Harvey had withdrawn from the dating scene after his loss, finding it difficult to connect with anyone new. A few attempts at meeting people had left him feeling even more alone. So when Natalie, an attorney from another firm, asked him out, he was surprised and hesitant.

Their paths crossed at the coffee cart in front of the office complex one morning, and soon it seemed like fate had scheduled their lunch breaks in tandem. What started as brief exchanges turned into extended conversations.

As their friendship deepened, Harvey began to trust Natalie enough to share his loss. She created a safe space for him to grieve, and he found solace in her support. Yet, the idea of romance hadn't occurred to him until now when Natalie made her feelings known.

"It's just dinner, Harvey. No expectations," she assures him with a warm smile when she notes his hesitation. "If it's too much, we can cut it short. I promise I won't be offended."

While he can't say sparks have been flying between them, the pleasant interactions have made him open to the idea of seeing whether things could progress between them.

He exhales slowly. "You mean it?"

She nods. "I really like you, and I'd love to cook for you. Please say yes."

A beat of silence passes before he responds, "Alright, dinner. But only if I can find a babysitter for Eden."

"Perfect," she murmurs. "I'll text you my address."

After picking Eden up from daycare, Harvey sinks into the couch, a contented smile spreading across his face as he watches his daughter lose herself in a world of toys and imaginary friends.

When he asked if she'd like to spend the night at Mike and Rachel's, he felt bad, expecting her to once again accuse him of sending her away. But she didn't even argue, and it filled him with a sense of relief that lingers.

He doesn't know why he feels guilty. This date is a major step forward, an attempt to move on, and a necessary part of healing. It is for Eden, too. To be a good father, he needs to be whole. He should feel proud that he's embracing an opportunity, not pushing away.

Fumbling for his phone, he dials his best friend. "Hey, Mike, it's me. I know this is kinda last minute, but could you watch Eden tonight?"

Harvey can practically hear the furrow of Mike's brow in his voice as he responds, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I, uh, have a date," he admits, the words feeling both strange and exhilarating on his tongue. "Nothing serious, though," he quickly adds, as if to downplay the significance.

"So it's a hookup?" Mike teases.

Harvey rolls his eyes. "No, it's just... fun, Mike. I need to cut loose a bit. All I've been doing is work. I haven't even had time to get back into boxing. So, yeah, I'm looking forward to hanging out with Natalie."

"Coffee cart girl?" Mike chuckles. "About time you asked her out, Harvey."

Harvey shrugs. "Something like that. Doesn't matter who made the first move. The point is, I'm going out. So, can you watch Eden or not?"

"Of course, man, I got her. Ivy will love having a little slumber party with her best friend, and I'll handle the pizza and popcorn. You go have some fun."

"Thanks, Mike. I owe you one. I'll bring her over as soon as I can. Just give me a few minutes to get everything together."

He turns to Eden, watching her silently for a minute before he speaks, "Do you wanna help Daddy pack for your playdate with Ivy?"

She nods and rushes to her room. He walks into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush, surprised at how orderly she has put everything she needs on the bed when he joins her in the bedroom.

"Daddy, I can't find Mr. Snuggles," she says, her voice breaking, and then the tears already start rolling.

Harvey starts panicking immediately, but tries to keep calm. He knows she can't go anywhere without her favorite stuffed animal, but freaking out won't do either of them any good.

"It's gonna be okay," he reassures her, running a hand soothingly over her head. "We'll find him."

He searches her room, then the living room, and every other room after that. Eden follows him, watching him with sad eyes as he looks everywhere. The longer he searches, the harder she cries.

Sucking another breath into her lungs, she let the sobs rack her body. The sight breaks Harvey's heart, prompts him to do something he rarely ever does… He lies to her.

"Hey, I think I know where he is," he begins as he crouches down in front of her. "He's at the daycare with Miss Donna." He hugs his daughter to his chest, rocking her in his arms as he runs his hands across her back. "You know how much he likes it there."

She calms down, gathering enough strength to speak. "Can we pick him up?"

"I will take you to Uncle Mike and then go get Mr. Snuggles." He looks at her, feathering his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. "You two will be together again just in time for pizza."

"Why can't I go with you?" she croaks.

"Because Ivy's waiting for you," he says with a smile. "And it's already getting late, so Daddy has to hurry."

"Do you like Natalie?" Her question comes so fast, he almost chokes.

Harvey clears his throat, once again feeling that familiar pang of guilt. He knew moving on would not be easy. He just didn't think it would be this hard.

"I do, yeah," he murmurs. "That's why I want to go out with her, but it's…"

Eden can't wait for Harvey to finish speaking before firing another question. "Do you like Miss Donna?"

