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“Miss Paulsen?”
Donna turns around at the sound of her name and faces her doorman.
“There's a package for you.”
She steps forward automatically, but then remembers she didn’t order anything. She tells him as much, and her apprehension must not come through enough for the man, who gleefully bends down and lifts a red box onto his desk. It’s decorated with a singular golden bow.
“Then someone must have wanted to surprise you.”
She mentally goes through a list of who could fall into that category, but comes up short. Curiosity gets the better of her anyway, and she tilts the envelope stuck between the ribbons to read what’s written on it.
To: Donna Paulsen
From: Mr & Mrs Claus
Sceptically, she raises a brow, but John has seen her haul in Christmas gifts and decorations for years on end, so there’s no way to pretend now that this isn’t at least a bit intriguing.
“Did you see who dropped this off?” she asks.
“UPS.”
“Ooh,” she sighs. The answer John gives her is logical, but she hoped it would have revealed a bit more than, well, nothing. She eyes the box again, wondering if she signed up for some mailing list she’s long since forgotten, but the box lacks any sign of branding to indicate that.
“I guess, I’ll –“ she doesn’t bother finishing her sentence before she takes the red box in both her hands, bids her doorman a good night with a nod of her head and takes it up the elevator with her to the twelfth floor.
Once inside, she places the mysterious box on her dining table. She shrugs off her coat, hanging it over the back of a chair, not having the patience to hang it properly as she reaches for the envelope on the box and opens it.
Dearest Donna,
Mr & Mrs Claus have learned that the past year has been challenging in more ways than one, but fear not, Santa is here to bring you a bit of holiday cheer this season. Inside this box, you’ll find twelve small activities to make sure this might be the most unforgettable Christmas yet.
Because you deserve the best.
Love,
Mr & Mrs Claus
* * * * * * * * * *
Donna stares at the empty can of coffee pads and curses under her breath. Due to the arrival of the mysterious box, she completely forgot to go back out and pick up some groceries, and now she’s paying the price for it. Filling up the kettle with water instead, she picks up her bowl of cereal and returns to the culprit of her current situation.
She rereads the letter, takes a bite of her breakfast and then figures now is as good a moment as any to see what this box is all about. She opens it and quickly scans the content. The top envelope is covered with a large golden 1.
Picking up her letter opener, she slides the knife under the envelope lid and wedges it through until the card is freed. Hoping the content of the envelope might reveal more of its giver, she’s a little disappointed to see that the content is written in the same elegant font as the accompanying letter was. But her disappointment doesn’t last long when she properly reads it.
On the first day of Christmas, Santa gave to me:
a gift card for a cup of coffee
Flipping over the piece of paper, she sees that the gift card is for the brand-new coffee shop near the firm—the one she’s been meaning to try for weeks. The sound of the kettle turning off from the kitchen wakes her from her thoughts and brings her back to her current predicament.
.
She gets out of the cab at the corner of the firm and makes her way into the small street. The smell of freshly brewed coffee comes her way, and she licks her lips in anticipation of the hot drink. Just as she steps into the small establishment, she hears an all-too-familiar order called out.
“And one black, with two sugars and a splash of vanilla.”
Donna looks up at the bar instantly, and that’s when she sees him. Harvey.
His name is on the tip of her tongue when she sees him turn around and notices he spots her too, then. It’s the small smile on his face that grows into a full-blown grin, leaving her rooted to her spot and unable to speak for a moment.
“Hey,” he greets her when he steps closer, and she manages to return the greeting at last. He makes a somewhat awkward side step to let the next customer through, and that’s when she spots it - a cup of coffee in each hand. He notices her gaze drift off for a second and remembers why he was here.
“Right,” Harvey mumbles with a smile. “I got you this.”
She looks at the stretched-out hand between them, eyes him a little suspiciously because in all the years she’s worked with him, she can count the times he’s gotten her coffee unprompted on one hand. She takes it anyway, bringing it up to smell before taking a sip of the much-needed drink.
“Ooh, you’re a prince among men,” she whispers, “you have no idea how much I needed this.”
Harvey watches the way her eyes close in appreciation upon the first sip, and he smiles, pleased with himself. Her reaction is enough to tell him he got it right, but he asks anyway. “Skim milk, whipped cream and sugar, right?”
Her eyes open again in a beat, and they lock with his. And it takes her a moment to nod in agreement because she’s pretty sure she’s never told him about this particular concoction for a reason. At least not since then. Did she drink this back in the day at the DA’s office, too?
“Yeah,” she answers, ready to give her spiel about skim milk, but when he keeps his gaze on her, she cannot get herself to utter whipped cream again in his presence. So instead, she thanks him and signals to the door.
He nods and follows her out the door, walking side by side as they make their way to the office. They discuss their days ahead, but there’s nothing in his recap that suggests he was at the coffee shop for the same reason she was.
At the end of the day, she’s rationalised running into Harvey at the coffee shop this morning as nothing more than a coincidence. No one else at the office gave off any sign of knowing about the December box she received last night, and therefore, she’s no closer to figuring out who got her this box.
* * * * * * * * * *
She’s thought about it a lot last night, checked the box and the shipping label extensively, but nothing indicates the box was shipped from the other side of the country, and thus her most logical answer as to who could be behind it comes up short.
The way the letter is signed, "Mr and Mrs Claus," tells her it’s not just one person behind it, which means the option her heart might be leaning towards doesn’t make sense either. She’s therefore narrowed it down to either her parents or Louis and Sheila. Her Jewish friend may not celebrate Christmas himself, but he was always all ears about her plans, so it’s not far-fetched to think he could be behind it. If anyone else at the office knows what she’s been through, it’s her friend.
She reaches for the second envelope from the box; it’s thicker than yesterday’s, and a little shake tells her it’s not just a card this time around. She flicks the lid open and slides out the card.
