A/N: I'm beyond grateful for the incredible love this story received when it was first shared for Secret Santa. I can't even begin to explain the amount of serotonin each review has given me, so I'll let this fic do the talking instead.

Darvey's story was never meant to end there, but with the deadline looming, I held onto the rest of my ideas for this moment. I planned an additional chapter for New Year's Eve and an epilogue, but given the cheesy fluff in this one, and how much comfort it gives me, I think I'll make this three.


Donna's Delights

A few miles after he left the cityscape of New York behind, Harvey turns off the highway and onto the scenic route. On his way to visit his family, there's somewhere else he wants to stop first.

According to his friend's glowing review, it's supposed to be the best bakery on the East Coast—a place "worth the detour," they insisted, though Harvey hadn't expected to drive through what feels like the middle of nowhere to find it.

The heater of his '67 Mustang battles the relentless winter chill outside. His windshield wipers keep up a steady rhythm, brushing away the thick flakes clinging stubbornly to the glass. The snowfall has been intensifying for the last hour, dimming his view.

An hour slips by until, finally, he spots the town on the horizon. Chestnut Creek. The place is small. Small enough that if you blink, you'd miss it. Nothing but family-owned businesses and sprawling farmlands, cut only by the town's main road that forks off into narrow side streets.

He'd known that the town would be small, just based off of the pictures he pulled up on Google Maps earlier. All the buildings are one story, all the streets are one-lane, and the residential part of town consists of adorable little cottages.

What he hadn't realized was that even now, at five o'clock in the afternoon, when the downtown area—if you could call it that—should be bustling with activity, it would be a ghost town. There are lights on in all of the shop windows and one or two pedestrians milling around, but other than that, the streets are eerily quiet.

As Harvey drives down the road, he takes in the rows of cottages, lined with decorations, imitations of icicles hanging from porch roofs and wreaths on the doors. Each one is as quaint as the last, nestled close together like something out of a Christmas postcard.

He slows down as he nears the town center, scanning the signs until he stops the car in front of the bakery, its shop window framed by pine garlands laced with cinnamon sticks, small pinecones, and fairy lights.

Harvey buries his hands deep within the pockets of his heavy, high-collared coat as the cold, weightless crystals settle themselves lingeringly over the tight-woven gray wool swathing his body. His head is uncovered, and the flakes become entangled in his hair before he lifts his face briefly to shake them away.

He checks out the store window, the glass showcasing a winter scene. Tiny reindeer figurines and miniature Christmas trees stand on a dusting of faux snow, with the centerpiece being a gingerbread village that looks delicious enough to eat. Each gingerbread house has a dusting of powdered sugar "snow" on its roof and frosted candy details.

A beautiful evergreen wreath hangs in the center of the entrance, adorned with bright red holly berries and a deep burgundy velvet ribbon that matches the shop's red-and-white striped awning. Above the door, a classic wooden sign painted in hand-lettered script reads, Donna's Delights.

As he pushes open the door of the little bakery, a bell jingles above him, and the warm, rich scent of coffee, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread wafts toward him. His nostrils flare, the muscles in his jaw working as his mouth waters.

"I'll be right there," a voice calls out to him.

He looks around, taking in his surroundings.

Baked goods are displayed neatly in decorative tins and mason jars, each with small handwritten signs identifying their contents—gingerbread men, Linzer tarts, and spiced molasses cookies, alongside spiced nuts, chocolate truffles, and dried orange slices. Baskets overflow with mini loaves of cranberry walnut bread, panettone, and cinnamon swirl bread, wrapped in simple brown paper, their labels hinting at the treats within.

Near the entrance, there's a small sitting area with tufted leather armchairs around a wood-burning stove, draped with wool blankets in case a customer wants to settle in and sip coffee. Twinkle lights hang across the ceiling, casting a soft glow throughout the shop, and holiday music plays quietly in the background.

The front counter is lined with glass cases that feature the day's selection: peppermint bark, frosted sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes, cranberry-orange scones, and a chocolate Yule log dusted with powdered sugar to resemble fresh snow. Behind the counter is a coffee bar, where old-fashioned glass jars hold candy canes, and a small chalkboard menu lists holiday drinks like peppermint mocha and eggnog latte.

Harvey is so entranced by the sweet charm of the bakery that he doesn't even notice the owner until she clears her throat. "Hi, sorry, that took so long. What can I do for you?"

She wears a cozy sweater with a touch of flour on her sleeve. Her red hair is pulled back in a loose, messy bun, with a few strands falling to frame her face, and her cheeks are pink from what he assumes is the warmth of the kitchen. She flashes him a warm smile, the kind that seems to come naturally to her.

A bit taken aback by how much the sight of her distracts him, Harvey takes a moment before he speaks. "I'm just looking for something to bring to my family for Christmas. Figured I'd get a pie or... whatever's best."

Her hazel eyes are bright and rather full, and her face is animated and full of expression—a warm, lively presence who seems to glow as much as the lights around her.

"You came to the right place." She moves to the counter, leaning slightly as she glances at the case. "We've got an apple-cranberry pie that's to die for. Or, if you're more of a chocolate person, I've got some peppermint chocolate tarts that are—"

Before she can finish her sentence, the lights flicker, and the room plunges into darkness momentarily. For a moment, the only light comes from the faint glow of the snow outside, until the power comes back on.

She sighs, moving toward the window, her breath fogging up the pane as she peeks out. "They were warning about a blizzard," she says, her voice thoughtful, almost to herself. "But I didn't think it would hit this early."

The street has turned into a white carpet, snowflakes cascading thickly, covering everything in sight. Cars parked along the curb are now barely recognizable, and a gust of wind rattles the windowpane, underscoring the storm's intensity.

She turns back to him with a small, apologetic smile. "Looks like you might be stuck here for a while."

Harvey raises an eyebrow, glancing around the cozy little bakery. Normally, he'd be irritated—he had plans, after all, and being trapped anywhere on Christmas Eve isn't exactly ideal. But something about the place, and about this woman, makes him feel oddly at ease.

"Could be worse," he says, his lips curving into a slight smirk. "I could be stuck with my family."

She laughs, a soft, genuine sound that somehow makes the room feel warmer. "Donna, by the way. Donna Paulsen."

"Harvey Specter," he replies, extending his hand.

She takes it, her grip surprisingly firm for someone so petite and delicate-looking, and for a moment, their eyes meet. There is a spark there—familiar, comfortable, as if they've known each other far longer than a few minutes.

"Well, Harvey Specter," she says, withdrawing her hand, "would you mind helping me prep for tomorrow's orders as we wait out the storm?"

"I'd love to," he smiles.

He shrugs off his winter coat and drapes it over the back of one of the armchairs. Underneath, he wears a navy-blue sweater layered over a white collared shirt, with the shirt's hem slightly untucked. As he crosses the room, he rolls up his shirt sleeves past the elbows, revealing well-defined bronze-skinned forearms.