He feels his heart race and a blush creep onto his cheeks. He does like her. In fact, he likes her more than he's willing to admit. More than he ever dares to confess.

"She's…" He pauses, deep in thought, trying to articulate how Donna makes him feel.

He once told Eden that his world turned colorless after his wife died. That he needs to find something to bring those colors back. Now he knows it isn't a thing, but a person. And she's like a vibrant, breathtaking rainbow, painting his world with hues he thought lost forever.

Harvey can feel Eden's gaze on him as he zips up the overnight bag, her tiny hand squeezing his as if sensing the tension he was trying to keep hidden. His mind races, his movements becoming more deliberate to avoid thinking too deeply about the conversation they are having. This is uncharted territory.

"Come on, you," he says, his voice softer than usual as he lifts the bag over his shoulder. He lets out a quiet sigh, flashing a smile as he looks at his daughter, whose innocent eyes watch him with curiosity. "Let's go."

Eden trots beside him as they make their way out of the apartment and enter the elevator. She tilts her head up at him, her voice breaking the quiet. "Do you like Miss Donna?"

Harvey chuckles, the sound almost forced as he tries to gather his thoughts. While he has hoped to dodge the question, he should've known better. Eden is too smart for her own good sometimes.

What could he say? How could he explain Donna, or his feelings, to a three-year-old?

"I think she's lovely," he finally says, the words coming out quickly as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. "And I like that you two have such a great relationship. That you love going to her daycare." He glances down at her, hoping that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

Eden's little face scrunches up in thought as the elevator descends. She isn't done, not by a long shot. "You should be nice to Miss Donna," she says matter-of-factly, her childlike wisdom hitting him harder than expected.

Harvey's stomach twists. Nice to her? Is he not being nice? Is Donna giving off that impression?

He stares down at his daughter, frowning in confusion. "Why are you saying that, Eden?" His voice is more cautious now, a hint of worry creeping in. "Has Don—Did she say anything?"

"The other kids said if you're nice to Miss Donna, maybe you can be her boyfriend," Eden says casually, as if she is talking about the weather.

His heart stops. Boyfriend? Toddlers are gossiping about him and Donna?

He feels his face flush with embarrassment, running a hand through his hair as the thought of his feelings being so transparent overwhelms him. Could Donna sense it, too? Does she know how he feels?

The elevator dings, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He blinks, trying to regain his composure as they step out into the lobby. His grip on the overnight bag tightens instinctively, the leather creaking under his hold. He glances down at Eden again, who is still watching him curiously, waiting for a response.

"Eden, I can't be…" He hesitates, swallowing hard. "Do you… Is that what you want me to be? Her boyfriend?"

Eden shrugs her small shoulders, her expression a mix of innocence and indifference. Harvey sighs in relief, convinced that maybe the conversation is over, but just as he exhales, she whispers the one thing that breaks him.

"I want you to be happy."

Harvey's breath catches in his throat. The words hit him like a freight train, making him falter mid-step. He stops walking for a moment, his hand unconsciously loosening its grip on her tiny fingers.

Eden's quiet voice echoes in his mind, and for a brief second, he feels the overwhelming weight of his own emotions pressing down on him. He can't speak. Can't think. His chest tightens. Is he having a panic attack?

Harvey remains silent as they walk the rest of the way to his car and drive to Mike and Rachel's apartment. Even when they arrive, and he drops Eden off, he can't shake the feeling her words have left behind. He kisses the top of her head and smiles, but inside, he feels like he is on the verge of unraveling.

It isn't until he is back in his car, the silence of the interior wrapping around him like a cocoon, that he finally lets out a long, shaky breath. His fingers hover over his phone for what feels like an eternity before he finds the nerve to dial Donna's number.

His hand is trembling as he lifts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding so loudly he wonders if she could hear it through the line.

"Harvey, what's up?" Donna's voice comes through, calm and collected, as always.

"Hey, I…" His throat feels dry, the words sticking to the back of his mouth as he tries to speak. He forces himself to sound casual, but his voice wavers just slightly. "Can I come over? Eden… Eden lost Mr. Snuggles, and I was hoping he's… I was hoping he might be at your place. Can I come look for him?"

There is a slight pause on the other end, and Harvey's heart skips a beat. Does she know? Can she hear the nervous edge in his voice?

"Of course," Donna replies, her voice light with an unexpected, nervous giggle. Harvey misses it completely, too focused on steadying himself. "I'm not home right now, but I can be there in twenty minutes."

"That's fine. I'll wait," he says, trying to exhale some of the tension from his body. "Thank you."

