A/N: Okay, I have a few things to say before we get into this...
I was going through some major depression and wasn't sure I'd get back to writing at all for a while, so I'm glad I actually finished this. Y'all have been waiting so long for Darvey to finally have dinner and I can't thank you enough for sticking with me.
Now, your expectations with this one are probably super high and I can only hope I deliver even just a small portion of it. But since there's so much happening, and it's certainly the most important chapter in terms of their development yet, I decided to split it. However, I will stick to Donna's POV for both parts, so the next one will continue immediately after this.
Having said that, keep in mind that we never know what's really going on in Harvey's head until we're in it. When I switch POVs, I will focus on particular moments, so you don't have to fear that I'll rehash every single line x.x
If you wanna look at the edit(s) I made for this chapter, you can check out this album: photos. app. goo. gl/MKfQEeXsJVbh2UiRA (get rid of the space)
Love's Recipe
She rides up his private elevator with the determination that she will keep a polite distance between Harvey and her, have dinner with him, and prepare to say goodbye. She won't allow herself to get any deeper into this emotionally until she's fully convinced it's the right thing to do. That also means she won't try to kiss him—it's all she's been thinking about since Ray picked her up.
Once the elevator reaches the penthouse level, it opens directly into the residence's foyer. She can't believe he practically has his own lobby. Donna's heart beats rapidly, little flutters ricocheting in her chest, as she musters up the courage to let him know she's arrived. The panel next to the door is sleek and nearly invisible. There's no clunky button or glowing ring to press, just a subtle touch sensor embedded into the wall. Of course, Harvey Specter's doorbell wouldn't be ordinary.
She hesitates for a second, then lets her fingertip graze the sensor, half-expecting the door to swing open instantly. Instead, a soft chime sounds from within, low and refined, the kind of tone that wouldn't dare disrupt the atmosphere of a perfectly curated penthouse. It's not intrusive, not the jarring buzz of a walk-up intercom or the shrill ring of a brownstone's old-school bell.
When Harvey opens the door, dressed in a laid-back ensemble instead of his usual tailored three-piece suit, Donna's resolve blows away like dandelion seeds in a windstorm. The olive-green sweater hugs his frame just right, and the crisp white shirt beneath, peeking out at the collar and hem, adds a sharp but smooth contrast.
A soft, almost shy smile appears on his lips as he murmurs, "Hi." A smile that lingers even after he closes the door and hangs up her coat.
"Hi," she breathes, smiling back.
He has the most beautiful eyes, the most lovely shade of brown. They're the kind of brown one will never get tired of. Not a dull or muddy brown, but warm and deep, like amber and autumn leaves and the rich earth after a rain. The deep green of his sweater makes his eyes even more striking, the look in them appearing to be absolute joy and delight that she's there. Her heart skips several beats, and then wildly begins pushing blood through her arteries.
"Thank you for being here," he says softly. "To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd come."
Donna feels the warmth increase now, and the slow, seductive rise in energy. "Of course I'd come, Harvey," she replies with a soft sigh. All she wants is to be near him, even when she shouldn't.
Her gaze lingers on his hair, the way it catches the low light, dark honey-brown with a sheen that makes it look almost angelic. It's perfectly styled, swept back as if each strand has been cut to a precise length and trained. Yet, there's something almost defiant about it, the slight wave that resists being tamed, hinting at the complex man beneath the clean, polished surface.
She can almost feel the texture under her fingertips, soft but with just enough hold from whatever he used to style it. Something expensive, no doubt. His hair frames his face like a crown, complementing the strong, sharp lines of his jaw and that sly smirk she's come to know so well.
Donna allows herself a private moment of indulgence, imagining what it would be like to run her hands through it, to muss it up and see him just a little undone, stripped of that cool, flawless exterior he so carefully maintains.
"Dinner's almost ready," Harvey says gently as he rolls up his sleeves past the elbows, revealing well-defined bronze-skinned forearms.
He gestures for her to follow him down the hallway, but for a moment, she just lingers by the door, heels anchored to the gleaming hardwood as she takes it all in. It's one thing to know Harvey lives in a penthouse, but stepping into it is something else entirely. The entrance alone looks like something out of a high-end design magazine—exposed brick softened by contemporary art, a plush bench with carefully curated pillows, and walls of glass that frame the city beyond. It's minimalist without feeling cold, sleek, but not impersonal.