On the second day of Christmas, Santa gave to me,
not a pair of turtledoves but a pair of fine leather gloves.
She stares at the beautiful Italian leather, but the longer she takes in the accessory, the more it seems like something is off. The fingers look too long. Curiously, she reaches into the box and picks up one of the gloves and slides her hand into it. It’s definitely too big for her.
She turns her hand over and wiggles her fingers, and it hits her then. It’s a man’s pair of gloves.
She’s a little disheartened, but then figures she could gift them to Harvey. As a thank-you for the coffee he got her yesterday.
.
The client meeting Harvey had this morning ran late, and he arrives back at the office a little after lunch. The first thing he sees upon entering his office is the orange Post-it note on his desk. Without even knowing what’s written on it, he feels his lips curl up in a smile already, because there’s only one person at the office who uses this specific colour.
Tossing the files on his table, he quickly strides to his desk and lifts the little note.
Thanks for the coffee –D
He smiles, then reaches down to grab what the note had been attached to. Turning it over in his hands, he sees the finest leather gloves, and when he tries them on, they fit perfectly. It’s a beautiful gift, but a little much for the cup of coffee he got her.
Pulling on each finger one by one, he removes the glove and makes his way over to her office. He’s just about to knock on the glass door when she looks up at him with a smile.
“Hey.”
He returns the greeting, steps into her office and lifts the gift she left for him in his hand; the unspoken ‘isn’t this a bit much for a cup of coffee’ lingers in the air, and she simply swivels in her chair.
“Then maybe buy me a coffee again sometime.”
Harvey bobs his head up and down in agreement, more than happy to do so. But something in his expression tells Donna he is still questioning the reason for the gift.
“It was a delivery mistake, and I couldn’t return it, so I figured…”
He watches her shrug. He has no reason to doubt her explanation, but something does feel off. He decides to let it slide for now. So he smiles, lifts the gloves again, and whispers, “Thank you.”
.
Once he gets home later that evening, he makes a straight line to the red box on his kitchen counter. He didn’t have the time to open today’s envelope this morning, as he was running late, so he does so now.
Sliding his thumb under the lid, he wedges it open and pulls out the card.
On the second day of Christmas, Santa gave to me,
not a pair of turtledoves but a pair of fine leather gloves.
“Huh,” he mutters to no one in particular. He stares at the card again, then at last reaches for the rest of the content, and upon first touch, he knows. These gloves feel the same as the ones Donna gave him earlier. He walks back to the entrance, takes the new gloves from his pocket, and compares them to the set from the box. They’re identical, but the pair he got now is smaller.
He inspects the box again. At first, he thought Donna had given this to him; it felt like something she would do. But then he’d run into her at the exact coffee shop he’d gotten a gift card for, and now the gloves. She’s still high on his suspect list, but he also knows Donna wouldn’t make a mistake like this.
He doesn’t get much time to run it over when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He picks it up and sees it’s Mike calling him.
“Mike,” he greets his friend.
“Harvey,” the younger man greets him back. “How has your week been?”
Harvey pauses for a second and stares into the distance as he ponders the question. “Is everything okay?” he asks in return.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“You never asked me how my week has been before-“
“That’s because I was usually around to witness it, but I don’t know if you noticed I live in Seattle now, so humour me.”
Harvey shakes his head and decides to forgo commenting on how it’s been more than three months since they moved across the country, and this is the first time he’s asked. But truth to be told, he misses his friend, so he gives in and recounts the week. ”I ran into Donna at a new coffee shop near the office.”
“Donna smokes weed?”
Harvey chokes on air for a second, and he coughs once. He knows she did it once, with him, but he’s not going to tell Mike that. “I meant an actual coffee shop, not all of us are potheads like you.”
“So, how’s Donna?”
“Good,” he answers, but that particular question has him truly wondering what’s going on. So he adds, “I guess, why?”
“Nothing.”
“Did Rachel tell you something?”
“Is there something Donna could have told Rachel that she could have told me that you don’t want me to know about?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mike,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He has a feeling the kid is angling for some kind of information, and he isn’t sure how he feels about that yet.
“So, you ran into Donna, and then…’
He shakes his head, takes a deep breath. And years ago, he would have shut down this conversation before it even started, but things are different now. He’s different now. “We got coffee and walked to the office,” he explains, then, because he just can’t help himself. He adds, “Why?”
“Nothing.”
“If you say nothing one more time.”
“It’s just… You looked very cosy together at the wedding and – “
And there it is. But he isn’t surprised Mike brought it up; deep down, a part of him even thinks he was waiting for the kid to do so. To validate what’s been on his mind, day and night. For months.
And as much as he wishes he could say differently, he can’t. “Mike, Donna and I are not together.”
“You got there fast.”
Despite knowing that this was exactly what Mike was going for, he still curses under his breath. Old habits die hard, or something like that. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Shoving a big spoon of his breakfast cereal into his mouth, he fixes his tie with his other hand. Due to Mike’s not-so-subtle prying last night, he’s running late again this morning, meaning for the second morning in a row, he doesn’t have the time to look into the box yet.
He isn’t certain, but when he spots a white envelope with his name on it on his desk that morning, he does have an inkling as to what could be inside. He opens it up and looks at the Christmas card she’s given him. He sits down at his desk and turns it over to read.
Dear Harvey,
I’m so proud of you for going to see your mother this past year. I hope you have the best of times celebrating the holidays in Boston.
May all your dreams come true in the new year.
Love,
Donna
.
The rest of the day has been so hectic, he hasn’t had the chance to stop by her office and thank her yet. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about doing so at least once every hour. Having stored her card in his breast pocket, keeping it close, he’s caught himself reaching up to feel if it’s there at least three times.
He tells himself Mike has gotten into his head.