With a delicious stubble and sexy-as-fuck crinkles around his eyes that show all the years of it, he is handsome as hell. Fine wrinkles feather his temples, giving even more depth to his already considerable sex appeal. Oh, Lord, he is so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at him.

Tall. Six foot two, maybe. Lean. But muscular. Physically fit. As in really fit. Wow. Just wow. She is a sucker for a good set of biceps, and his are perfect. Bulging with power but not too over-the-top obnoxious. And as he walks toward her, she's hyper-aware of her body and how she tingles everywhere his gaze touches her.

She finds herself believing in the magic of Christmas again because being snowed in with this smoking hot stranger feels like the beginning of a silly but heartwarming rom-com. In fact, Harvey Specter is the most beautiful man she's ever seen—certainly the most beautiful man who's ever set foot into her bakery.

Donna blushes at her thoughts, hoping he doesn't notice. Clearing her throat, she gestures for him to follow. "Please, come with me," she says, leading him behind the counter and into the kitchen. "Okay, so first off? I need your help with making ganache for my signature peppermint tarts. I had to use another brand of chocolate, and I'm not sure if it's good."

"I have to warn you," he mutters, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. "I lack kitchen skills."

She giggles softly. "Does that mean your wife does all the cooking for you?"

"No," Harvey replies with a small shake of his head. "I'm not involved with anyone right now. Though, I guess you could say I'm married to my job," he quips.

"Must be one hell of a job," she says with a slight rise of her eyebrow as the corner of her mouth quirks in a sweet smile.

"I work as a corporate attorney. In New York."

Normally, he wouldn't hesitate to drop the fact that he's the best closer in the city, someone who commands respect and admiration in every boardroom he walks into. But with Donna, he doesn't feel the need to impress her with his professional accolades. Somehow, he feels lighter, unguarded. For once, he's content to just be Harvey.

She smirks. "And that means you work so hard that every delivery service knows your order? Or do you have a personal chef?"

Her teasing tone, laced with mockery, draws a heartfelt laugh from him. "Having a personal chef would be a bit too much, even for me," he counters with a smirk. "But yeah, I've been incredibly lazy when it comes to cooking."

"So, this will be the hardest you've ever worked for a dessert in your life, huh?" she quips as she leans in just slightly, daring him to keep up with her banter.

Harvey's grin deepens as he leans against the counter too, matching her energy. "I'm pretty sure this is the most decadent interrogation technique I've ever seen."

"You caught me," she shoots back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have a thing for corporate lawyers stranded in snowstorms."

Her grin is so enormous it rivals the one on his face. If she is so flirtatious, then certainly she is into him, he thinks. It must mean he's doing something right, because he doesn't even try to hide his attraction to her. God, she's gorgeous.

A shudder rolls down his spine at the intensity of her gaze, and he feels as though he becomes small under her gaze. She is superior in every way to every woman he has ever met, and that is as clear as day. And one of the things he finds most attractive about women is confidence.

Donna slides a bowl of melted chocolate toward him, the rich, dark liquid giving off a sweet smell. "Alright, this is a crucial component of tomorrow's peppermint tarts, so don't screw it up."

"It's melted chocolate, Donna. How hard can it be?"

She gives him a knowing smile as she reaches for a spoon and dips it into the bowl. "I can tell you've never worked in a kitchen. Things can go wrong very quickly if you're not paying attention." She holds the spoon out to him. "Taste this. Tell me if it's too sweet."

Harvey obliges, leaning in to take the spoon from her hand, his eyes locking with hers for a split second before focusing on the chocolate. He swirls the taste in his mouth like he's sampling an expensive wine, then gives a smug nod. "Not bad. Though I think my palate might prefer something a little more... sophisticated."

Donna rolls her eyes, swatting his arm lightly. "Oh, your palate? Mister Takeout Every Night?" She grabs a small dish of crushed peppermint candies from the counter and hands it to him. "Fine. Let's see if you can improve it, Chef Specter. Add a pinch of this and fold it in. Gently, or you'll ruin the consistency."

Harvey scoops a bit of the crushed peppermint into the bowl and stirs, mimicking Donna's earlier movements with exaggerated precision. "Like this?" he asks, glancing at her with mock innocence.

Donna steps closer, standing beside him. "Looking good," she admits. Then, with a sly grin, she adds, "For an amateur."

Harvey pauses, turning to face her. "You keep calling me an amateur, but so far, this amateur hasn't burned your kitchen down."

"Yet," she teases, lifting the spoon from his hands to inspect his work. She tastes the ganache and gives a satisfied hum. "Hm, maybe you have potential after all."

Their eyes meet as Donna licks the last bit of chocolate off the spoon, an unintentional but tantalizing gesture that makes Harvey's breath hitch for a split second. He quickly masks it with a smirk, leaning closer. "I think I deserve more credit than that. I just turned your secret recipe into a masterpiece."

Donna arches an eyebrow, holding his gaze as she dips the spoon into the chocolate and holds it out to him. "Fine. Taste it again and tell me if you still think it's your masterpiece."

This time, Harvey doesn't take the spoon himself. He bends forward and tastes it directly from the spoon in her hand, his lips brushing her thumb. It is a fleeting moment, but when he straightens, there is a new kind of tension between them, electric and charged.

She swallows hard, her cheeks faintly pink. "So?"

His smirk deepens. "It's perfect."

"Damn right, it is," Donna replies, grinning. She turns back to the bowl and busies herself, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing.

Harvey studies her for a moment. She wears a knee-length A-line black skirt, made of a soft, breathable fabric that allows her to move freely, with deep pockets for practicality. A crisp white apron is tied neatly at her waist, and her beautifully shaped legs are buried in opaque black tights.

"What's next, Donna?" he finally asks. "Are we making something even more... complicated?"

She smirks, grabbing a lump of dough from a nearby tray. "I have the perfect job for you. Let's see if you're as good with a rolling pin as you are with a spoon." Donna places the dough on the counter and hands him the pin. "Just roll it out evenly. Think you can handle that, city boy?"

Harvey scoffs, grabbing the rolling pin with a firm grip, determined to impress her. "Evenly. Got it."

He pushes the pin across the dough with deliberate effort, but Donna's laugh breaks through almost immediately. "Harvey, you're flattening it like it owes you money. Relax."

"I am relaxed!" he says defensively, chuckling, though his movements are stiff and awkward.

Donna shakes her head as she moves to his side. "No, you're doing it all wrong." Without waiting for permission, she places her hands over his, guiding him gently. "It's about pressure. You have to ease into it, like this."

Harvey stills under her touch, her voice dropping as she murmurs instructions. He is acutely aware of how close she is, her hands warm over his, her breath brushing his ear as she leans in.

"See?" she says softly, demonstrating the motion again.

"Yeah," Harvey replies, his voice quieter now, though he isn't sure if he is agreeing with her technique or just the moment itself.

Their hands slow, the rolling pin still between them, the dough forgotten as they turn to face each other. Her hazel eyes lock on his. Her fingertips move slowly, brushing his scalp. She looks up at her hand as if she isn't quite sure what it is doing. Touching him.