And then she moves forward, stepping into the heart of the space, where the entire condo unfurls into a sprawl of luxury. During the day, she imagines the floor-to-ceiling windows flood the space with sunlight, but at this hour, the view is entirely different. The sky beyond the glass is inky black, the Upper East Side spread out beneath her like a constellation of golden lights. The high-rise buildings shimmer with reflections of the city, while the streets below pulse with movement, a reminder of just how far removed Harvey's world is from the one she left behind a few minutes ago.
Her gaze lands on the kitchen, and the massive island of statuary marble, the coolness of the stone playing against the warmth of the milled oak cabinetry. It's the kind of kitchen that probably never sees a mess; a far cry from hers, with every surface polished, every detail considered.
Then there's the living space that has all the hallmarks of a corporate attorney like Harvey: Clean lines, luxury without excess, a black-and-white portrait of someone effortlessly cool hanging on the wall. But in one corner, there's a disruption to the perfection. A small oasis of color. A low bookshelf brimming with vibrantly illustrated picture books, a tiny chair pulled up beside it like it belongs. Like she belongs. Eden.
Donna exhales, tension she didn't even realize she was holding unraveling at the sight of it. Because despite the fact that this is the world of Manhattan's best closer—sharp-edged, expensive, and meticulously designed—there's space carved out for his daughter. A place where imagination runs wild, where bedtime stories and stuffed animals exist alongside million-dollar views and designer furniture. And somehow, against all logic, she thinks: Maybe there's space for me too.
"Hey, Donna," his voice is soft, low. "You're okay?"
She flinches slightly, the question pulling her back to the present after being so caught up in her surroundings. She turns to him, her breath steadying, and a smile captures her lips before she can stop it. "Yeah," she says. "This place is quite impressive." Understatement of the year.
He chuckles, almost sheepish, as if his own wealth is something to be embarrassed about. "Does that mean you like it?" he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
Donna's smile morphs into a smirk as she steps closer. She knows the game they're playing. Knows how to dance around words, to push just enough to see how far he'll follow. "Do you really care what I think?"
She rests her hands on the kitchen counter, fingers gliding over the smooth marble, grounding herself in the coolness beneath her palms. It's easier to focus on that than on the way he's looking at her. Because the way he looks at her makes her feel like someone has lit a firecracker inside her, burning through every last bit of composure she has.
"Of course." He nods, grinning slightly.
"I think…" She drags out the words, just to tease him, just to watch the subtle flicker of anticipation in his expression. Then she relents. "This place is more representative of the Harvey Specter my friends described to me. But it also feels a lot like the man I had the pleasure of meeting. You know, the other version of you." The words slip out before she can filter them, and she wonders if she's said too much.
His smile falters, just for a second, and there's something vulnerable in his eyes. "I don't know what they told you about me," he says, his voice quieter now, "but I hope you know that all I've ever been to you is myself."
It hits her unexpectedly, the way he says it. How much he needs her to believe it. Her breath catches, warmth blooming in her chest. He's defending himself. Not in the arrogant, combative way he might with someone else, but in the way that matters. He wants her to see him, the real him, and that realization makes her stomach flip.
"I know, Harvey," Donna murmurs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't," he says, and there's resignation in his tone. "I get why Mike and Rachel would warn you about me."
"And yet here I am. In your home. Having dinner with you." She pauses, watching the way his face reacts to each syllable, how he tracks every word like he's trying to memorize them. The smile on her face becomes a little more pronounced as she continues, "I guess that makes me a fool, yeah?"
He studies her, saying nothing, and a shudder ripples through her. His eyes hold something heavy, but when he finally speaks, his voice is gentle. "I don't know what that makes you, Donna, but…" A slow smile spreads across his face, soft and endearing. "I'm really happy you're here."
Her heart stumbles. "Me too," she whispers, and the second the words leave her mouth, her mind betrays her.
Kiss him.
The thought slams into her so hard it nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. It's not the first time she's had it, obviously, but it's never been this loud, this insistent. It's all she hears, like every fiber of her being is screaming at her to close the distance, to pull him in and feel what it's like to kiss him without pretense, without hesitation. To kiss him with the force of everything she feels.
Her fingers twitch against the counter, like they're already reaching for him. Her pulse is a wild, erratic thing, and she wonders if he can hear it, if he can feel it in the space between them. She wants to move. She needs to. But fear keeps her rooted in place. Fear of what happens after. Fear that once this line is crossed, there's no going back.