•••

He isn't sure how long he's been sitting on the top step of Donna's brownstone. The cool evening air brushes past him, but he barely feels it. His mind is somewhere else—replaying Eden's words over and over like a loop he can't break.

I want you to be happy.

Harvey shifts slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the quiet street. He's not even sure what time it is anymore. He drove here in a daze, his mind cluttered with thoughts, none of which seemed to settle.

He has tried to clear his head, tried to tell himself this isn't a big deal. But all he can think about is the truth behind what Eden said. What could he possibly say to her? That he's trying? That he's putting in the effort? Because he is, or at least he's convincing himself that he is.

That's what the date with Natalie is for, he tells himself again, as if the words alone will make it real. It's supposed to be a step toward something—finding a connection, remembering what it's like to be in a relationship, perhaps falling in love again.

And yet, despite all the logic he tries to force, the thought of Natalie feels distant. Forced.

His heart, however, keeps wandering back to one person.

Donna.

"Harvey?"

It's her. Her voice is so soft, so gentle, that it feels like a whisper from some place far deeper than reality. Like it's a voice from a dream.

He swallows and looks up, forcing himself to meet her eyes. There she is—standing there, framed by the soft glow from the disappearing sun, her hair catching the light just enough to make her seem almost ethereal.

And in that moment, her beauty strikes him all over again, just as it always does. He feels his breath catch in his throat, but he manages to push out a faint smile, rising to his feet.

"Donna," he sighs, her name escaping his lips with a kind of relief he hadn't expected to feel. It's as though simply seeing her, being near her, eases the weight on his chest just a little. He's not sure why.

He feels her name on his tongue like an electric current. Saying her name feels as illicit, somehow, as touching her. Not forbidden, he reminds himself. He's allowed to say it. Over and over again, in all the ways he's imagined.

He can say it without guilt. But still, the way it lingers in his mouth feels almost like a touch, as though speaking it aloud is some kind of contact, some closeness.

"I'm sorry for bothering you with this," he starts, his voice soft but steady, trying to find the right words. "But, unfortunately, it can't wait until tomorrow. She won't sleep without him."

He watches Donna's face shift, a soft smile playing at her lips. The kindness in her eyes makes his chest tighten again. There's no judgment, no frustration—just warmth, understanding. The same warmth she's always shown him, the same warmth that makes his earlier tension slowly melt away.

"It's okay. I should be the one who's sorry. I should've made sure Eden had all her stuff before she left."

Her smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Harvey finds himself relaxing, even though his heart still beats a little too fast. How does she do that? How does she make everything feel so… easy?

"Do you know where he is?" he asks, hoping to move things along, but there's a softness in his tone that betrays him. He doesn't want to rush this moment.

Donna giggles, a sound that catches him off guard. It's light, almost musical, and he feels a tug at his chest.

"Yeah, I think I know where he is," she says, her voice still light with amusement. "Come on in."

He follows her inside, their footsteps padding softly across the wooden floors. There's a comfort in her house, a warmth that feels lived-in and familiar, much like the woman who occupies it.

As they walk through the house and out to the spacious backyard, Harvey's eyes are drawn to her, studying the way she moves, the way she looks.

She heads straight for the jungle gym, her steps confident, and just as she reaches the platform, she lets out a triumphant, "Bingo."

Harvey follows her gaze and spots Mr. Snuggles, his little tail peeking out from the platform of the jungle gym. The sight fills him with an overwhelming sense of relief, and he lets out a deep breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Thank God," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "For a moment, I thought we'd lost him at the store."

Donna reaches for Eden's stuffed animal, but as she turns around, her shoulder brushes against Harvey's arm. The contact is brief, fleeting, but the spark that follows is anything but.

Harvey watches, half in surprise, as Donna leaps back, almost like a startled rabbit, retreating from him as though the touch has burned her. It takes him a second to recover.

"Something wrong?" he asks, his voice coming out a little rougher than intended. His heart's pounding in his chest, but he keeps his tone steady, though inwardly, he's reeling.

"Nothing," she blurts out, though her voice betrays her with a slight tremor. She tries to cover it with a nervous chuckle, holding the stuffed toy out toward him, as if it's some kind of peace offering. "Here."

Harvey takes Mr. Snuggles from her hand, their fingers not even grazing this time, but the space between them suddenly feels charged, like something unspoken hangs in the air, too heavy to ignore but too fragile to acknowledge.

For a split second, Harvey allows his gaze to drift over her. Her eyes, warm and inviting, catch his, and he feels that familiar pull, the one that always sneaks up on him when he's around her.

He's reminded, once again, of how beautiful she is—not just physically, though that's undeniable—but in the way she carries herself, the way she seems to always understand him without words.