He then immediately corrects that thought and settles back on what’s ultimately just the truth. He cannot stop thinking about her, hasn’t been able to since the wedding, the kiss. Hell, in retrospect, maybe ever.
It’s both a refreshing and downright scary realisation to have, and he isn’t even certain when that realisation truly came. It could have been last week, a month ago, or even years back when he thinks about it now. It just all blurs together to the same thing.
That they should be together.
That it feels like they’ve been together forever.
Except they’re not. They’re not together.
And that’s the scary part. Because as sure as he is of his feelings at last, he isn’t sure about hers. If anything, the last verbal confirmations she’s given him weren’t even that. In fact, quite the opposite, she shut it down.
I didn’t feel anything when I kissed you, Harvey.
Whatever I thought might be there wasn’t.
Someone could overhear and misunderstand that that was thirteen years ago.
And yet, as much as he’s tried to focus on these words and push the feelings that have been brimming on the surface down again. He can’t stop them anymore. He cannot for the life of him stop loving her.
But risking it all, yeah, that’s another thing entirely.
He shakes his head to clear his mind, reaches inside his breast pocket for the card once more. This time, he removes it, reading it once more before he places it on his mantle next to the Christmas cards he’s gotten from his family and friends.
He figures that maybe this year he should write some cards too. He makes his way over to his desk, fires up his iPad and places an overnight order. Please with himself for doing so, he finally allows himself to look at the mystery box again. Pulling it towards him, he opens the thick envelope with a golden three on it.
On the third day of Christmas, Santa asked of me:
Write a card to friends and family
Alongside the prompt card, ten postcards fall out. He stares at the stack on his desk, then peers at his iPad. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” he mumbles with a sigh, but he grabs his pen nonetheless. Figures he could always use the cards he ordered for next year.
He writes one for his mother first, one for Marcus next, and then there’s Donna. He turns over the card and starts with the same message he’s written on the two previous ones.
Happy Holidays
-H
He stares at his handwriting, frowns for a moment. The card looks rather empty if he’s being honest. Turning the lid of his pen again, he adds to it.
Donna
Happy Holidays
Best wishes for the new year
-H
It still doesn’t feel right. He pushes his chair back and gets up to grab the card she’s written for him. Reading it over as if the words aren’t already ingrained into his soul, he sits down and scans it again.
Dear Harvey,
I’m so proud of you for going to see your mother this past year. I hope you have the best of times celebrating the holidays in Boston.
May all your dreams come true in the new year.
Love,
Donna
He picks up a new card then and tries again.
Dear Donna
I’m so proud of you for becoming COO.
“Shit,” he stops writing after the first sentence. This feels too much like a copy of her card. He pushes it aside and grabs the next one.
Dear Donna
He bites down on his lip, taps his pen down as he thinks over what to write for her. When he returns his gaze to the card, he sees a hundred little dots dancing across the otherwise empty piece of paper. It’s tossed aside as quickly as the last one, and he reaches for a fourth one.
Dear Donna
He decides to go with Happy Holidays for a start on this one, too. It’s generic, but it works. It’s a start, and maybe he can add something about her new role, just in a different way. He thinks about how she’s always supported him, guided him.
Dear Donna
Happy Holidays
You’ve been one hell of a COO this year. Thank you for always having my back, with Louis and Zane and anyone else, for that matter. For having faith in me when I’m not sure I even deserve it. For helping me make things right with my mother. I’m sure she would love to thank you for that. I hope you’ll find you have found your more and
He stares at the bottom of the card, having run out of space for more. He isn’t even sure what else he would have written now, and he cringes when he rereads the card. With a deep sigh, he switches out the card for another blank one. He takes a swig of his scotch.
The next two somehow end up filled with the same kind of rambling in handwriting that’s starting to look more and more like chickenscratch. And honestly, he wonders how the hell he can write so much without actually saying what it is that he wants to say, which is that he loves her.
That the dream she mentioned on his card is her.
He stares at the pile of cards that should never end up in her hands, and suddenly it brings him back to fifth grade when Mrs Reynolds had them make and write Valentine’s Day cards. He grins now, he can’t remember the name of the girl he wrote his card to, but he realises now, she too, was a redhead. Maybe he’s always had a type.
He remembers writing down that question: Will you be my Valentine? Sounded so simple back then, but now - it isn’t even the proper holiday. He shakes his head, but when he glances back at the card in front of him, his hand has betrayed him, and that very question is written down.
Dear Donna
Will you be my Valentine?
“Ooh, for fuck’s sake,” he curses under his breath. Sliding the card aside yet again, he blindly reaches for another only to realise it’s the last one—his last chance to get it right. He picks it up, turns it over, and truly looks at it for a moment.
It looks way too familiar.
Flipping over all the cards he’d just written, they look all the same, and then his gaze lands on the card Donna had gifted him. He turns it over, only to see it’s the exact same print as well.
And suddenly things don’t add up anymore, or maybe they do.
The same cards
The same gloves
The same coffee shop
Mike calling, and sounding not at all surprised about their run-in. He shakes his head and reaches for his phone, opening up his text chain with his, potentially former, friend.
Did you get these Advent boxes for Donna and me? Then, as a thought crosses his mind, he sends another text. Are you trying to set us up?
He knows the answer before he even gets a text back, but it confirms his suspicions. Would it be so bad if that’s what happens? Another text comes mere seconds later. Don’t tell Rachel or anyone I told you.
Harvey rolls his eyes at the latter, as if he’s going to risk any development he has with Donna by telling her their friends are behind this. He looks at the first text again. Would it be so bad if that’s what happens?
No.
It wouldn’t.
He downs the remainder of his drink, licks his lip and then mutters, “Fuck it.”
Dear Donna
All I want for Christmas is you. I love you.
Yours, H
* * * * * * * * * *
On the fourth day, the card simply says, "Listen to some Christmas music today”. An easy task. One she has already done every single day since Thanksgiving. It’s also why she has long forgotten about the prompt by the time she’s ready to go home that day.