He lets out a soft gasp and closes his eyes, feeling like a thirteen-year-old boy getting his first surge of testosterone. Then something brushes his mouth, and it takes him a moment to realize it's her lips.

Her lips… They are against his. Soft, tentative, but undeniably there. Her mouth is like a feather, sliding back and forth on his. He can feel her breathing against him. Pressing more firmly. More confidently.

His hand rises to rest on her waist, fisting into the apron to hold her there. Her hand slides from his head to wrap around the back of his neck. Sweet Jesus. It is a real kiss now, and he has to respond.

He tugs her gently against him, and she sags against his chest. His arm slides around her and he begins to kiss her back. Slowly at first, still afraid she will suddenly regret what she is doing and push him away. Then with a little more passion.

The softest of sounds—a sigh? A moan?—rises from her throat, and her lips soften and part for him. He pulls her closer as he traces his tongue along her lower lip. She makes another one of those kitten-soft sounds of desire; a slow glide of his tongue along her upper lip increases her volume, making her tilt her head to give him better access.

Groaning, Harvey frames her face with his hands. His tongue slips in and massages hers, tentatively, swiping the inside of her mouth before taking control when he feels no hesitation from her. The taste of her is amazing, and he can't help but moan deeply.

Part of Donna's rational mind knows she is spinning out of control to be kissing a man she literally just met, but she likes what he's doing. His kiss is domineering, and she discovers she enjoys being kissed that way. No one has ever kissed her like that, let alone the first time.

Harvey's palm rests below the curve of her breast when they break apart for air. She doesn't know how her hands ended up around his neck or when she began tugging at his hair. The only thing that matters is he looks equally affected by the kiss as she does.

She breaks the spell with a cheeky smile. "You might actually survive in a kitchen after all."

He smirks, but before he can respond, her hand darts to the counter, scooping up a pinch of flour. She flicks it at him, grinning when the white powder lands on his—probably overpriced—sweater.

Harvey freezes, staring down at the mess she's made. "You really shouldn't have done that."

Donna laughs, already backing away. "What are you gonna do about it? Sue me?"

"Oh, I'll do something." He grabs a handful of flour and tosses it her way, catching her shoulder and the edge of her hair.

"Harvey!" she squeals, laughing as she responds with her own handful, and soon the counters are clear of flour, but the floor looks like it has a thin layer of snow.

Donna leans against the counter, breathless and grinning, as Harvey approaches with a smirk. "You've got something," he says, gesturing vaguely at her face.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, no kidding."

"No, really," he insists, brushing his thumb along her cheek, the touch unexpectedly soft.

Donna stills, her laughter fading as the tension from earlier resurfaces, heavier now. Then, as their eyes meet, everything stops—time, breathing, heartbeats…. No, not heartbeats. She can feel her heart hammering in her chest as she raises her hands, cupping Harvey's flour-dusted face.

His smirk softens, his eyes searching hers as she slowly pulls him close. Just as their lips are about to meet, the lights flicker violently again, once, twice, and then give out completely, plunging them into near-total darkness.

"Perfect timing," Donna mumbles, her hands falling away as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone to turn on the flashlight.

"You got some candles?" he asks, his voice low and steady, though Donna thinks she hears a hint of something else—disappointment, maybe?

"Yeah," she replies, her lips quirking into a faint smile. "Upstairs." She hesitates for a moment, unsure if she should mention the obvious, but then thinks better of it. "I'll clean up here, then we can… I mean, if you…"

"I'm stuck with you, remember?" Harvey's smile slowly morphs into a grin. "So let me help." He glances around the kitchen—flour on the counters, bowls and spoons scattered like an aftermath of culinary warfare, and the rolling pin still tipped on its side.

She puts him to work, letting him scrape batter remnants from bowls, rinse utensils, and wipe down the counters. But as they move through the chaos together, Harvey finds himself distracted by her. The way she moves so effortlessly in her element, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from the long day, yet still managing to look radiant.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and as he dries a tray of measuring cups, he asks, "So, how did you get into baking? Was it always the plan?"

Donna pauses, wiping a streak of flour off her cheek with the back of her hand, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. "Not exactly. I used to bake with my grandmother all the time when I was a kid. She had this way of making everything feel special—every cake, every pie, every cookie. We'd spend hours in the kitchen together, especially on Sundays. By the time I was a teenager, I was practically her apprentice."

She sets a mixing bowl on the shelf and continues, her voice softer now. "When she passed away, I inherited her recipe book. It's filled with her handwriting, little notes in the margins about tweaks she made, or memories tied to certain recipes. Keeping those recipes alive felt like keeping a part of her alive too."

He smiles softly, sensing the grief. "So that's what inspired you to open this place?"

"Partly," she says, her hands moving deftly as she rinses a bowl. "It started as a dream, a way to keep her memory alive. But somewhere along the line, I realized it was more than that. I love it. I love sharing something I'm passionate about with other people." She pauses, her lips twisting into a wistful smile. "And as much as I've thought about expanding or moving to a bigger city, this place gives me peace."

"But if I had the money," she adds, her tone shifting to something lighter, "and the energy, I'd set up bakeries all over the country. Let the rest of America taste what Chestnut Creek already knows is the best."

"Ambitious. I like it," he says, chuckling, impressed by her conviction.

He loves listening to her talk, loves the way her face lights up as she recalls baking with her grandmother or the little triumphs and trials of running her bakery. There's something infectious about her passion, something so genuine it makes him want to know more.

Watching her, he realizes that her beauty isn't just skin-deep—it radiates from within, from the way she throws her whole heart into everything she does. And for reasons he doesn't fully understand, he feels like he could stay here all night, soaking up her energy and savoring her presence.

The thought lingers in his mind as they finish tidying up. Finally, when the place looks presentable again, Donna pulls the "Closed" sign from behind the counter and hangs it in the window with a satisfied sigh.

"Well, that's one disaster taken care of." She turns back to Harvey. "Now for the power outage."

She leads him up the winding metal staircase to the floor above, reserved for residential use. Harvey finds the small apartment warm and inviting, much like the bakery below.

A fireplace anchors the far wall, surrounded by mismatched bookshelves crammed with novels and knick-knacks. A cozy loveseat sits angled toward the hearth; its fabric worn but inviting. String lights line the edges of the room, now dark in the absence of electricity.

Harvey takes it all in as Donna strides forward, setting her phone on the coffee table and gesturing for him to sit. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm just gonna go look for—" She stops mid-sentence, her gaze snagging on him. Her brow furrows slightly before her lips curl into a smirk. "Do you need a shower?" she asks, motioning toward his hair, dusted liberally with flour.

He glances up, rubbing a hand through his hair, dislodging a puff of white that catches the light as it floats down. He chuckles softly. "I'm fine, Donna. Thanks," he replies, the corners of his mouth lifting into a slight grin.

Without another word, she disappears into the small kitchen.

Harvey lingers by the coffee table for a moment, running a hand along the smooth wood before turning his attention to the fireplace. He bends carefully, feeling his way through the shadows to locate the wood piled nearby.