Instead, she forces herself to breathe, forces herself to hold his gaze and pretend her entire world isn't tilting on its axis. She doesn't know what happens next. But right now, standing in his kitchen, wrapped in this unbearable tension, she knows one thing with absolute certainty: If he kissed her, she wouldn't stop him.
The quiet click of the oven door draws Donna's attention. She watches as Harvey leans in slightly, peering inside, the warm glow illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw and the furrow of concentration in his brow. His sweater stretches just enough to hint at the strength beneath, and when he shifts, the subtle play of muscle and the ripple of his thighs beneath his slim-fit black jeans is impossible to ignore.
God, why does he have to look as though he's walked straight out of a magazine spread? She should look away, really. But she doesn't.
Harvey straightens, turning back toward her as he absently wipes his hands on a dish towel. It's only then—when his gaze meets hers head-on—that she realizes she's been caught. Donna blinks, snapping her eyes up to his, her cheeks flushing. And Harvey, damn him, doesn't miss a beat.
"Hungry?" he says, a hint of a smirk materializing on his face, as if he knows exactly what just happened but chooses not to say it.
She exhales, a slow, knowing smile curling at her lips. "Depends," she says smoothly. "Are we pretending you didn't just catch me staring?"
Harvey's smirk deepens, his voice warm with amusement. "That depends." He steps closer, just enough to blur the space between them. "Are we pretending you weren't?"
The air between them thickens instantly, and Donna laughs softly, trying to mask the nervous flutter in her chest. Then she shakes her head, deciding she won't bother playing coy. "No," she says, her voice trembling slightly from the nerves.
"And?" His hand glides over the countertop, brushing over hers so lightly she wonders for a moment if she imagined it. "You like what you see?"
Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing.
He stands so close, she can almost feel his breath against her cheek. His presence is effortless, natural, as if he is made to be here, in this space with her. And maybe it's the dopamine flooding her brain or the fact that she's ovulating, but suddenly, the usual playful banter feels heavier—like it means more.
"You look very handsome tonight," she murmurs, smiling raptly. "Seeing you out of a suit… All casual… I like it."
Harvey gives a soft chuckle, and for a second, she thinks he's going to tease her again. But instead, he gestures toward the dinner table, his hand hovering near her lower back, just close enough to guide without touching. He pulls out the chair for her, and she shakes her head with a small smile, half-expecting him to make a joke about how chivalry isn't dead. But he doesn't. He just waits, giving her that unreadable, almost amused look, like he's enjoying watching her react to him.
She slides into the chair, glancing up at him. "Thank you."
The table is set beautifully, with crisp white linen, shining silverware, and a small vase of fresh flowers. The thoughtfulness of it all makes her heart swell. He really went all out, didn't he?
"You like red?" he asks, already pouring them each a glass of wine.
"Maybe next time, wait for an answer," Donna teases, letting a soft laugh escape her lips. "But yes, that's fine."
She watches as his cheeks flush just slightly, and he lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah, sorry… I'll try to remember that," he says, his voice a little unsteady.
There's something endearing about the way he almost fumbles around her, and she finds herself thinking she'd love to see more of this slightly awkward, slightly unpolished version of Harvey Specter. He's always been a bit nervous around her, but tonight is different. Like this—her being here—matters.
When he moves toward the oven, she takes a quiet moment to study him. He carries himself with confidence, but there's an undeniable touch of tenderness in his gestures tonight. It's as if he's peeled back another layer, revealing a part of himself he usually keeps hidden, even from her. And despite herself, she wonders what it would be like to be a more permanent fixture in his life, not just… Well, whatever she is to him.
She watches Harvey pull out two plates with steaming helpings of sirloin steak, green beans, and small ears of corn. The smell of the food is so appetizing that Donna's stomach clenches in response. She hasn't realized how hungry she actually is.
"You're not a vegetarian, are you?" he asks as he settles into his seat. She arches a brow, and he lets out a laugh. "Should've asked that before, huh?"
Donna smirks. "You're such a lousy host, Mr. Specter."
Harvey chuckles, lifting his glass toward her. "Let's hope the food makes up for it, Ms. Paulsen."
Their glasses clink, and as she takes a sip, she watches him spear a piece of steak with his fork. But when he lifts it to his mouth, her gaze lingers a second too long. Her own fork remains untouched as she watches him—his jaw flexing as he chews, the way his fingers curl around the stem of his glass, the faint creases near his eyes as he glances at her.