Closing her laptop, she reaches for her coat and is ready to put it on when she realises she isn’t the only one left at the office. Seeing light coming from his corner, she drapes her coat over her arm and makes her way down to his office.
The closer she gets, the clearer it becomes why he’s still at the office. Soft tunes come from his record player, and the question as to why he’s still here never gets asked. He smiles at her, but it’s the way his gaze focuses on the music right away again that has her listen closely.
It sounds like his father.
“Is this?”
“My dad, yeah.”
She closes her eyes for a moment and takes in the music. The saxophone is playing a familiar tune, and yet she’s certain she’s never heard this before. “I’ve never heard this one before, how...”
“It’s a holiday album,” he answers, swivelling his chair to the right. He gets up and makes his way over to his decanter. “I used to play it only on Christmas Eve, but I guess I was feeling the spirit.”
She snorts at that, and when he gives her a look, she has to hold her laugh and shake her head. She drapes her coat over the back of the chair. “Who are you?”
“Just your regular Harvey.”
His answer makes her insides twist and turn, and she looks away. “You know,” she muses instead, picking on some lint on her coat. “You'd better make sure Louis doesn’t hear you play it. For a Jewish man, he’s very much into the office Christmas party.”
He laughs now. “Why do you think I waited till everyone else went home?” He lifts a glass, fills it with Macallan 18, then turns to look at her again. “Want a drink?”
“I would.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Donna.”
“Peggy, hi,” she answers her phone, pressing it between her ear and her shoulder as she makes her way into the elevator. “Everything okay?”
“Of course it is,” Peggy answers. “I just wanted to thank you for your large donation.”
She instantly stops sifting through the files in her hand, reaches up for her phone and switches it to her other ear. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Ooh, come on, Donna. I know it was you.”
“Peggy,” Donna starts again, slowly this time. She nods at the intern next to her and then quickly slips out of the elevator and makes her way over to her office. “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So the 250.000 dollar donation we got this morning isn’t from you?”
“The –“ she pauses, for a second, wrecks her brain over what this could mean. “No, Peggy,” she says. “I would love to take credit, but I didn’t do that.”
“Ooh,” Peggy replies. She sounds as confused as Donna is. “Well, either way. Thank you again for everything.”
Donna stares at her phone long after the call has ended, and she repeats the number in her mind again and again. Wondering which of their clients could have decided to make a late donation to the cause, but she comes up short.
Even Samantha doesn’t know anything about it, and it remains a mystery until she opens envelope number five later that evening.
On the fifth day of Christmas, Santa asked of me:
Give generously to a charity
And suddenly, the puzzle pieces start to fall into place. The Christmas music he was playing in his office yesterday. Running into him at the coffee shop a few days back. Those things weren’t just a coincidence; he must have the same advent box as she has.
And this was him.
Harvey made this donation.
For her.
She spends the rest of the evening figuring out a way to return the favour.
* * * * * * * * * *
Donna comes into the office extra early, wanting to see his face when he gets in. She’s even turned her radio to the channel she knows he always listens to on his drive to the office, just so she can hear the surprise she arranged for him, too.
And it feels extra special this time around, hearing his father’s music being played on the air. She’s giddy with anticipation for his arrival, pacing around her office. Walking back and forth and then sitting down behind her desk again.
To say seeing his surprised face is an understatement, because of all the reactions she pictured last night, the tear-stained red eyes weren’t one of them. She quickly rolls back her chair and makes her way over to him as he enters her office.
There’s a slight smile on his face, but in her panic, she doesn’t even notice it. Instead, she wraps her arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a hug. “You okay?”
It takes him a second to realise what’s happening, his arms slowly folding around her frame as he holds her close. He can feel her fingers dance over his shoulder in a soft caress; he’s almost sure he hears an apology roll from her tongue, but she has nothing to apologise for, so he reassures her instantly. “That was the best thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you.”
She sighs in relief and then gently pulls back, squeezing his arm twice. “Well,” she muses, “I did work for you for over a decade.”
She watches his smile then, one that says ‘you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me’ and for a moment she gets lost in it, so much so that she doesn’t notice Gretchen knocking on her door. “I hate to interrupt, but your nine o’clock is here.”
“Right.” She takes a step back at the same time Harvey does, her waist suddenly feeling cold without his touch. She tries to look anywhere but him.
He knows he has to go to his meeting, but not before he finds out why she did this. He stalls in the doorway, turns to look at her again. “Why did you do it?”
“Why did you donate to my friend Peggy’s charity?”
He draws in a breath and searches for an answer. He didn’t think she’d find out, or not this soon anyway. He watches her lips turn up into a smile, as if she knows the answer he’s still looking for.
“You got one too, didn’t you?” she asks.
“What?”
“The advent calendar box,” she answers, lifting a red envelope with a golden six on it. “Have you opened today’s yet?”
He shakes his head, and her smile grows even bigger. As beautiful a sight as it is, it does have him slightly panicked in this instance. “What was on the card?”
“Don’t worry about it?”
He for sure is now. “Donna?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
.
She shows up at his office around four in the afternoon, dressed in her coat, asking if he’s ready to go.
Harvey looks at her, confused, not sure what he needs to be ready for. He turns to check his calendar, and just as he’s about to say he has a meeting, he realises it's Donna who put it there. “Do you still have access to my calendar?”
She only hums and moves to pick up his coat from the coatrack in the corner. He meets her there. ‘’What was on today’s card?”
She hands him his scarf. “You’ll see.”
They go down to see Ray waiting for them, and Harvey’s suspicion grows even more. He gets the door for Donna, and then rounds the Lexus to the other side. As he gets in, his hand lands on the backseat, and he feels a pine needle under his hand. Picking it up, he rolls it around between his fingers, wondering how this got here and if it has anything to do with this mysterious outing Donna seems to have planned.
