surprise

He noticed it on a random Wednesday at home, sifting through his appointments for the day. Every day, colored in purple at the top of his calendar, each day a different silly holiday. National ice cream day, national bring a teddy bear to work day, national hot dog day.

She had put them on his calendar as a joke, she had told him, after he questioned her about there being a National Secretary's Day.

So he let them sit there, day after day, sometimes they made him laugh, sometimes he joked with her about it (National Orgasm Day was particularly amusing to tease her about) and sometimes he ignored them entirely, too busy to bring attention to them.

But this morning, over coffee before leaving his apartment, his eyes widened at the particular holiday, 'National Kiss a Ginger Day'. He stared at the purple colored event notice at the top of his calendar and couldn't help smirking to himself. This is a holiday he could get behind.

Forty-five minutes later, he's arriving at the firm, knowing she's already there, because she always is. Turning the corner towards his office, he spots her through the glass shuffling through files on his desk, back facing him.

He doesn't give himself a chance to second guess his decision, deciding he can fluff it off as a joke given the "holiday" just like that one time at Christmas under the mistletoe where he had claimed it was tradition and she had rolled her eyes but let him get away with it anyways.

She hears him enter and immediately attempts to fill him in on his day, chastising him for being late on such a busy day but before she can finish her thought his mouth is pressed against hers.

She freezes, clearly taken by surprise. He expected that, but what he didn't expect was her to be that quick with the uptake eventually relaxing and leaning into him. Savoring whatever he can get, not expecting what started out as a joke to turn into something more, he finally feels her pull back from him, her eyes wide as saucers.

Within seconds, she seemingly remembers where and what they are and she gentle shoves him back and growls out, "Harvey, what the hell are you doing?"

He has to shake his head to clear the fog from his brain. Damn, he forgot how good she tastes.

"Happy National Kiss a Ginger Day," he teases after the haze fades from his mind.

She's rolling her eyes in response, smacking him on the chest, before turning back to sort through more files and muttering out, "You're an idiot."

He can't fight the grin on his face for the remainder of the day and can't stop his brain from wondering if there's a National Whipped Cream Day.

(There is, and he makes note of it.)