#lilyvandersteen

Someone approaches behind him and Kurt twirls on his heel. A stranger carries Dan on his hip, a small smile on his lips.

Now let’s pause for a moment here, as Kurt’s brain fries just a little bit at the sight of said stranger.

The part of his brain that is not rushing on adrenaline, coffee and worries anyway.

Kurt may be a parent, but he has eyes (and hormones): the man holding his kid looks …

Good.

Very good.

That jacket, which is the same one Kurt is wearing, what a man of good taste for sure, does wonder for his shorter but sturdier figure.

Daddy likey.

Speaking of Daddy, back to our tale.

“Dan!”

Before going to Kurt, Dan pats the stranger’s cheek in a gesture so reminiscent of his own father’s goodbye that he has to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“Where have you been?” Kurt asks as he pulls Dan close to him. “And who are you?” he adds, turning to the stranger who is, damn him, still smiling at them with a smile Kurt wants to taste.

Since things can and will get stranger, the man holds up his hand like he rescues lost children for a living. “Blaine Anderson,” he introduces himself.

Kurt blinks. And blinks again.

Until Dan whispers in that not so discreet whisper, “Daddy, you’re supposed to fake the mifter’s hand.”

“Oh, right,” Kurt says, going back to his senses, shaking Blaine’s hand.

That’s a nice hand. Kurt likes that hand.

“Kurt. Hummel. And this is Dan.”

“So I gathered,” Blaine replies, his smile widening as Dan wiggles his fingers at him.

Shit, his son is better at flirting than him.

Though Kurt is not sure him grinning and waving at a stranger would be as cute.

“It seems that Dan confused me for you because of our jackets,” Blaine continues, finally--alas--letting go of Kurt’s hand. “I didn’t even realize he was following me out of the store until he pulled on it.”

“Thank you for bringing him back,” Kurt says, rubbing his cheek on top of Dan’s head. “It’s the first time I meet someone wearing the same clothes as me.”

“Not as well though,” Blaine replies softly, his voice warm and melodious.

If there is such a thing as a siren in human form, then Blaine Anderson may be one of them, and yes, Kurt is waxing poetics about a man he literally just met, so sue him.

“Oh.”

“Daddy, you need to fay fank you to Blaine for faying fomefing nice.”

Dan is frowning at Kurt as he chastises him.

“Right, fank--I mean, thank you.”

Blaine’s cheeks turn a discreet shade of pink, no doubt no match for Kurt’s red ones. “No need to thank me for simply stating the truth,” Blaine adds, fidgeting with his grocery bag. “Um. I should--I should get going. Now,” he adds, tapping his finger lightly on Dan’s nose, much to his delight, “you stay with your daddy from now on, okay?”

“Otay.”

Blaine chuckles before looking up, straight into Kurt’s eyes (and heart and soul, and oh, fuck you).

“And you, Kurt Hummel, have a nice day,” Blaine says, his voice seemingly dropping as he, the adorable fucker, winks at Kurt before leaving.

Two thoughts cross Kurt’s mind there and then.

I hate to see you go, but sweet it is to watch you go.

And

Who the fuck winks?!? And why is it so effective???

“Daddy.”

“Yes, mijo?”

“Blaine is weally p’etty.”

“Yes he is.”

“Much more p’etty than Adam.”

“Dan, we agreed not to say his name anymore.”

Dan nods wisely, looking down at his t-shirt before clapping his hands.

In that moment, he looks far too much like Santana when she has one of her master plans for Kurt’s liking.

“We should invite him fo’ a playdate!” Dan exclaims, his smile going from ear to ear.

“A what?”

“A playdate!”

Kurt focuses on not thinking about what kind of games he’d like to play with Blaine--it bears repeating that he doesn’t know a thing about the guy beyond his name, his taste in clothes and the fact that he is not a kidnapper.

Though he wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.

“Get to know him biblically,” his inner Santana cackles, and he hates that she is right.

“You know what, mijo? That’s a great idea.”

“I know.”

“Go get him.”

Kurt lets Dan down on his feet with a little pat to his back.

Dan takes off running, a dimple in his cheek as he focuses on his mission as Kurt picks up the basket and follows him.

Maybe something to write home about after all.

(Santana doesn’t even give him hell for turning their son into a “dark golden retriever”, but she never lets him forget.