He steals a look at the redhead, wanting to ask her, but she’s happily chatting away with his driver. So instead, he peers outside, watches them cross one street after the other. He feels his stomach drop when they pass a giant Christmas store, but to his relief, the slowing down was just due to traffic, and they turn at the next intersection.
He supposes he could ask Ray, but if he knows Donna and he likes to think he does, he knows she will have instructed his driver to keep it a surprise. So instead of what would undoubtedly be a futile attempt, he returns his gaze to the changing landscape as they drive through the busy streets of the city he loves.
He isn’t sure if he’s surprised, relieved or even slightly disappointed when they come to a halt in front of Saks on 5th Ave. “Saks?”
Donna opens the door and gets out. When she sees no movement on his side, she peers back into the car. “You’re not afraid of a department store now, are you?”
“I wasn’t before,” he reasons, sliding over the seat until he’s on her side of the car. He gets out, too.
“It won’t be long, Ray,” Donna calls back, but it gives him a little hope nonetheless.
.
He feels a little bit like a kid being dragged through a store, but tries to focus on the feeling of her arm hooked around his instead. It looks right, like it belongs there, and it leaves him distracted for just long enough to make it to the third floor until he realises where they ended up.
“Why are we in the Christmas decorations department?”
“Because you’re going to get some.”
“Donna, I don’t even have –“ he stops his sentence when he remembers the pine needle back in the car.
Donna can see he has started to piece it together; she doesn’t confirm anything with words, just smiles and tugs on his elbow. “Now, pick a colour, will you?”
“A colour?”
“Yeah, you know, do you want a silver or a gold tree?”
He doesn’t have it in him to tell her he’d rather not have a tree at all, but he’s figured he’s got one whether he wants one or not. He looks around, then at the abundance of decorations spread out on display before them, one colour even brighter than the next—blue, yellow, hot pink. None screams Christmas to him until he spots it - red.
“Well?’ She asks, and he peers at her again, the decision made in an instant.
“Red,” he says then, “I want red.”
His answer takes her somewhat by surprise, and it may show in her face because an explanation follows quickly. “My grandma used to have a red tree, I always…”
She smiles sweetly and walks ahead to the section of the store dedicated to his colour of choice.
They circle the stands, taking in everything that it has to offer. He watches her with amazement when she stares at the display, eyes every bauble, reaching but never really picking one. He copies her motions. Browsing for decorations for his first-ever tree as an adult. He doesn’t notice he’s holding onto a mistletoe one when she calls his name. He snaps his head quickly, places the glass ornament back, and walks over to where she’s standing.
She has a box in her hand, which she quickly pushes into his. And then a second box lands on top of it, a smaller third one next. And he can’t help but chuckle as he catches his own reflection carrying all the things she’s picking as he follows her around as if it isn’t his tree, but truthfully, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Another two small boxes later, Donna announces that she thinks they’ve got it all. He pays, and they get back to the car. Ray drives them to his place, and it’s an unspoken agreement that she follows him up.
The way his doorman, Ed, nods his head at Donna tells him the man is also in on the scheme, and the second he sets foot into his apartment, he knows it’s more than just that. In front of him, in the corner where his black leather lounger used to be, is the biggest tree he has ever seen in a house, and his grandmother used to go all out.
Donna tiptoes ahead as if she owns the place, and in a way, she does, because when she flicks the switch, and the lights turn on, he genuinely wonders why he never bothered getting one before. The sight in front of him is bright, festive, but most of all feels like home.
“Thanks, Donna,” he tells her, placing the bags with decorations on the counter.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she reasons, “check your fridge”
He frowns but does as he’s told anyway. Opening the door, he sees it’s filled with produce he did not have this morning. Door in hand, he turns to look at Donna again, who drapes her coat over the back of one of his chairs.
“You cook, and I'll decorate.”
He nods, takes off his coat and suit jacket. Rolls up his sleeves and then rechecks his fridge to see what she got for them. He gets it out and pours them a glass of wine before each gets to work.
After searing the steak, he places it alongside the vegetables on a roast tray and slides them into the oven. Washing his hands, he turns around to take a sip of his wine and admire the way the tree is transforming in front of him.
It already looked festive with just the lights, but now it’s filled with baubles and garlands. And he listens to her hum, as he watches her climb on the chair again to reach a higher spot on the tree. It truly is a sight to behold, the way she just fits into his home, his life. He takes another sip of his wine, places his glass back down, and as he does so, he catches a glimpse of the discarded cards on his desk.
Quietly, he walks over to the office corner of his apartment. And before he reaches for the cards, he steals one more glance at her to make sure she isn’t looking at him. When he’s certain he’s in the clear, he quickly stacks all the cards onto a pile and hides them under a magazine.
“What do you think?”
He quickly lets go of the magazine and straightens up, turning to look at her as if he wasn’t trying to make sure she wouldn’t come across the eight cards he ruined trying to write one for her. “Looks fantastic.”
She smiles instantly, but the way his gaze remains on her instead of the tree has her breath falter, and as she tries to look away herself, she loses her balance. A small yelp leaving her lips is all it takes for him to spring into action. With two quick strides, he has his hand on her waist and makes sure she doesn’t fall.
She can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the fabric of her dress, her gaze slowly drops to his hands. The bare forearms coming out of his rolled-up sleeves, and then his face, the way he looks at her once again. It makes her stomach flutter.
“Careful,” he says then, lifting her and placing her safely on the ground. “Your dad would kill me if you got hurt.”
Donna snickers at that, playfully slapping his chest as if scolding him for such a comment. But she can’t help but notice how he doesn’t let go, and thus she lets her hand rest on his chest too, and for a second she thinks she can feel his heartbeat quicken just like hers does in this moment.