The task is slow in the dim light, but soon enough, the sharp crackle of kindling catches, and the flames leap to life. The warmth spreads quickly, dispelling the chill that has settled into the air.

By the time Donna returns, a box of candles tucked under her arm, the room is bathed in a glowing amber color. She pauses in the doorway, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she takes in the sight of Harvey reclining comfortably on the loveseat, one arm slung lazily over the backrest.

The firelight dances in his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the scene feels impossibly intimate. He looks so at home here. Like this is the place where he belongs. Where he's supposed to be. Her chest tightens with a rush of feelings she can't quite name, but they're intense.

God, she's never felt this way about someone before—not about some random guy, not even about the men who were supposed to matter. But this? This is different. It's exciting, intoxicating, and terrifying in the best way possible.

"Found the candles," she announces, breaking the silence as she steps fully into the room.

"Perfect timing," Harvey says with a smirk, patting the cushion beside him. "You can relax now."

"Let me get these set up first," she replies.

She puts a few candles up in the room, then sets a candle in front of him on the table. The match flares briefly before the wick catches, the soft flame casting a warm glow over his face, instantly drawing her attention to his beautiful, brown eyes.

"Hey, stranger," she murmurs softly, smiling.

"Hey, stranger," he echoes with a gentle smile. Her eyes meet his as the candlelight dances between them. They hold each other's gaze for a beat, then another, the silence thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

It's Harvey who finally breaks it. "Come here," he whispers, his hand lifting just slightly, as if to beckon her closer. Donna hesitates, the sound of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. "Come here," he repeats, softer this time, almost pleading. His eyes search hers, and she exhales a shaky sigh.

After a moment, she lets herself give in, her resolve slipping away as she crosses the small distance between them and sinks into his arms. His hold is tight, as though he's claiming her, protecting her, and when he pulls the blanket around both of them, it feels like they're in their own private world, the fire crackling softly in the background.

Harvey sighs contentedly, his cheek brushing against hers. "Mm, that's better," he hums, the words a soft vibration against her skin. He realizes he's falling deeper and deeper into whatever spell she has cast on him—or perhaps this is what people mean when they talk about the magic of Christmas. He never believed in it before.

Donna pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, a sly grin on her lips. "You know, you could be a serial killer," she quips, her fingers brushing featherlight across his jaw. Her touch is tentative, but her eyes are playful, locking onto his with a glimmer of mischief. "A very attractive, very sexy serial killer," she adds with a smirk.

He snorts. "You're the one who lured me up here," he counters, leaning back slightly to give her a mock-serious look. "What guarantees do I have that you won't kill me after you're done with me?"

Donna's grin widens, her laugh bubbling up between them. "And what is it that you think I wanna do with you?" she shoots back, her tone daring as she arches an eyebrow. She bites her bottom lip to suppress her laughter, but it only makes her words all the more teasing.

Harvey smirks. "Same thing I wanna do with you," he growls softly, his voice dipping into something lower, richer. His hands drift under the hem of her sweater, his palms warm as they slide over her back.

Donna gasps softly, her breath catching at the sensation. Her head tilts back slightly, lips parting as his fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns against her skin. "Harvey…" she whispers, her voice unsteady now, her witty bravado faltering as her body leans instinctively closer to his.

He watches her intently, his smirk deepening as his thumbs brush along her spine. "Mm-hm," he murmurs, the sound rumbling low in his throat. He leans in, their faces close enough to share the same breath. "Exactly."

"This is insane," she says, her hands trembling slightly as they cup his cheeks. Her thumbs brush over his skin, hesitating, as if grounding herself in the moment. "I've only known you for, like, an hour."

A nervous giggle bubbles up from her throat, and she lets her head fall against his shoulder, burying her face in the soft wool of his sweater. She rubs her nose up and down, inhaling the scent of him, then shakes her head as if to dispel her own thoughts.

Harvey chuckles softly and tilts his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to her temple. "Feels like I've known you forever," he murmurs against her hair.

She huffs out a quiet laugh, her words muffled by the fabric of his sweater. "Cheesy much?" she teases softly, but he can hear the warmth in her voice, the smile she's hiding.

A comfortable silence settles between them for a beat, before he speaks again. "Do you want me to go?" His tone shifts, turning earnest, even vulnerable. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or—" He hesitates, although knowing his thoughts couldn't be farther from the truth. "—or threatened by my being here."

Donna's shoulders sag with a sigh, and she lifts her head to meet his gaze. "Don't be ridiculous, Harvey. You can't go out there." Her tone is firm, but there's a gentleness in it. "The storm's too heavy."

Her fingers find his face again, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before moving upward. Her touch slows as she reaches the constellation of moles above his eye, her fingertip brushing over each one as though memorizing them. Her eyes follow the movement, wide with something that feels startlingly tender.

"Besides…" Her voice drops, softer now, like a confession. "I feel totally safe… with you."

The words hang between them for a moment before she smiles. It's not her usual quick, teasing grin—it's softer, sweeter, a vulnerability shining through. Her lips part as if to speak again, but she hesitates, her gaze dropping to his mouth before flicking back to his eyes.

"I…" Donna swallows, her breath hitching. "I want you," she whispers, her voice so quiet it's almost lost in the crackle of the fire. But it's there—steady, certain.

Harvey doesn't say anything at first; he doesn't rush to fill the silence. He simply holds her gaze, his thumb brushing along the curve of her cheek as though she's the most fragile thing he's ever held. "Donna," he breathes, her name a soft reverence on his lips.

"Wait here," she murmurs. "Don't move."

Before Harvey can respond, she's already slipping out of his arms and launching herself off the loveseat. His brows knit together in confusion at her sudden movement as he watches her walk toward the other room.

"What are you—" he starts to ask, but she cuts him off with a quick, decisive look.

Harvey leans back against the cushions, heaving a deep sigh. He listens as the sound of a drawer opening and closing breaks the otherwise tranquil silence of the apartment. His mind races with possibilities, though he's careful not to let it wander too far.

Moments later, Donna reappears, her steps a little more hesitant now, and he notices she has slipped her feet into a pair of woolen slippers. In her hands, she's clutching a small assortment of foil-wrapped packages, the sight of which immediately makes Harvey's eyebrows shoot up.

"I don't know your—" she begins, her voice faltering mid-sentence as if her brain short-circuits under the prospect of having sex with him.

The blush creeping up her cheeks is unmistakable, hot and vivid even in the low light of the room. It's as if a neon sign is plastered across her forehead, announcing her mix of excitement and nervousness.

Harvey doesn't even try to suppress the grin spreading across his face. The situation is undeniably awkward, but it's also endearing in a way he hadn't expected. Her boldness, tempered by the vulnerability she's showing, only makes him admire her more.

She's trying so hard to stay cool, but even though she's technically a stranger, she's terrible at hiding her emotions from him. She's so cute. So pretty. So freaking hot.

"Large," he finally responds, his voice low and flirty. His grin deepens as he adds, "Extra..."