Heat floods her cheeks as she realizes what she's doing. What the hell is wrong with her tonight? She's usually so good at this, at keeping things light, at playing it cool. But now? Now she's blushing like a schoolgirl, completely incapable of tearing her eyes away from him. And the worst part? They haven't even made it to dessert.
This time, though, Harvey doesn't tease her. He just motions with his steak knife for her to dig into her own meal. "If you don't like it, Donna, we can order pizza." There's amusement flickering in his gaze, and the fact that he's half-serious makes her snort.
Never taking her eyes off him, Donna lifts her fork and slides a small piece of steak into her mouth. The first thing she notices is how perfectly tender it is. Then comes the burst of rich, peppered flavor, and her body betrays her completely—a low, approving sound rumbles from deep in her chest.
"God, this is so good," she blurts out, smiling in pure satisfaction as she closes her eyes for a second just to savor it.
She quickly spears another bite, letting the well-seasoned deliciousness melt on her tongue before scooping up a mix of green beans and corn. The buttery sweetness and light snap of the vegetables make her hum again, and okay, maybe she should tone it down before he starts making fun of her.
Donna reaches for her wine, taking an enormous gulp. She sets the glass down with a satisfied sigh and looks at him. "You have an excellent cook. Can I have his number?" she quips.
His smirk is slow and smug, the kind that reaches his eyes and crinkles at the corners. It's the most Cheshire Cat grin she's ever seen on a human. "It's been a while since I did this," he admits, his grin softening into something a little quieter, a little more sincere. "I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it."
"It's perfect, Harvey." There's no teasing in her voice, just quiet honesty. "Thank you for doing this." She doesn't even realize how much she means it until she's already said the words. There's something so intimate about it, beyond the effort or the meal itself. It's the simple fact that he wanted to do this for her. For her.
His expression shifts, his confidence dimming a fraction, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. "My pleasure," he murmurs. Then, after a beat, "And, you know, I'd do it all again." His voice is quieter now, more deliberate. "For you."
Donna's stomach flutters, and she has trouble hiding her surprise, his words hitting her right where she feels it the most. "You're being really sweet, you know that?" she says, and she wants to say more, wants to tell him that no one's ever really done something like this for her, not in a way that mattered, but somehow, words fail her.
She's so enamored by him, so completely drawn in, that she can barely think straight. Instead, she grabs another bite, letting her gaze settle on him. He doesn't speak, but she can tell he's thinking. His expression is so unguarded. It's in the quiet shimmer in his eyes, in the faint flush in his cheeks. It makes him look so incredibly beautiful.
They sink into silence, but neither of them seems inclined to break it. And it's not awkward. Not at all. It's the kind of silence that falls between two people who know each other, who are comfortable in each other's presence. The kind of silence that says something neither of them is quite ready to put into words yet.
When Harvey gets up to refill their plates, Donna hesitates. She wants to know more about him, about his life. About how he grew up, what shaped him into the man sitting across from her tonight. But can he even talk about his life without being reminded of his dead wife? Maybe his life and Zoe's are so intricately linked that talking about one inevitably means talking about the other. Donna can't help but wonder. Did they meet when they were young? Did they build a life together from scratch? Was Eden planned or just an accident?
She won't ask how Zoe died. That's too personal, too painful, and it's too early in their... relationship... to have that conversation. But, of course, the thought keeps haunting her. Did she die suddenly? Or was it a long, excruciating journey, one with ups and downs—a disease that slowly took her from him? Maybe she should keep quiet and not mention her at all. The last thing she wants is to ruin the night, to make him uncomfortable. But if she doesn't ask now, will she ever?
"Harvey," she says, her voice quieter than she intends.
He stands by the counter, pouring more of those vibrant green beans onto her plate, and though he acknowledges her with a quiet, "Yes?" he doesn't look up.
Donna swallows. The words are right there, balanced on the tip of her tongue, ready to be pulled back at the last second. "Can I… Can I ask you about Zoe?"
The change in him is immediate. Even from a few feet away, she sees the way he stills. Like someone hit pause on him mid-motion. His hand lingers over her plate for a moment longer than necessary before he finally sets it down and meets her eyes. Another hesitation. Then, without a word, he walks over to her, places the plate in front of her, and sits back down. Donna's stomach clenches. Maybe this was a mistake.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I was just wondering what kind of person she was. How you two met, and—" She stops herself when she sees it. The way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. The way his jaw tenses ever so slightly, like he's bracing himself for impact. "I didn't mean to make you sad," she adds softly.