It's the second time today she finds herself in his embrace, and she cannot help but wonder what would have happened if Gretchen hadn’t interrupted them. What could happen now -
*beep, beep, beep*
It takes him a second to register where the noise is coming from. “The oven,” he mumbles, letting Donna go at last. His fingers still tingle by the time he’s put on the oven gloves, and he takes a deep breath before opening it and pulling out the tray of food. Placing it on the kitchen island, he picks up two plates and fixes one for each of them.
The dinner is delicious, and the rest of the night is, against his expectations, anything but awkward. They talk about the upcoming holidays, how Marcus is doing (good, despite the divorce), and if he’s looking forward to spending time with his mother (he is, but still nervous about it), and if he’s gotten gifts for his niece and nephew yet (he did, Marcus gave him a list to pick from).
He asks about her plans. Nothing much, her parents are on holiday, and her sister is not a topic of discussion. She tells him she’s staying home, and he wishes things were as simple as just asking her to come with him to Boston, but they aren’t. Not yet. They’re close, though. He can feel that, which is why it’s of utmost importance not to screw things up now.
“So,” Donna muses, then, pulling the red box over the counter towards her. It’s identical to the one she has at home. “Have you figured out yet who gave us these?”
He knows, but he also knows Donna loves nothing more than figuring out a mystery herself. Therefore, he stays with his original answer. “I thought you gave it to me.”
* * * * * * * * * *
She isn’t entirely sure how she ended up here, curled up in bed talking to Harvey in the wee hours of the night. She just knows she doesn’t want to hang up, even if his answers become slower and she is struggling to stay awake, too.
It’s been a while since this happened, and it’s never happened like this before. Sure, he called at midnight or at six in the morning because he needed someone to talk him out of a problem, and she’s always been happy to help, but this, this was different.
There is no problem to solve, no drama that needs immediate attention or a life-altering situation she needs to guide him through. This is almost a continuation of the night before, where they talk about everything and nothing. Full of laughter. They're just being them, like they used to be.
It only hits her when he mentions Mike and Rachel again just before ending their call. How much fun it was to talk to the couple, and how he missed hanging out with the four of them. Except now that she thinks about it, they barely spoke with the four of them for an hour. Mike came up with a bullshit excuse first, and then Rachel followed suit, leaving her alone with Harvey.
She stares at her phone and then at the card that started all this.
On the seventh day of Christmas, Santa wished for a fun night for all. So give your friend a call.
* * * * * * * * * *
“So…” she starts, walking into his office, quietly closing the door behind her.
Harvey pauses the typing up of his email and looks up at the redhead as she walks towards his desk, awaiting whatever it is that she's going to say next.
“Last night was – “
There’s a pause there, and he isn’t sure if she’s doing it on purpose or if she genuinely cannot find the word. “Fun?” he offers, shifting in his seat. His eyes remain on her as he checks how she responds to his description.
“Fun,” she repeats. But it sounds more like she’s testing out the word for the first time. “Yeah,” She adds then. “It’s just… It kind of felt like we were being parent-trapped.”
He waits for a second, wondering if there’s something else she’s going to say, but when there isn’t, he decides to go with the truth. “Because we are,” Harvey replies. He rolls his chair to the side and opens the drawer of his desk. He reaches inside and hands her the pair of gloves from his box. “These are for you.”
“What?” she mutters, staring down at the leather in her hand. A perfect match to the pair that came in her box, but this time it’s her size. She learnt he had gotten the same kind of Christmas box the other day, but looking at the pair of gloves that was clearly meant to be hers while she got his, makes her heartbeat drop to the pit of her stomach. She slowly looks back up at him, unsure how all of this is making her feel. She tries to get a read on how he feels, but it’s like she’s lost all ability to decipher him.
Harvey can see her trying to process the news. Knows multiple questions are running through her mind, but for once, he doesn’t wait for her to pronounce them. Or any one of them, for that matter. “I spoke to Mike the other day, and when I told him I ran into you at the coffee shop. He did not sound at all surprised.”
“Right.”
“The boxes,” he starts again. “They’re from Mike and Rachel. They’re –“ he takes a pause, tries to find the words to describe it, but figures it’s best to just come out with it right away. “I guess they’re trying to set us up.”
When his answer is met with nothing but silence, he steals a quick glance at the redhead in front of him. He scrapes his throat once, pushing his chair back as he comes to a stand as well. “And I know you didn’t feel anything when –“ He bobs his head to the side, leaving the rest unspoken. “So we can stop with all of this if you want, but – “
She inhales deeply, the pit in her stomach only grows, and it suddenly feels as if this entire conversation is happening in slow motion. She’s unsure of what to respond to first: the knowledge that Mike and Rachel are behind this or the rebuttal that should have come after his mention of the kiss. The but in his sentence stops her from doing either, as the anticipation of what might come has her feeling hot and cold at the same time.
“But I guess these last couple of days, spending time with you. It made me realise that I missed that. Us.”
“Oh.”
“So, do you – I mean, would you like to do the rest of the activities or whatever the hell those two planned, together? As friends?”
As friends.
She repeats the two words in her mind, lets them dance on her tongue, but she doesn’t repeat them out loud, because when she thinks back to the last two days, it feels as more than that. More than friends.
She swallows once, physically pushing away the hope her subconscious had brought up for something her rational mind knows will never come. And even if she knows, deep down, better than to agree, than to feed into that fantasy, she does so anyway.
Because she, too, has missed him, missed them.
“Of course,” she answers, and she means it. Wholeheartedly. Because even if it means she gets to spend time with him just as friends, she’ll do so gladly. Because he’s her best one.
He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Part of him feared this conversation would end differently, that she would have put a stop to it completely once she knew Mike and Rachel were setting them up. He knows she said she didn’t feel anything, and apart from that one moment in his apartment, he has no reason to believe otherwise.