Donna's eyes widen, her blush deepening at his playful tone. For a moment, she's at a loss for words, but her sharp wit makes a quick and triumphant return. "Well," she says, her lips curving into a slow, confident smile, "looks like my lucky night, then."

Harvey can't hold back a smug smirk as he watches her sort through the packages, plucking out the right one and tossing the rest onto the floor. "I'm starting to believe I'm just one of many," he quips.

Donna freezes for a second, her expression hovering between embarrassment and amusement, but as she stares at him, she realizes he's just messing with her. The way Harvey looks at her, the warmth in his gaze, the admiration and mischief—it all crashes into her at once. God, she wants him even more now.

"You're not," she says softly but firmly.

She meets his gaze, her eyes brimming with an openness she doesn't always allow herself to show. It's as though she wants to reassure him, even if she knows he's only joking.

"In fact…" With a casual flick of her wrist, she places the condom package on the coffee table, her gaze never leaving his as she sinks into the loveseat beside him. "You're the first one in months... I just like to be prepared."

Her honesty surprises him. He studies her for a moment, then, gently, his fingers find their way to her jaw, tracing its delicate curve. His thumb brushes against her bottom lip, parting it just slightly, and her breath hitches at the touch.

"I wasn't judging you," he says sincerely.

"I know," she hums, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile, and she can practically see how the ease of her reply sets his mind at ease.

Without breaking eye contact, Donna reaches for the hem of her sweater, gripping it firmly. Slowly, she pulls it over her head, the fabric ruffling her hair as she tosses it aside. Her boldness catches even her by surprise, but she doesn't stop; she continues with taking her shirt off, then moves her hands to her bra.

She unclasps it, letting it fall from her shoulders and slide off the loveseat onto the floor. The cool air brushes against her skin, sending goosebumps racing across her body, but she doesn't flinch. Instead, she holds Harvey's gaze, her vulnerability balanced with quiet confidence.

When she woke up this morning, she never could have imagined she'd end up here, on the brink of something so intimate with a gorgeous stranger. Yet, as she looks at him now, something deep inside tells her this is exactly where she's meant to be.

It might be fleeting—this thing with Harvey Specter, a corporate lawyer from New York—but she's never felt so certain about anything in her life.

Harvey's gaze drops instinctively, taking in the freckles that dot her chest, the soft curve of her cleavage, and the rosy peaks of her nipples, standing at attention. Time seems to slow for a moment as his eyes drink her in—every detail, every subtle curve, every inch of her that's been laid bare before him.

But then, his gaze lifts again, meeting hers, and his expression shifts from admiration to something deeper, something awed. A soft gasp escapes his lips before he can stop it. "God, you're beautiful," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper but carrying enough weight to make her heart flutter.

Donna's lips curve into a slow smile, her cheeks flushing once more under his intense gaze. The loveseat is big enough that they don't have to touch each other, but small enough that if they move slightly, they are bound to brush against each other.

She leans in, their warm breaths mingling as she tugs gently at his lower lip with her teeth. Skimming her tongue across the soft, trembling, moist outline, she nuzzles her nose against his.

"I want to feel you inside me, Harvey," she rasps, right before she bends her head, fixing her warm mouth to his. Her tongue slides sinuously against his and a ragged moan is dragged from deep in his chest.

As she begins to pull away, he releases a low curse. With a mischievous smile, Donna pushes her hands beneath the hem of his sweater. Her palms skim along his chest and he sucks in air through gritted teeth as her fingernails scrape across his flat nipples.

At last, she yanks his sweater up, and he helps her pull it over his head. Before it hits the floor, her lips are on his again. Harvey grabs the back of her head and grinds his mouth into hers. Kissing her as though he'd drain the life from her, making her release a soft whimper.

Donna unbuttons the front of his chinos and pulls his shirt out of them. As soon as the fabric is out of the way, she reaches inside his loosened pants to stroke his thick shaft, grinning saucily at him.

He hisses in a breath as he enjoys her explorations until she has him hard as stone. "Donna," he gasps.

"I love how you feel in my hand," she murmurs, "I imagine you will feel even better inside my pussy."

Harvey groans, fearing the sound of her voice is enough to make him cum prematurely. He pulls her skirt up from the back over her butt. He squeezes her roughly and she digs her fingers into his hair, tugging his head back.

A guttural sound of appreciation rumbles from his throat, prompting Donna to rub herself against his cock, undulating her hips, grinding harder up and down, side-to-side, eager for more, wanting to devour that sound and any other he might produce under her ministrations.

By then his eyes are closed, but he can feel the heat of her hot gaze. "You'll need to stand up for a minute to pull your clothes off." Desire rasps his voice.

Obediently, she stands and reaches beneath her skirt, slowly peeling the tights from her legs, taking the satin underwear with them. Then she unzips the skirt that flares around her hips and shifts it to the ground.

As she steps out of the garment, Harvey slides his pants and boxers down his thighs, revealing exactly how much he wants her. Fumbling with the laces of his shoes, he lets out a low, self-deprecating chuckle before finally yanking them off.

When he looks up, she's watching him with a foolish grin, her smirk edged with just enough smugness to make his pulse quicken. "Don't," he warns, his voice playful.

"Good to know we're both nervous," Donna replies, grinning.

Harvey smiles, amused, as he reaches for the condom that she has set on the coffee table earlier. Grabbing the foil package from his grasp, she takes control.

She sits close to him, her gaze raking over his body as she brushes her hand down his chest, over the patch of curls, and down the length of him. Then, with the gentlest movement, Donna wraps her hand completely around his perfect erection.

"Harvey…" She looks up to meet a gorgeous pair of brown eyes and an ungodly sexy but soft smile.

"I'll be gentle, I promise," he hums. When she doesn't respond, he brings his hand up, tracing his index finger along her jaw, and adds, "It's okay to have second thoughts, Donna." His voice is velvety, her name a sweet caress on his lips. "We don't have to do this."

She pecks his lips in answer, letting the kiss linger, before she pulls back. A slow, almost loving, smile breaks out across her face as she says in a hushed tone, "You must be so happy you took the detour."

With her face, just mere inches from his, Harvey takes in every feature. "You have no idea," he breathes. He lets out an appreciative sigh and leans in, pecking her lips.

He hears the crinkle sound of a foil package and takes a sharp intake of breath as Donna rolls the condom over his engorged shaft all the way to the base. Then she straddles him, but she doesn't sheathe him inside her as he so desperately wants her to.

"Me too," she coos.

All at once, Donna feels the room narrowing to the loveseat they share. Her body overtly aware of every little motion: the soft slip of her hair on her back, the hard lines of Harvey's lap beneath her—strong thighs pulling apart to allow the rock-solid thickness of his dick to press up against her.

He cups her bottom and tries to pull her toward him, but she shakes her head and takes his face in her hands then bends down to kiss him, her tongue sliding over his, their breaths mingling. As she kisses him, she rubs her slit the length of his cock, driving him wild with the wet slickness she won't quite let him have.