Harvey exhales, and when he speaks, his voice is steady, but there's something underneath it. Something fragile. "I told you I wanted us to get to know each other better, Donna, so I don't mind talking about her," he says, though it doesn't sound entirely true.
He picks up his fork, spearing a piece of steak and chewing slowly, like he needs a moment to put the words together. Then, after taking a sip of wine—as if drinking up some courage—he lifts his eyes to hers. "Zoe and I met in college. Right after high school. We both went to law school." A small smile plays at the corner of his lips. "There was a time I thought she was a better lawyer than me."
The warmth in his expression twists something in her chest.
"We moved to upstate New York when she decided to switch to family law. Open her own practice." His gaze flickers with something proud, something painfully fond. "I could never do it—divorce, adoption, child custody. It gets ugly so quickly when kids are involved. But Zoe… she didn't care. She was really good at it. Handling the sensitive cases."
Donna watches as he falls into memory, painting a portrait of a woman who was vibrant, sharp, and filled with a kind of boundless energy. He tells her about Zoe's ability to pull off any prank she set her mind to, about their late-night philosophical debates over cheap takeout, about how she always knew exactly how to make him laugh, even when he didn't want to. And Donna? Donna just listens. Because the more he talks, the more she realizes how much Zoe was woven into him. How deeply she shaped the man sitting across from her.
As Harvey's voice catches on a particular memory, Donna feels the unexpected sting of tears. She blinks quickly, but it's useless. A single tear slips free, trailing warm down her cheek. She sniffs, quietly cursing herself. Great. Now she's crying on their date.
Harvey notices it instantly, like a radar detecting the slightest shift. His lips twitch into something soft, almost wistful. "You okay?" he asks gently.
She nods quickly, trying to brush it off. "I'm just sad for you," she croaks, her voice embarrassingly thick. "That you lost such a wonderful human being."
Her eyes catch sight of the simple gold band on his finger, and her stomach sinks. Of course, he's still wearing it. It shouldn't bother her. It's not like she expected anything different. But it does. Because the way he talks about Zoe makes it painfully clear—he's not over her.
Will he ever be? Donna doesn't know. But God, she hopes so. She hopes so because she's already falling for him—falling hard—and the last thing she wants is to feel like she's competing with a ghost.
A flicker of guilt twists inside her at the thought. Does that make her an asshole? She doesn't know that either. But as Harvey takes another slow sip of his wine, lost in thought, one thing becomes clear—she's already in deep. Maybe too deep.
"Thanks, Donna," he whispers. There's a beat of silence before he looks back at her, his smile softer now. "So, what's your story? Did you always know you wanted to do this? Run a daycare?"
The way he shifts the focus onto her so smoothly makes Donna smirk. Turning the attention away from himself, making sure she's comfortable. Or maybe just giving himself a break from the weight of the conversation.
"I always wanted to be a vet," she says, the thought making her chuckle. She can't even remember the last time she mentioned that to someone. "But then all that family stuff escalated, and I realized I had to… I wanted to do something else with my life."
She sees the slight furrow in his brow, the almost imperceptible shift in his expression—he wants to ask. So she saves him the trouble. "I have a younger sister. Demi." She pauses, catching the way his eyebrow arches. A quiet laugh escapes her. "Yeah, my parents had a thing for matching initials."
Harvey chuckles, but doesn't interrupt.
"Her and I, we…" Donna exhales deeply. She glances at her plate, picking up a slice, and takes a small bite. "Let's just say it was a complicated relationship," she continues after she's done chewing. She doesn't need to elaborate for him to get it. The slight nod he gives her, and the understanding in his eyes, tells her he knows exactly what she means.
"I always felt like I was constantly in my sister's business against my will. Cleaning up her messes, taking care of things she couldn't—or wouldn't—handle." She huffs a laugh, but her brow wrinkles and she doesn't actually smile. "I guess, in a way, going into daycare work was a natural progression for me."
Donna hesitates for a moment, the words sitting heavy on her tongue before she finally says them.