As much as it pains him to know that what he feels for her will never be reciprocated in the same way. It’s also a relief to know that living by her rule for all these years wasn’t for nothing. That if anything, they’ll always be friends, that he’ll always have her in his life like that.
“Great.”
“Great,” she repeats, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She turns around and prepares to return to her work when he calls after her.
“Did you check today’s card yet?”
“Huh?”
“The card,” he repeats, lifting the eighth envelope in his hand. “Did you check is]t yet?”
“Uh, no,” she mumbles in return, reaching for it when he extends it towards her. She looks down at the envelope and back up at him, suddenly feeling a bit under pressure opening it in front of him. She does so anyway.
On the eighth day of Christmas, Santa suggested to me: watch a Christmas movie.
“They want us to watch a Christmas movie.”
“Oh,” he answers. “Okay. So, your place or -“
.
He almost regrets agreeing to this outing because, as painful as it was to basically hear Donna confirm his fears that there could never be anything more between them. It still pales in comparison to the torture that’s going to be the next one and a half hours. He looks around the room and back to their assigned seats. Or seat, instead.
A love seat.
To share.
Having arrived at the cinema on a last-minute decision, there was only one place left with two seats next to one another. And there’s no way in hell he’d make a point about not sitting here, lest it get even more awkward than it already was.
He gives the redhead a small smile and then turns to sit in the right corner, pressing himself up to the armrest as much as humanly possible. But he can still feel the heat radiating off of her body as she sits down next to him. There’s but an inch between them, and if he were to adjust his foot just so, his thigh would press against hers. He curses under his breath at the thought.
“You okay?”
It takes him a second to realise the whisper from the left is directed at him and even though the lights just turned down, he can still see her face perfectly up close. Her eyes convey the question she asked before, and he nods once, but it’s not the truth.
“Actually,” he whispers, sliding to the edge of the seat. “I’m going to get us something to eat after all.”
“Ooh,” she breathes, nodding once. She flinches when his pinkie finger brushes her knee, as he pushes himself to stand. “Okay,” she adds in a whisper, but it only comes out after he’s left the room.
She folds her hands into her lap, picking at the edge of her nail. She watches the trailers run in, and when the third one comes to an end, and he’s still not returned, she starts to wonder if he bailed altogether.
Part of her wouldn’t even blame him if he did. She bites down on her lip and thinks back to the conversation that had in her office an hour ago. The awkward parting in the lobby and the silent car ride over to this place.
A supposedly neutral ground, it’s why she suggested it over going back to hers or his, but no action makes up for the regret she feels for not speaking up. For not letting him know that that was a lie.
But then again, there’s the way he so nonchalantly bought up knowing that Mike and Rachel are setting them up, and immediately following it by telling her he knows she doesn’t feel anything.
And then the friend's comments, it almost feels as if he was letting her down gently. As if this was his way of reminding her that he doesn’t want more. Doesn’t want a relationship, at least not with her.
And she knows this, deep down, she’s known this for years. It’s why she always told herself to move on. Always shut down any sliver of hope she might have had and most of all, lie to herself for years about her feelings. Because she does have them, they just can’t mean anything.
She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even notice he’s back until the couch dips next to her and his knee bumps into hers as he turns to hand over her drink.
She mouths thanks, taking it from his hand and doing her utmost best not let her fingers brush against his. He nods once and positions the box of popcorn so that it balances on both their legs. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing much,” she whispers in return, but in truth, she missed just as much as he, and she also knows he’s seen this movie before. She watches him take a sip of his beer, mirrors the motion, brings the wine to her lips, and forces herself to focus on the movie. She barely lasts half an hour before his presence becomes too distracting again.
.
He clings to a paper popcorn bowl until they’re outside, stuffing it into the first bin they come across. He brings his hands up to fix his scarf, then blows on them to keep them warm before stuffing them into his pockets lest he do something stupid like reach for her hand.
Friends, he tells himself again. He steals a glance in her direction, then redirects his gaze to the road ahead again. He kicks a bit of snow with his shoe. “So,” he starts. “That was fun.”
She peers up at the man beside her, one eyebrow raised as she ponders over his assessment. And maybe he notices her hesitation to the statement because he gives her a look in return. She doesn’t want to smile, but she can’t help herself, she looks away right after. “Yeah, it was.”
And it’s the truth too, cause even though sitting next to him and feeling his every move was torture in a way. His soft mumbling along of the most important quotes, the way his laughter rang in her ears for minutes after it had died down already, and honestly, just spending time with him was fun.
So much so that she doesn’t want the night to end. Even if it’s just as friends.
“Do you want to walk down Fifth Avenue?”
Her question takes him by surprise, and he stares at her for a momen,t trying to think of any excuse for not blurting out, sure already. “What’s on-“
“We can watch the displays; it looks like there won’t be any cabs available for a while in this weather anyway.”
He pretends to think about it for a moment, but his answer would have always been the same. “Sure,” he nods his head in the direction, and he walks up next to her as she starts moving again.
It’s cold, and it’s just stopped snowing, and from the corner of his eye, he can see a cab drive by, then another. He chooses not to comment on it, instead watching her as she watches one display after the other. He figures she must have seen hundreds of these in her lifetime, and yet the amazement he sees on her face is nothing short of extraordinary.
“Ooh, look at this one.”
And he does, but only for a second before his attention drifts off to the redhead next to him again. “Beautiful.”
Her snicker makes him realise his answer does not fit the display they stopped in front of. He takes it in now, truly. And while masterfully created, beautiful is not a word to describe it, for the Santa Claus sitting in the windowsill looks an awful lot like her dad.
“I’m telling him.”
“No, you’re not.”
He watches her laugh, the way she sticks out her tongue at him in jest. And fuck being friends, this is the woman he’s hopelessly in love with.
“Yes, I am.”