Slipping her hand between them, Donna grasps him and nudges the tip of his erection with her pussy. He groans and tries to control the urge to surge up into her, understanding he needs to let her set the pace. It's what she wants. He can feel it. Though he's known many women in his life, he's never known a desire like this. It takes all his will to let her have her way.

"I don't know what you're doing to me" he says, pressing his mouth to the smooth column of her throat. Harvey's face is flushed, the skin drawn tight against the strong planes and hollows of his bone structure. "I'm crazy about you." His voice rolls over Donna like whiskey, warm and fluid and making her a little bit buzzed.

At last, she lowers herself onto him with agonizing slowness and takes him inside her completely. The shock of the connection makes her pause. He is thick inside her, the way he fills her. Pressing against every inch of her, caressing her in all the right places and in others she didn't even know could be caressed.

She meets his gaze and sees the same sense of rightness and awe settle over his handsome face. It scares her so much she shuts her eyes and rocks her hips in an attempt to focus on the sensations in her body, but for the first time in her life, she can't separate emotion from need. Desire from yearning.

"Look at me, baby," Harvey's voice drops to a hungry growl. "I wanna see your eyes while I fuck you."

Donna complies and opens her eyes, her expression stripped of everything else except the same kind of hunger that is driving in his blood. She shudders as a cry rips from her throat when he pushes himself into her hard, her eyes rolling back into her head.

"You're so—" she gasps, "—big."

"That's not usually a complaint," he says teasingly.

"It's not, it's j— Oh God, you feel so good."

The two of them set into a gentle rhythm, panting and moaning at each new movement, the rock of her hips, the thrust of his, working together to take her higher and higher. He is buried so deep, she feels all of him inside her, every thick, rigid, velvety inch as they grind together where their bodies are joined.

Harvey speeds up the pace, knowing in himself that as much as he might like to make this last, he is too excited at being able to do this to manage to stop himself from coming for long. He moans as she meets him with her movements again, instinctively knowing how fast she needs to go in this intimate dance.

His fingers are everywhere, on her breasts, playing down her body, seeking out the hard nub of pleasure that strains for him even as she rides him. Working it in tight circles, slow and shallow and then in rolling waves, her own hand coming to his, to hold him tight against her and show him exactly how to touch her even as she chases her pleasure, rocking and begging for release.

He takes her mouth in a deep, delicious kiss, before ending the caress and watching her, wild and wanton on him. He plays her body like an instrument, thrusting up into her as she grinds upon him, his fingers moving in perfect circles, until she is wound tight as a spring.

"Come for me, Donna." The demand, firm and full of desire, summons a low, lingering growl from deep in her chest—a moan so beautiful, so heavenly, it will cease only with his memory, Harvey thinks.

Biting her lip, Donna rears back, catching hold of his thighs as she lifts up and back down again. She cries out as the change in position brings new sensations she could only have dreamed of. Only her grip keeps her upright as her head rolls back on her spine, her hair falling across her back and his legs as she takes all he can give.

Harvey's eyes lock onto hers as her exhausted pussy finally tenses. Her muscles clench around him and his mouth opens as though her grip pains him. The force of her orgasm nearly tears her in half. Like the throbbing bass of a festival amp, pulsing through every inch of her body, overwhelming her from the inside out.

"Harvey, I… Oh, fuck, Harvey, yes, god," Donna sobs, her legs and feet cramping. She can do nothing but continue to ride him. The pleasure is almost more than she can bear and when she explodes, she can't hold back her scream.

His gasp splits the air. "Fuck," he breathes out, his voice ragged. "You look so hot when you come. So fucking hot, I…"

Harvey has never been more aroused in his life. Just watching her as she rides him, the sight of her perfect breasts outlined by firelight and her eyes smoldering with passion. He doesn't want this to end just yet. He wants the pleasure of watching her, feeling her, and holding her just a bit longer.

He wraps his arms around Donna and pulls her tight to him, his teeth scraping at the side of her neck as he drives in harder. Faster. She is still coming down from her high when he buries his face against her skin and groans in pure bliss, coming so long and hard he briefly wonders if he will lose his mind.

The intensity of it steals his breath, and the only word he manages to get out is her name, "Donna."

Spent, Harvey smooths his hands up and down the satin skin of her back while Donna rests her forehead against his bare chest, her arms draped around his shoulders. Her pulsing aftershocks continue their pleasure.

The wind and snow howl and swirl in the night, settling over her home, but neither notices the storm growing even fiercer around them. They stay like that for a few minutes, him struggling to catch his breath and her breathing heavily.

When she sits up, looking at him with hooded eyes, he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. He moves a strand of hair from her face. It is messy but adorably so, copper waves crashed against the shore of her shoulders. She is the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on.

He places kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her brow, then her lips, savoring the taste of her against his mouth with a longing sigh. There's no way he'd ever get enough of her kisses—he can feel how deeply the thought pains him, knowing he can't stay.

After a beat, he breaks the kiss. He holds the full condom securely to his dick with one hand, so it won't slide off, and gently eases out of her. Naked, with the condom still wrapped around his gorgeous cock, Donna watches him go to the bathroom, his solid, muscled ass and flexing back, holding her full attention.

When he comes back to her—still perfectly naked—she settles into his lap eagerly and buries her face in that wonderful spot where his neck meets his shoulder with a contented sigh. The heat of his body makes her knees weak and her insides tremble. Why does he have to be so damned sexy and smell so good?

Harvey lifts his hand and strokes down the length of her spine, sure, soft. The delicate touch sends a shiver coursing through her, and she takes in a gasping breath, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she gathers the courage to speak.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," she whispers, the words fragile, carrying the ache that's been building inside her since the moment they kissed in the kitchen. She's not ready for this magical time to end.

The confession halts Harvey mid-motion. His hand comes to rest at the small of her back, his fingers pressing gently into her skin. "Donna," he sighs, her name heavy with emotion, his voice a soft rasp.

"I know you do, Harvey," she says, her voice steady but threaded with vulnerability. "I know you can't stay, but…" She pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, her hazel eyes searching his. There's a moment of hesitation as her lips part slightly; the words caught somewhere between her heart and her tongue.

"What?" he hums, his tone low, coaxing, as his hand drifts upward to cradle her cheek. He brushes his knuckles along her skin with a tenderness that's all Specter charm, but the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded—goes far beyond charm. It's something deeper, something Donna feels herself falling into.

"Tell me you felt it, too," she murmurs, her voice so quiet it could almost get lost in the space between them, but he hears it as clearly as if she'd shouted.

There isn't a flicker of hesitation when he answers. "It wasn't just sex," Harvey says, his tone as steady as his gaze. The certainty in his voice carries an unspoken truth, as though the thought has been simmering in his mind, waiting for this very moment to be said aloud.

Her breath hitches, her chest tightening at his admission. "No," she breathes, her hands moving to cup his face as her thumb caresses the sharp line of his jaw. "It wasn't just sex," she whispers again, the words a reverent echo of his.