"I wanted to prove something. I think more to myself than to anyone else." She locks eyes with Harvey, the vulnerability in her own voice surprising even herself. "That I could take care of people. That I could be responsible for someone other than myself, and that I could do it right." She gives him a small, almost self-deprecating smile. "So I started the daycare. Without anyone's help, by the way." She lifts her glass in a mock toast before taking another sip. "And thankfully, it flourished."
It's strange, really. Saying it out loud. She's told this story before—plenty of times—but for some reason, sitting across from Harvey, it feels different. More personal. More real. And when he looks at her, really looks at her, she swears she can see it. The same quiet admiration she's been feeling for him all night.
"And the brownstone was where you started it?"
"No, Manhattan, actually," Donna replies. She leans back slightly, swirling the wine in her glass as she thinks. "About... twelve years ago?" The memories come easily—long nights, early mornings, and the feeling of pushing forward even when no one believed she could.
"It was a relatively small apartment, so I only cared for two kids at first. Sometimes just one. But I wanted more. I knew I could handle more. And, you know, it's not easy when everyone around you keeps telling you that you're in over your head, especially friends and family." She sighs, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. "But I chose not to listen. I just followed my dream." Her lips curve slightly, a quiet pride settling in her chest. "And now I have a beautiful home, and I built a life that other people my age can't even imagine. So, I like to believe I did pretty well for myself, given the circumstances."
Donna's eyes flicker up to meet his, and she lets herself say the thing that matters most. "And I really love it, Harvey. Every single thing about it." The smile that comes to her extends all the way up from her toes, a smile that comes from the heart. "I mean, it's hard sometimes to do it all alone, but I wouldn't change it for the world." It's the truth. Every chaotic morning, every exhausted but fulfilled evening—it's all worth it. And she's not sure why, but saying it to him feels bigger, like it cements something inside of her.
She watches as a slow, beautiful smile spreads across his face. It's breathtaking, like watching a sunset bleed into the clouds, warming everything in its path. His eyes soften, conveying a sense of pride. The pride that everyone feels when they see someone they know succeed. But there's more to it, something deeper, and suddenly she feels flustered.
"What?" she murmurs, releasing a nervous giggle.
Harvey hums, his smile shifting into something playful. He grabs another bite, chews leisurely, his gaze still locked on her.
"Come on," Donna presses, narrowing her eyes, smirking right back. "Surely there's something you're dying to say."
He almost chokes on his food, trying to keep from laughing out loud. What comes out is a soft snort. She arches a brow, fighting back a grin as he quickly swallows, clearing his throat with a sip of wine. Then he sets his glass down and meets her gaze again.
"I just realized…" He pauses for a moment, like he's weighing whether or not to say it. Then he does. "You and my daughter share the same look when you talk about your daycare."
Donna freezes, caught off guard. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing she expected. But before she can even find a response, Harvey continues, seemingly oblivious to the storm of emotions he's just stirred inside her. "So you and Scottie… Have you always lived there together?"
"When I bought the house, I was looking for ways to help cover the mortgage and operating costs of the daycare, so I decided to rent out the upper floor. Scottie was the first person to respond, and it was an instant match," she says with a small smile. "I'm currently renovating the third floor, so we've been sharing the second floor for… I think it's been well over two years now."
Harvey listens as he eats, but she can tell he's paying close attention, hanging onto every word. "What's the hold-up?" he asks, just as a piece of food falls out of his mouth. Donna's lips twitch at the sight, a soft smile curving onto her face.
If the world could see him right now… Those people that rarely see Harvey Specter anything less than polished, they'd be so surprised. Because right now, he's just a man at a dinner table, caught mid-bite, looking so effortlessly human. But then, as she thinks about his question, her smile fades, and she sighs a long sigh.
"I had an issue with the contractor, and then the lawsuit was so expensive I couldn't afford to find someone else to do the job. And now it's like—there's always something going wrong. I don't know." She waves a hand vaguely, frustration bleeding into her voice. "That floor might be cursed. I probably should've never considered the renovation in the first place."
"Why did you?"
She knows he doesn't mean for it to be a loaded question, loaded with landmines. Knows he isn't asking to hurt her. He's just curious. Interested. But still, it hurts. So, for a moment, she doesn't answer. Instead, she stares at the wineglass in her hand, fingers turning it slowly, watching the way the deep red liquid swirls against the sides. It shouldn't be so hard to talk about it. She should be over this by now. It's been years, dammit. It shouldn't still feel like this. But it does. Maybe she just has to accept that some wounds never fully close.
