A/N: Thank you sooo much for all the likes and follows, especially the reviews :') x3
Donna's internal clock is spot-on; her eyes flutter open at 6:30 am each morning, giving her an hour to herself before most of the children arrive. But for parents facing a crucial early meeting or long commute, she adjusts her schedule, starting as early as 7:00 am.
Throughout the chaos of her day, there are a few things that comfort her. One is that after lunch, there will be some peace and quiet while some kids take their naps. And the second is that she's at home. A place where she knows the location of everything and is always at ease.
Her daycare is open from Monday to Friday until 5:30 pm. Back in the early days, she put in weekend hours to establish her reputation. Now, her hours are flexible based on client needs, sometimes stretching to 6:30 pm or even 7:00 pm.
The occasional late night doesn't bother her; she functions well on minimal sleep. So, there's still enough time to have dinner with friends or go out for drinks, and then decide whether she wants to hit the dance floor or rather get home and enjoy a movie or a good book, or take a bath – she usually chooses the second option.
For twelve years now, Donna has run her business out of her home. She started saving aggressively early in her career, living frugally and developing budgeting skills, making a few investment decisions in college that came to benefit her later. She even did a bit of freelance work to fulfill her dream of owning a daycare.
She lived in a smaller apartment in Manhattan until she'd save enough to move into a more spacious home. The house was a fixer-upper find, a beautiful run-down brownstone she discovered at a bargain price. With a bit of resourcefulness and putting her DIY skills to good use, she managed to turn it into a charming daycare space.
Donna never forgets how nervous she was when her house was inspected to make sure it met all the requirements. They checked where medicines were kept, where the kids would sleep, and the square footage of the playroom. This inspection is performed once every year, and she still gets a little nervous each time.
To help cover the mortgage and operating costs of the daycare on the ground floor, she rented out the upper floor of the multi-unit to a woman named Scottie. Her real name is Dana Scott, and she owns a store in Brooklyn, The G-Spot, a legendary sex toy emporium.
The place is famous, and unlike any other sex store in the city, it lacks a lurid overtone. People aren't put into the embarrassing, secretive mission of pretending that they are using vibrators for backaches or foot massages.
Instead, it has been designed as a gender-neutral business celebrating sexual freedom, where no one feels the need to avoid eye contact and pretend they are the only one there. A place that is empowering and informative for both men and women.
The G-Spot is set up like a penis museum. Penis-shaped apparatus and glass cases decorate the walls like an art framework. Directly below the glass casings, sample toys are available for the customers' viewing and testing pleasure.
In the rear of the store, there are various forms of erotica, sex-education books and a lubrication library filled with penis and vagina paraphernalia. There is also the fetish wear and lingerie section, and a section for wellness products.
Whenever Donna comes by the store, someone else is usually there, looking to buy something. Sometimes three or four people. People of every shape, size, and nationality.
Then she sees them enthusiastically playing with buttons on vibrators, sliding probing palms up and down dildos, and giggling joyfully at the complex models that look more like kitchen appliances rather than pleasure toys.
Scottie is every bit the roommate Donna never had in college, someone she can confide in beyond work-related issues.
They share morning coffee before she starts the daycare, or destress over takeout after a long day. When Scottie notices her overworking, she gently reminds her to take breaks. Yet, their relationship differs from the one Donna has with Rachel.
Unlike popcorn-fueled movie nights with face masks and rom-com marathons, Scottie brings a touch of the unexpected. It's a different energy, a little more adventurous, with an edge that keeps things exciting.
Donna cherishes both women deeply, for they each tap into different facets of her personality.
Operating the daycare in her house has greatly affected Donna's relationship with the kids. They become like a second family and she gets to see most of them again once they're in high school. She even got invited to a graduation last month – the first child she ever cared for.
She always wanted to be a mother someday, but never found the right guy to have kids with. Then when she finally did – found someone she even considered marrying one day – her gynecologist told her it would be harder for her to conceive because of some medical condition. And even if she became pregnant, she might not carry the baby to full term.
She spent the next two days in a haze of grief. It was like a cruel joke from the universe – hope dangled before her eyes, only to be snatched away just as cruelly. As if that wasn't enough, her relationship with the person she felt was the love of her life ended soon after.