Before he can say anything, Donna speaks. "Can I invite you for a cup of coffee?" Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, as if she's offering more than just a drink, as if she's reaching out, inviting him into something he's not sure he's ready for.

Harvey's mind flashes to what it would be like to sit with her, to stay just a little longer, to let this moment unfold into something more. But the thought of Natalie, of the date he's supposed to have, pushes against that impulse. And more than that, the image of Eden waiting for Mr. Snuggles fills his mind. His daughter needs him.

"Maybe some other time. I have to get back to my daughter," he says, the words a reminder that pulls him back to reality.

Donna nods quickly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, as if she's worried that she overstepped.

"S-sure," she stammers, a nervous edge to her voice. "Right. I understand." She offers him a smile, one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and waves it off like it's nothing. "Forget I even asked. I'll see you tomorrow then."

Harvey hums in response. "Yeah," he says quietly. "And thanks for this, Donna. Really."

"Tell Eden I said hi."

His eyes soften as he nods. "I will," he says, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.

•••

Harvey hadn't thought he would be one for separation anxiety. After all, he's Harvey Specter—New York's best closer, unbeatable in the courtroom, and certainly not the type to get rattled by something as trivial as leaving his kid for a night. No other explanation needed.

Yet here he is, sitting at an elegantly set table with his date, watching a candle slowly burn down to a nub, wondering whether he needs to call Mike to ask if Eden has overindulged in sweets. Or brushed her teeth. Or bathed before going to bed. Or even gone to bed at all.

Then he realizes it's actually the first night that he spends away from his daughter ever since his wife passed—what if this is all too soon? Not just for Eden, but also for himself.

"Should I be offended that you haven't touched your dessert?" Natalie's voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, and he glances up to find her smiling coyly, her hand reaching across the table.

His eyes follow her movements as she dips a finger into the rich cream. She holds his gaze as she slowly licks it off, the gesture clearly intended to draw him back into the moment, back to her.

He feels guilty for silently staring into the abyss when he's supposed to focus on her—an attractive, smart woman, someone who has shown genuine interest in him.

"Sorry," Harvey murmurs, pushing his plate away slightly. "I've just got a lot on my mind. Work's been stressful lately, and I've been trying to balance that with spending quality time with my daughter."

"I know how that feels, but it's not like you haven't contributed to the conversation," she teases him. "I love hearing you talk about your daughter. She sounds like a wonderful little girl."

A smirk crosses his face. "Was that too much?"

She smirks back at him. "Not at all. It sounds like you two have a beautiful relationship." She reaches for her glass of wine, sipping it slowly. "I'm glad you're here tonight, Harvey. It's been nice getting to know you better."

The candle flickers again, casting shadows across the table, and for the first time that evening, Harvey realizes something else: maybe it isn't just the separation anxiety, or the lingering grief that holds him back tonight.

Maybe it is the nagging feeling that his mind keeps wandering to someone else entirely. Someone whose laughter fills his thoughts more often than he cares to admit. And with that realization, the guilt only deepens. Because while he has agreed to this date, it isn't Natalie who has been on his mind all night—it is Donna.

"Why don't I clean this up and we can go sit somewhere more comfortable?" Harvey offers, his voice softening as he flashes her a gentle smile.

He's trying—really trying—to stay in the moment, to engage, to be present. To stop retreating into his head. To stop his thoughts from drifting anywhere else. Or to anyone else.

Natalie laughs softly, surprised by the offer. "It's my apartment, shouldn't I—"

"No," he cuts her off with a playful firmness, shaking his head. "You cooked this lovely dinner for me. You've done enough."

Her eyes linger on him for a moment, maybe searching for something beneath his smooth demeanor, but he doesn't give her a chance to , he pushes his chair back with a smooth, confident motion and stands, gathering both of their plates in one hand with a casual efficiency that belies the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior.

"Off you go," he encourages, his grin widening just a fraction as he tilts his head toward the living room. "Come on… The couch's over there."

Natalie hesitates for a moment, her lips curling into a smile as she rises from her seat.

As she makes her way to the living room, Harvey watches her briefly, hoping his insistence on cleaning up would buy him a few more minutes to get his head straight. The easy chemistry they had earlier now feels a little forced, a little off. It's his fault.

He turns away before she notices his lingering gaze and carries the dishes over to the kitchen counter. The clatter of ceramic on stone is louder than expected in the otherwise quiet space. He sets the plates down with more care, taking an extra second to breathe, to reset.

As he turns to gather the rest of the tableware, his hands work mechanically, stacking utensils and straightening the placemats, but his mind is racing.

He's always been good at compartmentalizing, especially at work. That ability had helped him survive Zoe's death, raising Eden on his own, and keeping everything in his life as controlled as possible. But tonight, his thoughts feel slippery, uncontrollable.

