even really met. Doing that was insane, and was a new low, even for Kurt who had spent the last six years that he'd been in New York falling hopelessly for men who wanted many different things than Kurt did. Kurt wanted nothing more than to find his fairytale; the prince he could ride off into the sunset with. But that seemed too difficult for most men.

Kurt rushed over to the kitchen to check on the food for Mr. Anderson's table to find the kitchen assistant putting the plates out as he approached. He grabbed them, turned back around and maneuvered his way through the tables until he reached his destination.

"Here we go," Kurt said as he placed the two plates down in front of their respective owners. Their glasses were still both half full so Kurt placed a couple of extra napkins on the table and scurried away after telling them to enjoy their meal.

He hadn't gone more than three steps when a voice called out to him, "Waiter, excuse me. But you've given me the wrong order."

Kurt spun around immediately and walked back over to the table. The voice had come from the companion of his handsome stranger. He looked down at the man's plate, recalling what he'd written down on the ticket, knowing that it matched the dish in front of him. Kurt had been working at this restaurant for two years, and never once had he screwed up an order. He was sure that not even the face of an incredibly handsome man would have broken his impeccable record.

"I ordered the mignon, well done," the man said in response to Kurt's silence, "this is veal."

Kurt knew there was no way that the order was incorrect. But the number one rule of customer service was that the customer was always right, and avoiding confrontation, Kurt forced a smile and grabbed the plate from in front of the man, "I'll go speak to the kitchen staff right away. I'll have the mignon right up."

Kurt pushed his way into the kitchen through a pair of wooden swinging doors. Once inside, he dropped the plate of veal onto to the counter and the clatter echoed over the sizzle of the stove. He rushed over to look at the order ticket he'd placed. It clearly said veal. Thankful that, at least for his knowledge, this hadn't been an error on his part, Kurt immediately walked over to Tina, the head cook that night.

"Tina, I need you to make me a plate of the mignon and I need you to do it as fast as you possibly can," Kurt said in a rush.

"And what makes this steak so important," Tina questioned as she walked over to him wiping her hands on her apron.

"Just do it, please," Kurt begged, "I'll owe you a shopping trip, just please do it."

Tina nodded with a smile and turned around to get to work. Kurt took a deep breath before he went back on the floor. He had other tables he needed to tend to and he couldn't let this little hiccup get him down. He was Kurt Hummel; he'd dealt with much worse than angry customers in his life. By the time the night was over the whole thing would have been forgotten. Besides, there were still three hours left in his shift and there was a line outside the door. He didn't have time to worry or he'd certainly actually make a mistake.

Kurt continued to rush around the floor, purposely avoiding Mr. Anderson's table for fear of his boss or business partner or whoever the older man was. It was terribly rude, yes, but Kurt didn't have much to offer in the form of compensation other than 'it'll be right up' until Tina finished work her magic. Twenty minutes after he'd first rushed in, Kurt ran back into the kitchen only to have Tina thrust a perfectly cooked filet mignon into his hand. He observed the dish to make sure it was exactly as the man had told him then immediately rushed it out to the waiting table.

Apologizing for the wait, Kurt set the plate down in front of the older man, feeling guilty because it seemed the allusive Mr. Anderson hadn't touched his food and it was probably well on his way to being cold.

"Enjoy your meal," Kurt said softly, unsure what to say and knowing that he at least owed these men a discount for his inconvenience. He'd really been lucky making it this long without a disgruntled customer, but there was nothing to prepare Kurt for what happened next.

"This is ludicrous," a voice boomed startling Kurt as he turned around to find the older man standing now, his chair pushed far behind him.

Kurt took the few steps that separated him and the table where Mr. Anderson was sitting, wide eyed but quiet as his companion continued shouting, "How incompetent are you people? First you bring me the wrong dish, and then you make me wait twenty minutes for a new dish only to find that you've completely fucked that up as well."

Living in New York for so long had made Kurt immune to foul language, but the man's words felt like a slap on the face. But he knew that he had written both of those orders down perfectly, and he'd double checked it to make sure it was correct before he brought it out. There was no way that the plate of food was anything less than exactly like the man had ordered it.

"Sir, with all due respect, your order is exactly as you placed it. I spoke to the cook specifically. I checked it before I brought it to you."

"Well, while I applaud your efforts young man, this is still wrong."

"What's wrong with it?" Kurt questioned, abandoning the customer service motto. Sometimes the customers weren't right. Sometimes they were just assholes.