Even though he told her it had nothing to do with what the doctor had said, they were simply drifting apart, Donna knew it was a lie. He – Mark – wanted a simple life. A simple wife. Someone who could give him a baby without the risk of miscarriage looming ahead.
At 33 years old, she knows that, biologically, she can still have a child. Yet, with each passing year, the dream has dimmed a little further. But she has 'her babies.' A motley crew not born from her womb. And she feels it is as fulfilling and exciting as having her own would be.
Just sometimes, when she catches sight of a pregnant woman, a pang of longing strikes her, a brief echo of that dream she's carefully tucked away. A reminder of the life she's built and the one that slipped away.
For a fleeting moment, Donna allows herself to mourn something she might never have as she imagines the swollen belly, the tiny kicks from within, the overwhelming joy of holding her own child for the first time. And then, just as quickly, the image fades, replaced by the warmth of the love she already has.
Watching her little minions collaborate on building block towers or sand castles fills her with immense pride. Seeing them conquer their jackets by wriggling their hands into the sleeves and flipping the jacket over their heads. How they dissolve into a fit of giggles as they fiddle with the Velcro straps on their shoes, fastening and unfastening them with repeated ripping sounds.
The quiet satisfaction of witnessing these minor triumphs and social interactions, even their struggles, may be its own reward, but nothing compares to the boundless energy unleashed during outdoor playdates. To the heartwarming feeling of watching them simply enjoy life.
When they hang from the high bar of the backyard's jungle gym by their legs, swaying a little, gazing at the topsy-turvy world, with the sky at the bottom and the ground at the top.
When she takes them to the park, and they see the beauty in buttercups and daisy chains, and she sits there listening to a symphony of squeals and laughter as they chase each other across the lawn.
Sometimes Donna takes her entourage to a museum. They navigate this world full of fascinating sights and sounds with wide-eyed curiosity and endless questions. Discipline is hardly a worry then, because their adoration for her keeps them glued to her side like happy little shadows.
Today, she's meeting a girl who has had her fair shares of museum visits. Mike said the toddler's fascination with prehistoric creatures started very early on, and her father embraces every part of that obsession, even if it means having to see the same dinosaur exhibition over and over and over again.
The meeting is scheduled for the afternoon, and since it's a Saturday, Donna doesn't have to work. She goes to yoga class, picks up some groceries, then spends most of the day relaxing at home, gardening, reading, and checking out that new baking recipe book.
Mike only told her a few things: the father's name is Harvey Specter, his daughter, Eden, is three years old, and they recently moved back to Manhattan.
Harvey Specter.
Although she usually skips through the news – seeing so much hate and suffering in the world upsets her too much – she's heard of him. Stumbled upon his name a few times. People call him 'the best closer in the city.'
He's a corporate attorney who works alongside Mike and Rachel at the same firm. But since he's spent the past half-decade living in upstate New York with his family, and dodged every single party thrown by his friends, Donna has never actually seen the guy in person.
A part of her regrets it because, judging by his inflated reputation, he seems a far cry from any other man she's ever met. She's heard so many stories about him, it almost feels like she knows him personally. And truth be told, she finds him so intriguing already.
The way Mike and Rachel talked about him was all the endorsement Donna needed for this rather unorthodox arrangement. Sure, she's received referrals before, but they always came with an actual introduction. This? This feels suspiciously like a blind date. She hasn't even heard that man's voice.
It might be why each time she passes the entrance she stares out the window that overlooks the front of the house. She's never been pacing around like this, waiting for a potential client to arrive. Checking the clock every few minutes to see how much longer it takes. God, maybe she is indeed nervous.
When she hears a car's engine right outside the house, she rises to her feet and looks out the window once more. And then she sees him as he steps out of the car. He's tall, and so handsome, it is practically criminal that she gets to look at him for free.
Hair a dark brown and impeccably groomed, radiating an air of confidence and sharpness. Swept back in a clean, defined side part, it gleams in the sunlight, not a single strand daring to fall out of place. The sides are shorter, neatly trimmed, creating a stark contrast with the longer top that holds a surprising amount of volume.
He appears to be sculpted from power, the charcoal gray suit molding to his broad frame, fitting him like a second skin. He has rugged features, a square jaw, and a straight nose. His chin is sharp, protruding above a stiff collar, starched to perfection and framing his four-in-hand tie.