Her thumb traces over his bottom lip, pausing there as if memorizing the shape of him. Then she leans in, her lips brushing his in a kiss so sweet, it makes her chest ache. Though it's not the first kiss they've shared, it feels like the most important one—it seems to last an eternity, neither of them willing to let go.

"I still have to leave." His voice cracks, the weight of his words evident. The vulnerability in his tone lingers in the air between them. "But not tonight," he adds. "It wouldn't be safe to drive in this weather."

Safe. That word hits her like a gentle wave, soothing and disarming all at once. Safe. That's exactly how he makes her feel. It's wild, really, because he's practically a stranger. A man who walked into her life like a gust of winter wind, unexpected and impossible to ignore. A man she just slept with.

But somehow, the way he touches her, the way he looks at her, the way her body responds to his… No, it wasn't just sex. It was something far more terrifying. Something closer to making love. Something that made her feel seen in a way she's never felt before. Not with anyone.

"You can sleep in the guest room," she says finally, her voice gentle but guarded.

"If that's what you want," he mumbles, leaning forward to press a featherlight kiss to her forehead. The heat of his lips lingers on her skin, sending goosebumps all over her body, and Donna's resolve trembles.

She wants him to sleep in her bed; wants him so close she could curl up against his chest, breathe in his warmth, and for a few fleeting hours pretend he isn't a stranger at all. Pretend he's not some high-powered corporate lawyer from New York City, but someone who's always been there. Her lover. Her partner. The man she loves.

The thought strikes her hard, stealing the breath from her lungs. The man she loves?

No. She can't let herself go there. Because if she does—if she lets him stay in her bed, lets him hold her through the night—then goodbye will be unbearable. And goodbye is inevitable. This is just one of those whirlwind holiday romances, isn't it? A moment of warmth in the cold, an escape from their separate lives.

She swallows hard, the snowstorm outside raging as fiercely as the storm inside her. "The guest room is just down the hall," she says, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

He studies her for a moment, his brows pulling together, as though he can see the war she's fighting. He doesn't push, though, and she loves him a little more for that. Instead, he nods, slipping out of her embrace and standing up.

"I'm gonna grab my bag from the car," he murmurs, his voice carrying the faintest edge of sadness.

"Sure," she croaks, watching as he puts his clothes back on and walks down the stairs.

The moment he disappears, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. And for the first time in years, Donna is scared—not of the man she just let in, but of what will happen when he's gone.

She rises from the loveseat with a quiet sigh, gathering her clothes from where they're scattered across the floor. She holds them against her chest as she retreats to the bedroom, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. Once inside, she closes the door halfway and slips into her flannel pajamas.

When she returns to the living room, the sound of Harvey's footsteps on the stairs pulls her gaze upward. He emerges slowly, his presence filling up the room to the exclusion of all else.

God, he's so beautiful. Every angle of his face, every crease at the edges of his eyes, every flaw. Perfect. Everything about that man is just so— "Donna," he purrs, her name rolled deliciously in the dark velvet of his voice.

Before she can respond, he's standing in front of her. His movements are unhurried and deliberate, and when he cups her face in one hand, it's like the world tilts on its axis. His thumb brushes across her cheek, the simple, tender motion sending a surge of emotion through her.

She blinks rapidly, fighting the unexpected sting of tears. She doesn't understand why she feels so overwhelmed. What is it about this man that reaches so deep inside her, touching places she didn't even know were vulnerable?

"If you wanna use the shower," Donna says softly, trying to steady her voice, "there are fresh towels in the cabinet. But without electricity, it might be a little cold."

Her attempt at humor earns her a soft chuckle. "I could probably use an ice-cold shower right now," Harvey quips, his lips curving into that signature smirk that never fails to disarm her.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. The heat of his lips against her skin is fleeting but enough to leave her breathless. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I'll see you in the morning."

She forces a small smile, nodding. "Goodnight, Harvey," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

He lingers for a moment, as if contemplating saying something more, but then he turns and heads toward the guest room. She watches him go, her heart a jumble of emotions she's too afraid to untangle.

Donna sinks back onto the loveseat, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace, her fingers brushing the spot on her temple where his lips had been. Wrapping the blanket around her body, she exhales deeply. This is insane, she thinks. Absolutely insane.

After texting his mother to let her know that he won't make it tonight because of the snowstorm, Harvey finds himself lying awake for what feels like forever. No matter how much he tries to clear his head, his thoughts keep circling back to Donna.

There's even a split second when he considers getting up to check if she, too, is having trouble falling asleep. But he shakes the thought away almost as soon as it comes. He knows better than to bother her, no matter how much the idea tempts him.

Eventually, exhaustion wins, and he drifts off, though his sleep is shallow and restless, filled with fragmented images of her—her laugh, her eyes, the way her lips had parted slightly when she gasped at the sensation of feeling him inside her.

He wakes early, the faint light of dawn creeping through the frosted windows. The smell of fresh coffee pulls him from the warmth of the bed, and he finds Donna already in the living room, sitting by the big front window, a steaming mug cradled in her hands.

Her sweater is loose and slightly off one shoulder, and her hair is still tousled from sleep. She looks stunning, but not in the polished, intentional way he's seen her before—this is something else entirely. There's an effortless beauty to her, a kind of raw authenticity that makes it impossible for him to look away.

Donna glances up when he enters, offering him a soft smile as she gestures to the fresh pot of coffee on the table. He pours himself a cup and settles beside her on the loveseat, the two of them watching silently as the snow begins to thin. The world outside looks like a blank canvas, untouched and peaceful, but Harvey's focus never strays far from her.

As his gaze sweeps over her, lingering on the delicate curve of her jaw and the way her fingers trace idly over the ceramic of her mug, Donna is lost in her own thoughts. She turns the mug between her fingers absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the falling snow but not really seeing it.

She spent most of the night tossing and turning, replaying every moment of last night in her mind. The sex was incredible, yes, but it was more than that—he was more than that. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word had felt impossibly significant, as though they were laying the foundation for something bigger.

And now, sitting here with him so close, she can't stop wondering if this—whatever this is—might be worth exploring. If she should say something, tell him how she feels, confess that he's been on her mind from the moment they met.

Her stomach flutters every time she looks at him. Even now, as his warm gaze lingers on her, she has to fight to keep her face neutral, to stop the smile that's tugging at her lips from breaking free. If she smiled every time she felt like smiling around him, she thinks wryly, Harvey would probably think she's an idiot. And maybe he'd be right.

But even so, it's getting harder and harder to pretend this is just casual. Because every time their eyes meet, she feels the truth building inside her like a tidal wave she can't hold back much longer. And as the silence stretches between them, punctuated only by the soft clink of her mug against the table, she wonders if he feels it too.

"You know," she says quietly, her eyes fixed on the snowflakes drifting past the glass. "I didn't plan on spending Christmas Eve like this." She pauses, a faint smile crossing her face. "But it's… nice."

Harvey turns his head to look at her, and the warmth in his gaze makes her breath hitch. There's a longing there, desperately clear, and it affects her like a punch to the stomach. She feels a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, to lean in and kiss him.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "It is." His words hang in the air, fragile and sincere, as though he's letting her see something he rarely shows anyone.