Kurt hated how high his temper was flaring; especially since they had an audience. Everyone in the restaurant was watching Kurt and this man (mostly Kurt), waiting with baited breath to find out who was in the right and who was wrong. Kurt knew he was right; he knew he had been right the first time.

"I specifically asked for it to be medium rare. This meat is over cooked. And this sauce—"

"There's nothing wrong with the sauce," Kurt challenged. He'd had enough.

"Why don't you taste it and tell me there is nothing wrong it?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond but when he felt something wet hit his face the words disappeared from his tongue. Wiping hesitantly at his face, Kurt realized that some of the sauce that had just a minute ago been sitting on the man's plate was now on his face, sliding down his skin.

"Let's go Anderson," the man said before he stormed past a shocked, quiet Kurt who couldn't do anything but stand there, jaw slacked, barely noticing Mr. Anderson get up and follow the gentleman out of the restaurant.

Kurt sat down five minutes before the restaurant closed at one of the tables by the door. Once he'd washed the sauce and embarrassment from his face, Kurt spent the rest of the night overthinking, double checking, and taking much longer than he should've to get things complete. But at least everyone's order was correct and eventually only the staff knew what had happened to him. It was a perk of his job, only having to deal with people for so long. He knew that the incident with the man wasn't his fault. That he'd done his job properly. And Trent, the manager on duty, let him know that he didn't fault Kurt for anything, and that he knew Kurt worked hard and was liked by many of the regulars. But that didn't stop the whole thing from gnawing away at Kurt. Even if he was right, he'd been humiliated.

It had been the moment that defined his whole night. The rest of the night had gone rather well, but because of one moment, the night would be remembered as a complete disaster. In a matter of forty-five minutes he managed to go from getting the chance to lay his eyes on the very attractive Mr. Anderson, to getting shouted at in front of fifty people. And the only thing he could do was move on because he knew that he'd dealt with worse. Back in Ohio, when the words from the still unnamed man's mouth would be considered kind, he'd dealt with the narrow-minded, ignorant whispers, the bullying and the death threats. And he managed to get through that, mostly with his head held high. Maybe he'd cry later when he tucked himself into bed after Santana bugged him for an hour to make sure he was okay. But for now, he just had to get through the rest of his shift with a smile on his face.

He heard the door to the restaurant open behind him and he rolled his eyes. They were literally moments away from locking the doors and another customer, if they chose to stay, meant at least another hour before they could close everything up. But Trent always made it clear that they would serve anyone who walked in the doors before they were locked. He heard Santana greet the customer and after a deep breath, preparing to treat the last customer like the first, Kurt stood to go grab his order pad from by the bar; but when he turned to glance at the customer he was surprised to find Mr. Anderson standing there, looking at him.

"I'd like to apologize," Mr. Anderson said walking past Santana until he was standing right in front of a confused Kurt, "For the way that my friend, well he's not really my friend, acted tonight. It was completely uncalled for and he, I mean we, shouldn't have stormed out of here without paying the bill. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen. So, I'd like pay the bill for tonight. For all three dishes that needed to be made."

"It's already been taken care of," Kurt said.

"No, please let me do this," Mr. Anderson said, his voice a soft melody to Kurt's ears, "If for no other reason than to clear my conscience."

Kurt laughed and then surrendered, "Okay, let me just go pull up the bill."

Mr. Anderson smiled at Kurt. It was a bright, toothy smile that instantly caused Kurt's heart rate to pick up. Because not only was Mr. Anderson incredibly attractive, but he seemed to be a pretty decent human being. He'd never expected to see either gentleman at the restaurant ever again, but Mr. Anderson was there, paying for a bill and apologizing for something he didn't even do. Once Kurt managed to pull himself from his thoughts about how perfect this stranger seemed to be, he walked over to the computer, Mr. Anderson following close behind.

Kurt punched the order into the computer, feeling Mr. Anderson's eyes on him. They were quiet as Kurt worked quickly.

"I'm Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt looked up from the screen where he had just been giving Mr. Anderson, Mr. Blaine Anderson, a discount for coming back, to find that Blaine's hand had been extended towards him.

Kurt clasped his hand with Blaine's and shook it ignoring how warm Blaine's hands felt or how perfect them seemed to fit, "Kurt Hummel."

"Alright, Kurt Hummel, now that I finally know your name, why don't you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Blaine's boldness shocked Kurt. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him out on a date, and even longer since it had been by someone who had enthralled him the way that Blaine had.

"Oh, wow, uh," Kurt stammered, "I have to work until close."