A curiously light-headed feeling begins to creep over her, then she realizes she is holding her breath. She lets it out in a soft sigh. Focus, Donna, she tells herself. This is business, not pleasure. Strict business.
But when she opens the door, and he stands there, so close his scent fills her senses – a mix of woodsy aftershave and warmth, deep and musky – it stirs up all kinds of inappropriate sensations. Oh, it's definitely pleasure.
Under a high forehead, strong brows sweep low over beautiful deep-set brown eyes, but her gaze is instantly drawn to the sensually chiseled perfection of his mouth.
That mouth is just the right size, neither too wide nor too small. The mouth of a man who knows how to kiss, how to savor the taste of a woman's skin.
Harvey Specter might just be the most beautiful man she's ever seen, and she finds herself suddenly shaken by the compulsion to rise on her tiptoes and find out for herself just how well he can kiss.
Jesus, what the hell is she thinking?
"You must be Mike's friend," she says, a little more breathlessly than a first introduction warrants, like she's super excited to meet him. She internally face-palms herself, hoping he doesn't see how infatuated she is.
"Harvey Specter," he introduces himself, reaching out to shake her hand – he doesn't just shake it; he holds on to it and rubs the back with his thumb.
Donna feels the waves of bumps that rise on the skin of her arm from his touch. She can't help but notice how inordinately long his fingers are, tapered toward meticulously manicured nails. The sort of fingers which most people associate with pianists.
His hands… They are like bear paws, massive, and calloused, and warm. Soft yet strong. They are sensual weapons that could seek out her most sensitive spots and then conquer them with pleasure. Actual pleasure.
And with those long fingers, he could… Dear God, she must be underfucked, she thinks, as she sinks her teeth deep into her bottom lip. Severely underfucked.
Harvey's voice is gentle as he addresses his daughter. It's the first time Donna really pays attention to the child in his arms. It makes her feel slightly ashamed, a feeling replaced quickly by something else entirely when she witnesses the interaction between the two of them.
His smile is so wide that even his eyes are smiling, and the way he looks at his daughter makes Donna's heart flutter. It isn't just fondness; it is pure adoration. This man, with his easy affection, is already proving himself an exceptional father, and any lingering doubts she had whether this could work vanish in that moment.
Eden practically melts into him, clinging to him like a barnacle to a ship, tiny arms wrapped tightly around Harvey's neck. She doesn't move, except for that little head shake she gives that makes Harvey chuckle, the sound a soft, incredibly charming, guttural purring.
Donna smiles at his apology and places a hand on Eden's back, tracing soothing circles. Her fingers graze Harvey's arm, and it is as if a current shoots through her, the contact making her hyper-aware of everything – the way his muscles flinch ever so slightly, the warmth beneath the crisp fabric of his suit, his breath hitching.
Her gaze drifts upwards, and for a stolen moment, she finds herself fixated on the firm line of his lips, their shape both serious and somehow inviting. Lips that look like they could either save your life or destroy your soul. She licks her own lips in response to that thought. And then she realizes she is standing there, staring like an idiot.
Flustered, she quickly looks away, focusing on the person she should focus on. She says the first thing that pops into her head, "You know what, Eden? Today's your lucky day," and it seems to bring the girl out of her shell, giving her the opportunity to really look at her.
She is beautiful beyond description. Dark hair, big brown eyes, eyelashes that could pick you up and carry you away. She's been around a lot of children in her life – it comes with the job – but Eden's aura is unbelievably captivating. It's like she's leaving an imprint on her soul.
"Why's that?" she hears Harvey's voice, and as she keeps staring at his daughter, she replies, "Because it's the day you get to meet Donna."
When their eyes meet, Donna feels an even deeper pull towards the child's enchanting aura. It's the same with her as it was with her father – something inexplicable happens in her presence, like they're forming an instant connection. It feels incredible, even a bit scary.
The smile Donna gives Harvey is warm, almost admiring. She's never experienced anything like this with anyone before. It seems lightning struck her twice today. First it was him, then his daughter. She thinks it's so silly to even wonder, but is this what meeting your soulmate feels like?
•••
Donna sits next to him on the couch as she does with all the parents who come into her office, at least when it's supposed to be a casual conversation, not one of those serious meetings she'd rather not even have – like that one time where she had to let the parents of a boy know she couldn't take care of their son anymore, because the child's behavior was becoming too much of a problem.