Donna shifts slightly, tucking her feet beneath her as she turns to face him more fully. "How long will you be in Boston for?" she asks, keeping her tone casual, though her heart pounds against her ribs.

"Just a few days," Harvey says, his gaze dropping briefly to his coffee before flicking back to hers. There's a moment's pause. Then, with a slight hesitation, he adds, "Will you come visit me in New York for New Year's Eve?" Though his voice is steady, the nervousness beneath it is impossible to miss.

Donna blinks, caught off guard by the invitation, and a faint flush creeps into her cheeks. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes darting downward as she processes the question. It's bold, intimate, and laced with vulnerability.

After a moment, she lifts her gaze to meet his, with a new surge of courage. "New York for New Year's?" she echoes softly, a small, curious smile playing on her lips.

He nods, a tender look in his eyes. "I'd love to see you again," he confesses. "Spend more time with you…"

Harvey's hands move to cup hers, where she's holding the warm coffee mug. His thumbs gently stroke the backs of her hands. He takes a breath, as if trying to gather the courage to say what's been circling in his mind all night.

"I don't care how crazy this sounds, but I…" He trails off for a moment, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back from her face. His fingertips linger just a second longer than necessary, and his next words are accompanied by a quiet sigh. "I'm not ready to let you go."

"Harvey," she sighs, his name heavy with emotions she hasn't quite found the words for yet.

He hesitates, his confidence slipping just enough for doubt to creep in. "If you've already made plans with someone else, that's okay," he mumbles, glancing down briefly before meeting her eyes again. "But if there's any chance that we can be together, then, please, Donna, just say yes."

His lips curve into a soft smile—one that's so open, so beautiful, it makes her heart ache. She wonders, fleetingly, how she could ever deny him. This—he—is all she wants. More time. More moments like this.

For a moment, Donna doesn't speak; she just stares into his eyes, cherishing the warmth and sincerity she sees there. At last, a small, wry smile curves her lips. "Great. Now I gotta tell my friends I'm skipping their New Year's Eve party because I have a date."

He quirks an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "A date?" he repeats, his tone teasing.

She tilts her head, matching his smirk with one of her own. "Yeah. You know, that thing people usually do before sleeping together."

Harvey chuckles as he curls his fingers gently around her face, his palm warm against her cheek. Donna leans into his touch instinctively, her skin brushing against his hand as though drawn there by some magnetic pull.

He stays quiet for a moment, his gaze studying her face as if memorizing every line, every freckle, and every nuance of her expression. Finally, his voice drops, quieter now. "Do you regret it?"

"No, Harvey," she replies immediately. "I don't."

Relief washes over his face, softening his features as he exhales. "Good," he mutters, nodding. "That's… Me neither." He glances at his phone sitting on the coffee table, his expression shifting slightly. "But I should probably head out. I've still got a long way to go, and I'm already late."

Though she knows he's right, Donna can't help but feel a faint pang of disappointment. Still, she musters a smile, albeit a weak one. "I understand," she says softly, her eyes keeping him captive for just a moment longer, as though trying to hold on to him before he goes.

Harvey looks at her with that same longing that's been there all morning, his heart feeling heavier than he's willing to admit. Finally, he gets up, carrying his empty coffee mug to the sink. He rinses it out and sets it on the counter, then disappears into the bathroom.

When he comes back, his overnight bag slung over one shoulder, Donna's still in her yoga pants and sweater, but something about her is different. Her hair, once chaotic, is now slightly tamed, as if she's run her fingers through it in a half-hearted attempt to smooth it down.

"I'll see you out," she says with a smile.

"You don't have to," he tells her, his tone casual, though a part of him hopes she'll insist.

"I want to."

As they descend the narrow staircase, Harvey finds his gaze drawn to her, the gentle sway of her hips, the confidence in her stride. He wonders if she'll follow through on her promise, if she'll really come to New York. The thought of her not showing up leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he pushes it aside. It's not like him to doubt, but with her... he feels unsteady, unsure.

When they reach the front door, Donna unlocks it and then turns to face him. Harvey takes a step closer, his feet dragging as if reluctant to leave. "So, this is goodbye then," he murmurs, his voice low and strained.

Fuck, his chest feels so damn heavy, the ache almost unbearable. It shouldn't be like this; it shouldn't hurt like this. She's just... some girl. A fleeting connection. But she's also Donna, and that changes everything.

Donna tilts her head back slightly, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Yes, but…" she says, her voice teasing as her gaze shifts upward.

Harvey follows her line of sight and spots it—the sprig of mistletoe hanging above the door, dangling right over their heads. He lets out a soft laugh, the sound shaking loose some of the tension in his chest.

"You know," he says, grinning as his eyes drop back to hers, "I would've kissed you without… assurance. All you had to do was ask."

She doesn't reply immediately, her smile softening into something warmer, more intense. She stares at him in silence for a while. Feels the warmth increase now, and the slow, seductive rise in energy. When she finally speaks, her voice is low, almost a purr. "Kiss me," she whispers.

The words are barely out of her mouth before Harvey drops his bag to the floor and closes the distance between them in a single stride. His hands come up to cradle her face, his touch firm yet tender.

When his lips find hers, the kiss is fierce, almost desperate, as if he's trying to prove to himself that she's real, that this moment is real, that she won't disappear when he lets her go.

Donna moans softly into his mouth, her hands rising to his shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. His tongue sweeps against hers, hot and demanding, and she melts into the kiss, letting herself get lost in the sheer intensity of it. Her hands slide up to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer.

God, he's such a good kisser—it's thrilling and consuming, like nothing she's ever experienced before. When her teeth catch his bottom lip in a playful bite, his groan reverberates through her, sending a shiver down her spine.

The kiss breaks as suddenly as it started, and Donna gasps for air, her eyes fluttering open. Harvey's face is inches from hers, his breath uneven as he studies her like he's trying to memorize every detail. She takes him in too, committing the lines of his face to memory, knowing she'll replay this moment long after he's gone.

"I'll see you in a week," he says softly, and the casual certainty in his words makes Donna's heart jump.

Harvey's jaw tightens as he grabs his bag. He hesitates for a fraction of a second before brushing past her and stepping out into the cold. Donna watches him load his bag into the trunk of his car, the morning light catching in his eyes, and for a moment, she swears she sees them glisten with unshed tears.

"I don't even know where you live," she calls after him.

Harvey turns back to her, his smile breaking through the heaviness between them, bright and mischievous. "New Year's Eve, Donna," he replies, his voice dropping slightly, tinged with that familiar charm. "You'll find me." Then he gets into his car and drives off.

Donna closes the door slowly, the warmth of the store stark against the chill left in his absence. She glances around the empty bakery and realizes with a small, bittersweet smile that Harvey didn't even take the pastries she'd packed for his family Christmas.

But deep down, she knows he left with something more important. Because somewhere between last night and this morning, she's given him her heart.