Donna clears her throat, forcing herself to speak before she loses the nerve. "'Cause I thought I was gonna be a mom," she says, her voice quieter than before, raw around the edges. The words hang heavy in the air between them, and with them, the old familiar ache resurfaces. The hurt that once burned its scorching scar into her heart and now lingers there.
Donna takes a slow, deep breath, but it doesn't help. It never does. Because she still remembers everything. Mark's face, lighting up at the idea of becoming a father. The rush of excitement, of certainty, as they planned for a future that never came. The gut-wrenching moment when the test turned out to be a false alarm. The devastation that followed. The doctor's words. The ones that changed everything.
She closes her eyes briefly, willing away the tears burning behind them. Then she clears her throat again, but her eyes stay fixed on the glass in her hand. It's easier to focus on something solid than to look at him right now. Because she already knows what she'll see in Harvey's eyes. Pity. Sympathy. That same look people always give her. And she knows they mean well. She does. But God, sometimes she wishes someone would look at her with hope. With defiance. Like they believe in something more for her, even when she can't.
"Donna," she hears him say, his voice filled with so much compassion that she bites back the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. This isn't how she wanted tonight to go. She doesn't want to feel sad. She wants to enjoy this—him. Because sitting across from Harvey, she feels safe. Wanted. And right now? She just wants to be in his arms.
As she finally looks up, her heart sinks. Because the way he's looking at her—Jesus Christ. If she didn't know better, she'd say it looks like devotion. Like he's feeling her loss as if it were his own. But he doesn't know. He doesn't know that something is wrong with her. That she is… broken.
"My boyfriend and I had just gotten engaged," she says, forcing out the words, "so we decided to make some adjustments to the floor plan. Something more family-friendly, you know?" Her laugh is soft but brittle, like it might crack under its own weight. "And, well… neither of those things worked out. The adjustments, the wedding, the… the baby."
Silence.
It's so quiet that she thinks she can hear the dust motes sighing as they drift through the still air.
But then Harvey breaks that silence, his voice a low, husky murmur. "Hey."
He holds her gaze for a long moment before reaching out. His hand finds hers, fingers brushing lightly against the glass she's still clutching. And suddenly, it's too much. She lets go, watching as his fingers trail over her wrist, then over the lines of her palm. The touch is soft. Careful. Almost like he's memorizing her.
The feeling of his fingers on her is like burning shards, each tip sending little electric sparks. He places his hand against hers, lingering for a second as if measuring the difference in size, before intertwining their fingers together. The simple intimacy of it sends a shiver down Donna's spine, and she lowers her gaze, staring at their hands.
It feels absurd to notice how perfectly they fit together, how warm and solid Harvey's hand feels around hers. Butterflies stir in her stomach as he turns her hand over and begins to move the pad of his thumb around her palm, causing her heart rate to rise.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"Yeah," she whispers back, giving him a small, weary smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Me too."
She wonders if he's one of those people who gets touchy-feely when they've had too much wine. She wonders if this is just wine-loosened affection, the kind that disappears by morning, the kind that might not mean as much as it feels like it does right now. But God, it feels like it really means something.
She wonders if he'll remember this—these soft, sweet caresses, the way his thumb moves in slow, lazy circles over her palm, as if he can't stop touching her. Because she will. She knows she'll remember it all. Every look, every touch, every word. The warmth of his skin. The way his hand fits so perfectly around hers. The way his gaze lingers.
"You know," she murmurs, "you could offer me some dessert to make me feel better."
Harvey chuckles, the sound low and warm, vibrating through the air between them. He tilts his head slightly, his thumb still dancing over her skin as he gives her a slow, teasing grin. "What makes you think there's dessert?"
A smile captures her lips, making her feel at ease again. She's grateful for the distraction. Grateful that he so easily makes her cherish what she has instead of mourning what she lost. He doesn't even realize how much power he holds over her, doesn't know that, somehow, without even trying, he's anchoring her.
"Intuition," she replies smoothly.
He gives a soft laugh, his fingers lingering against hers for one more beat, just long enough to make her ache for more, before he finally lets go. The moment his touch is gone, she feels the loss of it. Like a sudden coldness creeping over her skin. She flexes her fingers slightly, resisting the urge to reach for his hand again. Instead, she watches as he rises from the table, gathering their plates and moving toward the kitchen. The quiet clatter of dishes fills the space between them, but all Donna can focus on is the ghost of his thumb against her palm.