However, she can't deny that sitting here with him – New York's best closer, Harvey Specter – feels different. She should be a professional. Instead, her gaze drops to his lips for a split second as he talks, and she asks herself what they would feel like, parted against her neck or grazing along her shoulders… Soft or firm?
She loves how one corner of his mouth quirks up when he mentions Mr. Snuggles, that plush dinosaur Eden likes to carry everywhere with her – Harvey looks like a little schoolboy whenever he smiles. And she loves the way his face lights up when he glances over at his daughter and sees her play with her toys.
The thought of him using a tracking device to follow Eden's movements amuses her. She feels silly, knowing there are parents who do this all the time, probably. Yet here she is, giggling as though it's the funniest thing she's ever heard.
"I lost her once. Almost twice. Just taking precautions, so it won't happen again," he explains.
And then he gives her a lopsided grin. A dimpled, insanely sexy lopsided grin that makes Donna's ability to inhale the much-needed oxygen more difficult.
"Precautions, huh? Would a leash work, too?"
She watches him laugh; she loves to make him laugh, to bring that particular joy into his eyes, his smile. It is such a genuine laugh, not an ounce of it ever forced. He laughs like a man who only recently discovered how, and the sound fills her heart with tenderness.
She stares at his smile and looks deeply into his eyes, and suddenly his expression hardens. The deep breath he takes comes out ragged and tortured. It's almost like she can sense his pain before it registers on his face and he lets it seep into his words.
"Eden doesn't talk much. I was told the reason for that could be trauma. Disrupted bonding or something?"
Donna doesn't miss the hesitation in his voice, making the words sound like an apology – as if there's something wrong with having a child that doesn't share the bubbly nature of others. She hates that he seems to think that.
She sees his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, watches him close his eyes. When he rubs his face, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, the plain gold wedding band he wears stares right at her, almost as if mocking her.
It's not lodged fully at the base of his ring finger. There is a strip of lighter skin indicating where it would normally sit, and the band is lying just above that, out of place. That suggests he has been toying with it. Makes her assume things about his marriage she probably shouldn't.
"Her mother, she's… She left us. And I guess even though Eden was so young, it might've affected her behavior more than I thought."
Donna's eyes widen as she takes him in, then she swallows and squeezes her hands together. She hates seeing him so uncomfortable as he appears to search for the right words. So tormented. Broken, almost.
Whatever happened between him and his wife – or ex-wife? – he's clearly still struggling to accept it. And while curiosity is practically one of her instinctive traits, she knows it's not her place to pry.
She finds it hard to believe that the man before her, exuding warmth and kindness, could be the source of marital discord, but secrets often lurk beneath the surface. She doesn't really know him.
Donna leans forward, her full attention on Harvey's every word as he details Eden's behavior. It's not the first time she would have to deal with a child whose wants and needs are obscured by a complex web of emotions.
"I promise you, Harvey, we'll get along just fine," she says, offering him a reassuring smile, and sees Harvey relaxing under her gaze.
Usually, people are like open books to her, even if they don't talk much. She might have to resort to a little creative communication, but she's always liked a bit of a challenge. She's quite confident she'll manage.
"And if there's nothing else you wanna share with me," she continues, "then I'd like to show you around a bit. Tell you a few things about how I run this place."
"I'd love that," he replies.
His gentle smile is like the faint sunshine of an April day breaking through the mists. His eyes are filled with a tranquil lake. It's that look that every grown man gets when he'd rather die than to let that first tear drop, but knows he can't keep the others from flowing, no matter how hard he tries.
A small part of Donna's mind dimly registers that she must be insane. Only a short while ago, she didn't even know this man. Now, this handsome stranger brings a vulnerability to his stare that touches her. Speaks to her. Makes her feel an overwhelming urge to put her arms around him and tell him it's going to be alright.
She can't squelch the nervous giggle that escapes her lips. The sheer intensity in the way Harvey looks at her suddenly makes her realize that she'd seriously be in over her head with this guy if he ever decides to make a move. She's got rules… No dating parents!
"Well, as you can see, this is my office," she says, trying desperately to keep the girlish breathlessness out of her voice. To sound grown-up. "This is where the not-so-fun stuff happens."
Harvey chuckles, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, amusement sparkling within, makes Donna's heart speed up a bit, heat flushing her cheeks.