He's here, in Natalie's apartment, with the woman in the other room waiting for him. He should be focusing on her—the date, the evening, the potential for whatever this could be. And yet, all his mind keeps circling back to is Donna.

What is she doing tonight? Is she on a date, too?

He imagines her at some dimly lit restaurant, sitting across from some guy who's probably trying too hard to impress her. She'd smile, maybe even laugh—that laugh—and then the guy, being so entranced by the beauty he sees, would lean over the table and…

Stop. He has to stop!

Or maybe she's not out at all. Maybe she's at home, curled up with a glass of wine, reading or watching some show.

He wonders if she's seeing anyone. She's never mentioned a boyfriend—only that she doesn't have kids—but then again, they don't exactly talk about their personal lives much, unless it concerns his daughter. Would she even tell him if she were seeing someone?

He has no right to know.

He scowls at himself, scrubbing the counter a little too hard, as if to wipe away the intrusive thoughts. He can't think about her. Not now. Not when Natalie is just a room away, probably wondering why he's taking so long.

Harvey tosses the dishrag aside and straightens up, looking around the now-clean kitchen. His mind still feels cluttered, but at least the counter's rolls his shoulders, giving himself a quick pep talk. You're here now. Get it together, Specter.

He wipes his hands dry, tossing the dishrag aside, and walks toward the living room where Natalie is waiting. He spots her on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a small smile tugging at her lips as her eyes lift to meet his.

He pastes on a charming grin, hoping it'll be enough to close the gap that's somehow grown between them in just the last few minutes. But even as he sits down beside her, there's a part of him that can't help but wonder where Donna is right now—and if she's thinking about him, too.

Harvey drapes one arm over the backrest of the couch, his body angled slightly toward her. He just lets himself watch, taking in the way she seems comfortable, at ease in her own space, waiting for him to make the next move.

Then he smiles, that easy, effortless smile he's known for, and shifts closer. His leg brushes against hers as he leans in, not enough to crowd her but enough to feel the warmth of her presence.

"You know, I love women who know how to cook," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that has always come naturally to him when trying to charm someone.

He watches her reaction carefully, waiting to see if it lands the way he intends. Then he continues, "Bonus points if they're as beautiful as you, and not turned off by the fact that I can't seem to shut up about my daughter."

Her reaction is instant. She giggles softly, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. The sound is light, airy, and it's almost as if she's a little surprised by his compliment.

Natalie's hand, previously resting idly in her lap, slides down without thinking and comes to rest on his thigh. She absentmindedly starts caressing his leg through the soft fabric of his suit pants, her fingers drawing slow, deliberate circles.

Harvey flinches slightly at the touch, a subtle twitch that he doesn't mean to give away. It's not that he doesn't like it—he does. It's pleasant, even comforting in a way. But there's something unexpected about it too, something that stirs up a mix of emotions he hasn't quite sorted out yet.

Her touch pulls him further into the moment, into the intimacy of the evening, but there's still that quiet voice at the back of his mind, the one he's been trying to silence all night. He clears his throat, shifting slightly but not pulling away. He wants to enjoy this.

"I'd like to hear another story about her," Natalie says, her voice soft and genuine, almost shy in its request.

That catches him off guard, though not in a bad way. His eyebrows lift, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "You do?"

"Hm," she nods, her fingers still grazing his thigh. "Unless you've had enough."

He chuckles again, a deeper, more relaxed sound this time. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Not at all," she says, smiling warmly. Her hand pauses, fingers now resting lightly against him as she looks up at him. "It tells me so much about you, too. What kind of person you are. I love that."

Her words linger in the air between them, and Harvey feels a pang in his chest—something like vulnerability, but different. He's not used to this kind of openness, this kind of easy intimacy where someone actually wants to understand him beyond the surface level.

She's not asking for the Harvey Specter everyone else sees—the sharp, unbreakable lawyer. She's asking about him, the man who stumbles through fatherhood, who worries about his daughter when he's supposed to be focusing on a date.

For a moment, he's unsure what to say. His hand moves almost instinctively, reaching out to rest gently over hers, his thumb brushing the back of her knuckles as he smiles softly.

"Fine," he relents, his smile growing warmer, more genuine now. "Alright, let me think…"

He pauses, the corners of his mouth twitching as he recalls a memory from earlier in the week.

"So, the other day, Eden got it into her head that she needed to dress up for 'work,' just like me. She went into her room, closed the door, and didn't come out for half an hour. When she finally did, she was wearing her pajamas—inside out—with one of my ties around her neck, dragging her stuffed Tyrannosaurus rex behind her like it was some kind of briefcase."