A minute later, Harvey returns, setting two bowls on the table with a proud little flourish. "Et voilà, madame," he announces.
"Merci," she says with a smile as she takes in the sight before her: Two bowls of French vanilla ice cream, smothered in warm chocolate sauce and topped with fresh, soaking strawberries. She picks up her spoon, pointing at the bowl. "This is also your own creation, I assume?"
Donna takes a strawberry, placing it on her tongue before closing her lips around it. The second her teeth sink into the ripe fruit, juice gushes over her tongue. A perfect combination of sweet and tart, followed by the rich, velvety drizzle of warm chocolate. Before she can stop it, a soft, satisfied moan escapes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second, as she savors every last decadent bit as it melts on her tongue. She doesn't look at Harvey. Can't. But she feels his gaze. A heated kind of stare.
"Harvey Specter, I think you may have missed your true calling," she hums appreciatively, finally opening her eyes.
His smirk is instant, his voice smooth as he quips, "There's still time to open my own restaurant."
Donna lets out a soft giggle. "I'd be your best customer," she says, before they sink back into a comfortable silence. The tension, the unspoken pull between them, lingers in the air like the warmth of a fireplace on a cold night. And fuck, does she feel warm.
She steals glances at him, just quick ones, but every single time, he's already looking at her. And every time, he smiles at her like he's just happy she's here. Something about that does dangerous things to her heart. She can't stop thinking that this might be the best date she's ever had. And after tonight, there's no way she'll ever be able to treat him like just another parent at her daycare. Why should she? She wants him to be more than that. It's as clear to her now as twice two equals four.
"That was amazing! Thank you," Donna says, setting her spoon down. "Only thing missing was the whipped cream."
Harvey smirks. "Oh, you wanted whipped cream, huh?"
She lifts a playful eyebrow. "I mean, it would've been the cherry on top."
"Maybe next time."
Next time. Her heart skips, just for a second. She echoes it softly, almost absently. "Yeah… next time."
His voice is casual when he asks, "Is there anything else I can get you? More wine, maybe?"
She snorts, shaking her head. "No, I already had way too much."
"You're sure?" His smirk widens into a boyish grin, and Lord help her, it's unfairly attractive.
Donna laughs softly. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
Harvey's smirk is positively smug. "I wouldn't dare," he replies. Then his expression shifts, just a little—less teasing, more thoughtful. "Do you want… Should we sit down on the couch? I can light the fireplace."
"I'd love that," she murmurs, smiling.
Harvey nods, pushing back his chair. "Then let me put these away quickly."
She watches as he leans over to grab their empty bowls, and that's when she sees it: A dot of chocolate sauce, just below his lips. His lips. She shouldn't be staring at them, but damn, they really are something, aren't they? Perfectly shaped, deceptively soft-looking. And right now, stained with a bit of dessert.
"You, um…" Donna blinks, forcing her thoughts back on track. Get it together, Paulsen. She taps the same spot on her own face. "You've got dessert… right there."
Harvey lets out a chuckle, wiping at his chin with his sleeve, only making it worse.
She tilts her head, lips twitching. "No luck," she whispers. "May I?"
He nods, that smirk still lingering, but softer now. A little weaker. Almost shy.
Donna picks up a napkin from the table and leans in. The moment she touches him, he freezes. His smile falters, just a little, and his breath catches—so subtly she might not have noticed if she weren't so painfully aware of the moment. The flutter in her stomach makes her feel as though she swallowed a tiny bird that desperately wants to be set free. She tenderly wipes at his chin and when she's done, she doesn't pull away. But neither does he.
Harvey's gaze locks onto hers, his expression shifting into something tender. Something that sends fire through her veins. Donna swallows, trying desperately to ignore the way her eyes keep betraying her, keep flickering back down to his lips. Up until this point, Harvey had been avoiding her eyes, like he didn't trust himself to look at her too closely. But now? Now he's studying her. And holy fuck, she feels like she might actually forget how to breathe.
A/N: I know a lot of you are dying to have them kiss, and since I take so long to update (not by choice btw), I decided to link you the gdocs containing the most important part. I just ask that you don't mention it in the comments to not spoil it for other people. But hopefully, the next update's coming soon.
tinyurl*.*com*/*darveydaycare (remove the *s)
If you fail to open these links, go to my ao3 page.