Standing abruptly, she puts some much-needed distance between them. It might be the only way to quell the inappropriate and unwelcome thoughts that threaten to spiral before she can reign them in.
Donna leads him into the playroom filled with age-appropriate toys, books, and activities. She stands by the doorway, arms crossed loosely, her gaze lingering on Harvey. He kneels on the floor, pointing to different things in the room, his voice a low murmur as he makes Eden become familiar with the new surroundings.
Walking over to the cozy nap area, Harvey flops down onto the pillows with a soft thump and wallows around, luxuriating in the plush comfort, until he is really nestled in. And then he lies there gazing up at the colorful constellations painted on the ceiling.
Eden follows him, launching herself onto his stomach. He roars with mock surprise, surrendering instantly. But after a moment's pause, he starts tickling his daughter's sides, sending her into a fit of giggles.
"Stop, Daddy," Eden squeals, squirming and kicking her legs. Harvey relents with a chuckle, peppering her belly with tickles instead. She wriggles like a puppy, her tiny limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to escape.
Tears well up in Donna's eyes, blurring the scene before her, her lips twisting into a shaky smile as she watches their playful chaos. This…
This is what she envisioned for herself all those years ago when she met Mark. Not the constant arguments, the unfulfilled dreams. This, the pure, unadulterated joy of watching a father and daughter connect.
As Harvey rises from the floor, his once-impeccable suit now bears the evidence of the playful wrestling match. He brushes himself off with a shrug, entirely unconcerned about the state of his expensive clothes, and strokes his daughter's head, smiling.
A giddy warmth spreads through Donna's chest, watching him. This mess of a man, with his rumpled suit and the disheveled hair, is completely captivated by his daughter. There's no doubt about it – her heart is a goner. She can barely hide it when Harvey turns around to face her.
"How many kids do you have here?" he asks, and it takes Donna a moment to fully shift gears from the heartwarming scene she just witnessed.
"I like to keep things intimate," she explains. "A small group allows me to focus on each child's unique needs. So, four is my magic number."
"You know, when Mike told me about this, about how you… operate… I was honestly a bit hesitant to come here. I felt like Eden needed more structure. Something a little more—"
"Traditional?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't wanna offend you. It's just that…"
"I understand, Harvey," she says, giving him a warm smile. "This clearly isn't for everyone. But structure is important, and we definitely have that here. It's just wrapped in a more creative, nurturing environment."
"This place has a real charm to it," he smiles back. "It's clear I had nothing to worry about, and I know Eden will settle in fast. From the looks of it, she's already on her way."
Harvey's smile softens as he looks over at his daughter, who is perched on a miniature chair, inspecting the crayons spread out across the small table. She rolls the red one Harvey knows she likes best – red is her favorite color after all – under her palm a few times and then draws on a piece of paper.
"Actually, I think it might've been me who was the problem, not your daycare," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I just have a hard time letting go, is all. For the last three years it's been just family and friends looking after her, so letting someone else in, even someone as qualified as you seem, is… difficult."
"It's completely natural," Donna says softly, her voice laced with empathy. "Change can be scary, especially when it involves your child."
She steps closer to him, hesitantly, as she reminds herself of the dangerous territory she's entering.
"Trust me, Harvey, I had parents call me every hour to check on their kids. You're not the only one who's struggling with this, but you are the first one to admit it."
"Thank you," he mutters, appreciating the comfort. "And if you don't mind me asking… Are you—"
"A mother? No," Donna smiles, shaking her head. She ruffles her red curls, briskly trying to psych herself up. "Not yet," she adds. She's still allowed to dream, right? "But doing this job is the next best thing."
She smiles, and her smile is full of sweetness under the red veil that envelopes her and which shakes and waves like a flame along her freckled face as she moves.
She's completely unaware of how it makes him vibrate when she stands so close. How he feels a rush of heat flow up his spine. How he can hardly keep himself from lowering his gaze to stare at those gorgeous lips of hers.
She's so achingly beautiful, she makes even the dullest soul react with a physiological response. See, his pulse is racing, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and his skin tingles.
There's just so damn much life in her. It intrigues him. Excites him. In ways he thought he's long buried. But now, for the first time in years, his desire is stirred, awakening a forgotten feeling that is both terrifying and exhilarating.
He finally feels alive again – alive and craving her with every part of his being.