"And then, she looks at me all serious and says, 'Daddy, I'm ready for my meetings,'" Harvey continues, chuckling. "I asked her what kind of meetings, and she says, 'Important ones! About cookies and milk!'"

Natalie laughs softly, her eyes lighting up as she imagines the scene. "Oh my God, that's adorable."

"Yeah," Harvey nods, his smile softening at the memory. "She spent the rest of the day walking around the apartment like she was in charge. Even tried to tell me it was time for my nap."

Their laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Harvey's heart feels lighter, the weight of the evening starting to lift. He's here now, in the moment, and for once, it feels right.

As the quiet settles in, Natalie shifts closer, her hand sliding up to rest gently on his cheek. The touch is soft, hesitant, but filled with intention. Her gaze is drinking him in, like he is water and she is dying of thirst. She wets her lips nervously.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you right now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

His breath catches slightly, surprised by the unexpected vulnerability in her question. He hesitates, the moment stretching out between them as he considers it.

Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he leans in and brushes his lips slowly over hers once, then twice, their breaths mingling together.

As their kiss deepens, Harvey moans into her mouth, pulling her onto his lap, his hands on her ass and moving up. He can feel her sliding further up his lap, her hips grinding into his.

But just as Natalie's fingers move to undo the buttons of his shirt, he feels his entire body tense beneath her touch. It's like a wall slamming down inside him, and his chest tightens with an overwhelming sense of hesitation.

He opens his eyes, the warmth of the moment evaporating as guilt floods in. He can't even look at her properly, the words slipping out in a shaky, stilted breath. "I'm… I thought I could…"

Natalie pauses, her hands dropping away from him as she senses his reluctance. Her eyes search his face, and though there's no anger in them, only understanding, the disappointment is unmistakable.

"It's all right," she says softly, shifting off of him with a gentle grace that makes him feel even worse. She's letting him off the hook, but the weight of his own actions presses heavily on him.

Harvey shakes his head, frustration and regret mixing in his sigh. "No, it's not," he mutters, feeling like a fool. "I never should have kissed you."

He gathers up enough courage to glance at her face, to really look at her, and when he does, the sadness in her eyes makes his heart sink even further.

She's smiling at him, trying to make it easier, but there's a quiet hurt there, barely hidden beneath the surface. He realizes, in that instant, that he never should've come here in the first place.

God, why did he let things get this far?

Natalie lets out a soft sigh, her lips parting before she speaks. "Harvey, it's okay. I knew what I was getting into when I invited you over." Her voice is steady, but there's a tenderness to it that only makes the situation harder. "Believe me, it's fine."

She rises from the couch, giving him space, and he follows her lead, standing up with a heaviness in his chest. He moves slowly, his gaze never leaving her, as if silently searching for reassurance that he hasn't ruined everything between them.

He forces a smile, one that he hopes conveys how sorry he is, how much he wishes things had gone differently. "I really had a great time tonight," he says, the sincerity in his voice genuine despite the awkwardness of the moment.

Natalie returns his smile, though it's smaller now, tinged with a quiet resignation. "Me too," she says, and there's something bittersweet in the way her words hang between them.

Harvey lingers for a moment, not quite sure how to end this, but knowing it needs to end.

"So, I'll… see you around?" he asks, the question more tentative than he intended, like he's seeking her permission to stay in her life in some capacity.

"Yes, you will," she answers, and this time her smile is firmer, a touch of warmth in her voice that reassures him. "Absolutely."

He exhales, relieved that despite everything, she isn't angry with him. She's hurt, yes, but not angry. The knot of guilt in his chest loosens slightly as he realizes that, at the very least, he hasn't lost her friendship. Natalie may be disappointed, but she's still there, still willing to let him be a part of her life.

As he moves toward the door, Harvey can't help but glance back at her one last time, grateful for her kindness but painfully aware that this was a mistake—a mistake he doesn't intend to make again.

Reaching the elevator, he presses the down button, his mind still dwelling on what happened.

It wasn't fair to kiss Natalie when he wasn't ready. When his heart was still tangled in a web of conflicting emotions. When his mind was elsewhere, busy thinking about not just his wife, no… Donna, too.

He could've stayed when she invited him into her home, spent more time with her and learned more about the life she built for herself. He could've sat across from her, just watching her laugh, absorbing the warmth she so effortlessly radiated.

Except he couldn't. He'd excused himself because his daughter needed him, and because of his date. Yet, deep down, he knows the real reason he left so abruptly. If he stayed... he wouldn't have wanted to leave.