"Then the next night, or the one after that," Blaine said eagerly.

"You're serious?"

"Absolutely. It's the least I can do to pay you back for the trouble that went through tonight."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Blaine said, "Plus you're pretty cute."

Kurt blushed furiously. It had been a long time since someone other than Santana had said that to him and it was the last thing that he'd expected to pass through Blaine's lips.

"It was 104.64," Kurt said ignoring Blaine's proposal.

"Right," Blaine said digging into the back pocket of his pants pulling out his brown leather wallet, opening the fold and grabbing the green AMEX and handing it to Kurt.

Kurt swiped the card, keeping his eyes and mind as far away from Blaine until the receipt printed and he handed the slip and a pen to Blaine, their fingers brushing for a millisecond. But even that brief touch sent something warm and intense through his entire body. Kurt tried to focus on anywhere but in Blaine's direction while he signed the receipt.

"Here you go," Blaine said, handing back the receipt and if you asked Kurt, he made sure their skin made contact again, "And, uh, here is my number. Let me know when your free and we'll go to dinner. Not here of course, but some place nice."

Blaine extended a tiny piece of card stock toward Kurt who took it between his fingers. Kurt could only nod, unsure of the ways his voice would betray him if he decided to speak. This was the first time in his life the cute boy from across the room had approached him and not the other way around. The first time, especially since it had been almost a year since he'd had more than an awkward date that Santana set him up on, that Kurt felt wanted. And all of it was thanks to a handsome stranger and his asshole of a dinner date.

"I'll, uh, give you a call," Kurt said because he couldn't just stand there silent any longer.

"Great," Blaine said, the smile on his face growing with Kurt's words, "I look forward to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I should get going and I'm sure you guys want to close this place down."

"Yeah," Kurt said, "Sure."

"I look forward to your call," Blaine said placing a hand on top of Kurt's biceps and flashing that killer smile once again in Kurt's direction.

Unable to speak, Kurt could only watch as Blaine removed his hand, then turned around and walked back out of the restaurant passing Santana who could only watch with her jaw somewhere down on the floor.

"Are you actually going to call him?" Santana asked once they'd gotten home and were comfortably seated next to each other to catch up on a little DVR before one or both of them fell asleep on the couch.

"I don't know," Kurt said sinking down deeper into the cushions.

"He was hot," Santana said with her eyes focused on the television.

"Santana!"

"What?" Santana asked turning to finally look at him, "Just because I prefer my lovers a little curvier, and, you know, female, doesn't mean that I can't appreciate a piece of man candy when I see one."

"You're ridiculous," Kurt said folding his arms across his chest.

"And you will be too if you don't call the guy. I mean that old dude made a fool of you in front of the restaurant and he's the one that came back to apologize and to pay."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "That doesn't mean I'm willing to date a customer. He left me a fifty dollar tip. I feel like he's paying me to go out with him."

"Who cares? How else, my dearest Hummel, are you ever going to find a date? You haven't had a boy toy in how long now? Don't you think you deserve to have a night where you let a hot guy treat you like a prince? And then later you can come back here and let him worship your—"

"Do not finish that sentence, Santana," Kurt warned.

"I'm just saying. It's not healthy to go too long without loving from someone other than your hand."

"He asked me to dinner. That's all."

"Dinner could lead to numerous things including coming back here on Friday night because I also have a date that evening and I don't intend on coming home until the sun is coming up. And I won't say a word when he comes out of your bedroom Saturday morning. As long as he doesn't walk around naked. I don't take my Cheerios with testicles."

"You're incredible."

"Thank you," Santana said grabbing Kurt's phone from where it sat next to hers between them, "Did you already put his number in your phone? What was his name Bryan?"

"Blaine," Kurt said reaching for his phone, but Santana just moved it out of the way, "Give me my phone."

"Give me a minute," Santana said, tapping something out on the screen.

"Santana, it's after midnight, what are you doing?"

"It's never too late for a text message. If he's up, he can go to sleep happy. If he's not, he'll wake up, hopefully in a few hours, and be a happy man because Kurt Hummel has agreed to go out with him."

"I hate you."

"Love you too Kurtsie," Santana said tossing the phone back into Kurt's lap.

Kurt examined his phone, reading over the text that 'he'd' sent a text to Blaine proposing a date Friday night. A minute later his phone buzzed in his lap. He glared at the smug smile on Santana's face and opened the new text message.

7 it is. Text me your address :)

Emoticons and everything. What had he just gotten himself into?