Hearing the elevator ping, Harvey's thoughts are snapped back to the present. The doors rumble open and he steps forward instinctively, but then freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

His lips part, but it takes a second for his voice to emerge, barely a croak. "Donna," he mutters, the name almost painful in the way it sticks in his constricted throat.

Harvey's stomach lurches, an odd cocktail of fear and longing bubbling beneath the surface. A cold sweat prickles at the back of his neck, and he stands paralyzed for a beat too long.

His body wants to move, close the distance, but his mind falters, second-guessing every inch. It takes him an eternity to finally step inside the elevator and stand next to her.

His heart beats so hard and fast, it pulses in his veins, his ears, his head. Makes him feel as if it is trying to fly through his skin and into hers. He wonders if she can feel it too—his chaos.

The dress she wears clings to her like a second skin, wrapping her curves in dark fabric that borders on sinful. It must be the tightest, low cut, sexiest little number she has.

His gaze travels down the length of her, and he hates himself for it, for the way his eyes linger longer than they should. But it's Donna, and from the first moment he saw her, he was helpless in his attraction to her.

"W-What are you doing here?" he stammers, his voice barely holding steady. He clears his throat, but it does nothing to fix the way his words stumble awkwardly from his lips.

Donna avoids his eyes and grips the pendant around her neck in a tight fist as she stares at her feet, idly working her toes in her shoes.

"I was visiting a friend," she manages to say, trying to keep the tremble out of her mellow voice.

Harvey's throat feels like it's closing up again, the weight of every emotion inside of him pressing hard against his ribs. He tries to steady his breath, but he can't shake off the feeling that something is wrong with her.

His eyes trace over her face, pausing at the subtle discoloration just below her jawline. His brows knit together, the concern instantly palpable. "Donna, what happened there?" His voice doesn't break, but the worry threading through it is unmistakable.

She stiffens, her muscles locking up for a moment. A frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, her mind racing to catch up with his sudden question. "What do you mean?"

His gaze flickers back to the small bruise, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly. "Your neck," he says, this time softer, his words cautious as if afraid of the answer. "The red marks… Are you okay?"

Donna feels her breath hitch, her pulse quickening. Her eyes widen just a fraction, but it's enough to betray her, and a cold, creeping embarrassment starts coiling in her stomach.

She moves to brush her hair forward, a feeble attempt to shield the evidence, but it's too late.

Brett. Of course. The slightly too-firm grip of his hand, as he was a little overzealous earlier, rough in his caress, must've left its imprint on her skin.

Donna feels a vulnerability she rarely lets slip through the cracks of her carefully curated exterior. Usually, she can deflect—find a clever quip, throw up her walls of wit and charm to buy herself time.

But here, under the fluorescent lights of the elevator, there's no room to hide, no witty banter to fall back on. She's exposed. And for once, she doesn't have a plan.

Harvey's eyes search hers, and Donna can see the struggle unfolding in him, the hesitation as he tries to put his thoughts into words. For a moment, he looks pained, almost as if he doesn't want to voice the question, but needs to.

"Did somebody—" his voice is low, strained, like he's forcing himself to push the words out, "—hurt you?"

The words hit her like a punch, the sheer gravity of his assumption knocking the breath out of her.

"What, no," Donna gasps, the shock evident in her voice. "No, Harvey, no…"

She shakes her head quickly, her hand moving, almost instinctively, to smooth her dress, as if that could somehow erase the situation. She hesitates then, the words she wants to say tangling up in her throat.

She can't tell him the truth. Not the real truth. Because the truth is, she's here, standing in front of the man she wants more than anyone else in the world, with the scent of another man still clinging faintly to her skin.

She just had sex—wild, impulsive sex—with someone she barely knew. Someone she sought out because she was tired of wanting someone she couldn't have. Someone she sought out because she wanted to forget every thought of Harvey in her head.

"I had…" She tries again, but the words get stuck, the truth threatening to spill out and choke her at the same time.

Donna swallows hard, casting her eyes down for a split second before forcing herself to meet his gaze again. She watches as Harvey's mind starts piecing things together, the way his eyes flicker with dawning understanding.

His gaze sweeps over her again, this time with a sharper focus, as if the veil has been lifted, and he takes in all the details that he missed earlier.

Her hair, slightly messed up, the loose strands framing her face in a way that isn't intentional.

The dress—he notices the creases, the wrinkled fabric that clings to her body in a way that tells him someone's hands have been on her, and it sends a wave of discomfort through him.

And then there's her lips. Her lips, bruised and swollen, the telltale signs of kisses that weren't gentle, that were rushed and heated.

Harvey clenches his jaw as the realization fully hits him. She's been with someone. And not just anyone. Recently. Very recently.

The pit in his stomach grows heavier, sinking like a stone, and he struggles to keep his expression neutral. He feels something burning in his chest, an uncomfortable mix of jealousy, frustration, and confusion, all fighting for space.

Donna feels his eyes on her, reading her like a book she doesn't want him to open. Her heart pounds against her ribs, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dress.

The silence between them thickens, each passing second feeling heavier than the last.

She wants to say something that will make it all better, something that will fix the unspoken tension hanging in the air. But the words won't come, and all she's left with is the sinking feeling that this—whatever this is—can't be undone.

He can't seem to find his voice at first, then finally, something slips out, raw and unfiltered. "Did you have a good time?"

"Harvey…" Her voice breaks on his name, a jagged edge to the sound that makes something inside him clench.

God, the way she looks at him. It's like he's a wildfire, a dangerous and seductive thing that threatens to consume her entirely. And he's starting to think he might be.

It's an intoxicating feeling, but also a terrifying one. Torn between desire and doubt, he feels he isn't ready to cross that line and commit himself to anything binding. To put labels on the emotions warring within. Not yet. Though he wants nothing more than to kiss her right now.

She closes her eyes, shielding her face from whatever storm rages in his. Her breath hitches as his fingertips graze her cheek. A shiver runs through her, and for a split second, he wonders if it's his touch or something else that has unsettled her.

Then her eyes flutter open, and as she meets his gaze, he sees a flicker of something deep within those irises—a vulnerability that's both alluring and heartbreaking. Her pulse throbs beneath his fingertips, a frantic rhythm that mirrors the pounding in his chest.

Harvey lets his eyes roam over her, taking in the subtle rise and fall of her chest, the smooth curve of her lips, every detail of her face. His body responds, a low growl slipping past his lips as desire courses through him, a primal response to the woman before him.

She is a masterpiece, and he aches to be the artist that explores every inch of her canvas.

He wants her.

Desperately.

Holding Donna's cheeks in his palms, Harvey sweeps his thumbs beneath the hollow of her eyes, the curve of her chin, and the soft fullness of her lips. All rational thought escapes into an abyss in his mind.

He draws a deep breath, staring at her lips inches away from his. And then he looks back into her eyes and there is no sign of protest.

The next moment, his warm, soft lips find her earlobe and then travel down the side of her neck to her collarbone. He slowly pushes the sleeve of her dress down, baring the curve of her shoulder, planting kisses across the newly revealed skin there.

Longing rolls over Harvey's entire being, and a groan, deep and raw, escapes his lips. He tastes that spot of her neck, a sweet, hungry exploration, a caress that seems to ignite every nerve ending in her.

Her body sways, a subtle, almost silent tremor of her pleasure that is as intoxicating to him as the heady scent of her skin. Touching her feels like grasping starlight, filled with a tingling sweetness.

His hand finds her face, gently cradling her cheek. But his thumb has a mind of its own. It traces the curve of her top lip, a tantalizing invitation. And then, as if surrendering to the moment, she parts her lips.

Harvey follows the outline of her mouth with his finger. His chest presses against hers. He's burning to touch her breasts, to tease her and pleasure her, even if it would just be through the fabric of her dress.

Donna's hands slide to the back of his neck and tangle in his hair as she tries to glue her body to his. She sighs out his name, and when he looks up, her eyes, dark and pleading, hold his captive.

Looking deep into the hazel mystery beneath her lashes, he speaks her name, lingering over each languid syllable. "Donna…" It passes from his lips, feeling as forbidden as everything he wishes for.

And just as she seeks to bridge the gap with a kiss—a full-on lip-to-lip, tongue-to-tongue, one hundred percent real kiss—he pulls back, barely an inch, but enough to shatter the fragile intimacy between them.

"I can't," Harvey says, his voice as faint as a breath, the words scraping out like they cost him everything. His gaze flickers from her eyes in time to catch the quiver in her bottom lip.

For a moment, Donna just stares at him, frozen in place, as if the shock of his rejection hasn't fully settled in. But then, the hurt surges forward, and she shoves back from him, her body stiffening as if turned to stone.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, licks of desire snapping at his nerves trying to singe his senses into overriding his rational mind.

"Me too," she whispers. And he swears in the short glimpse he has of her eyes before she walks away, he sees tears glistening.

Her footsteps echo off the cold marble floor of the lobby, each click of her heels reverberating in Harvey's chest, louder and louder, until they fade into nothingness when she exits the building. And then it's silent. Utterly silent.

Harvey stares at the empty space where she stood just moments ago, the lingering warmth of her touch already beginning to fade. His breath comes out in a heavy exhale, his hands gripping the railing behind him as if it's the only thing keeping him upright.

He should have kissed her.

God, he should have kissed her.