She skips ahead, and he follows her willingly, her name leaving his lips in a laugh. Each time she stops at a display, she asks him if it’s beautiful, and he has to do his utmost best not to pull her towards him and tell her she’s gorgeous.
He wants to, he really, really wants to, and for a hot second, he wishes he were in one of those cheesy holiday movies she loves so much because at least there she would slip and he’d be able to hold her in his arms once more.
Her pace slows down when they near Saks on 5th again, making him accidentally bump into her. She turns and links her arm through his, keeping him upright.
“I had fun decorating your tree with you.”
“I didn’t exactly help.”
“I didn’t help with the cooking either.”
He grins, and before he can even say it, she playfully bumps her arm into his side. “Come on,” she nudges her head and pulls on his arm as she directs him to the pedestrian crossing at the corner.
“Where are we going?”
She gives him a look that tells him he should know, and deep down, he does. Because there’s only one person he ever told about the fiasco that was ice skating when he was seven years old. Stupid antler headband, Marcus had thrown off his head, making him slip. A broken wrist at the very rink she’s guiding him to now.
“I’m not getting on the ice,” he warns her, and he means it, but a part of him is also sure that if she were to ask, he’d risk any broken bone just to please her.
“Who said anything about skating, Rudolf?” she teases, guiding him to the edge of the rink anyway. She lifts her hand and signals the giant tree in front of them. “I just wanted to see the tree.”
They stand there watching people having fun for a while until he feels her shiver beside him. “You’re cold.”
She wants to say she isn’t, but there’s no point in pretending, for her lips shiver again and her breath forms a warm fog.
“Come on,” he says, then, turning them around. “Let me call Ray to get you home.”
“No, Harvey,” she protests. “It’s late, he’s at home with his family. I can find a cab. Or I’ll walk home.”
He shakes his head at the latter idea, looks around to see if he can spot a cab, but when he sees something else, he gets a better idea. “Wait here.”
She watches him hurry ahead, and when she catches what it is that he’s after, a chuckle escapes her. “Harvey, no.”
But any minor protest from her side is ignored as he signals for her to follow him. By the time she’s caught up with him, she sees him hand the horse driver a hundred-dollar bill.
“Harvey.”
“Donna.”
“It’s late,” she reasons, “we have no time to tour Central Park.”
“Who said anything about touring Central Park?”
She motions to the lettering displayed on the side of the carriage, and she gives him a questioning look.
He simply offers her his hand, and he waits for her to get into the carriage before he speaks again. “Your cab awaits.”
She shakes her head slowly, trying to hide the smile and blush creeping into her face. She slides over the bench to the other side, fully expecting him to get in as well, but he doesn’t.
Just as she’s about to ask him to join her, he taps the side of the carriage, and the driver is off.
* * * * * * * * * *
‘“He didn’t get in.”
“Would you have wanted him to get in?”
“Rach,” Donna paces through the partner’s kitchen as she recounts her story again. “He got me a horse and carriage to take me home. Of course -“she stops the second she hears the hum coming from the other side of the line.
“So,” Rachel starts, “why didn’t you ask him to?”
“Well,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Because -“ because what exactly? Because they said that night could have been nothing more than one spent as friends? When it felt anything but that? Just like the ones before.
“Because?” Rachel prompts.
Donna takes a deep breath and spins on her heel, and in doing so, she catches a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. “Oh god,” she mutters then. “He’s here. I’ve got to go.”
She doesn’t wait for her friend to respond; she ends the call right then and there. Takes a deep breath, places her phone down on the counter and focuses on the coffee again. Pretending to be busy when she damn well knows it takes him six seconds to cross the hallway and enter the room.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Hey.”
She tries to count to three, but her greeting leaves her lips at two as she turns around to face him. “Hey.”
“Did you get home okay?”
“I did. Thanks again.”
He smiles at her.
“You could have joined me, you know.”
“Yeah, I uhm…” he swallows thickly, flips the envelope he has in his hand around. “I could do the walk, clear my head, you know.”
When he catches her eye, it’s clear she doesn't know that. “Marcus,” he adds, “the divorce. I can’t believe it took me this long to get over myself, and it will still be a year where Hailey and Matt don’t have everyone around on Christmas Eve.”
“Katie isn’t going to be there?”
He shakes his head. “The kids are going to her after dinner at my mom’s.”
She watches the way his shoulders drop, sees the way he carries the guilt, still after all this time. She rounds the counter and steps up to him, her hand finding his. She gives it a gentle squeeze. “None of this is your fault.”
He gives her a thin-lipped smile and mouths a thank you.
“I’m so proud of you, you know that, right?”
She wrote the same thing in her card, and he can still clearly remember the look on her face the night he returned from Boston and asked her to help him hang the picture he got. But hearing her say it is another thing.
“I couldn’t have done any of it with you.”
Donna looks away when he says that, not because she doesn’t believe his words, but because they mean so much that she’s afraid to let it show. She takes a step back and tells him differently anyway. “You could have done it all.”
He shakes his head, doesn’t think she even sees him doing so.
“But I’m glad you let me be a part of it anyway.”
It’s barely above a whisper, but he hears it, and he stores it right next to every other line that makes his heart skip a beat when he thinks about it. He coughs once, taps his hand on the counter and moves to pour them both a cup of coffee.
When she gives him a questioning look, he jokes about owing her one; she rolls her eyes and says it was the other way around, but she accepts it gladly all the same.
Warming her hands around the cup, she slowly takes a sip and then eyes the envelope he’d carried inside. The one right next to hers, both with a golden number nine on it. “Did you open yours yet?”
“No,” he says, signalling for her to go ahead and find out what else Mike and Rachel have planned for them.
Donna takes one more sip of her coffee, then exchanges the mug for the envelope and pulls out the card.
On the ninth day of Christmas, Santa said to me,
“Bundle up tight and go see the Rockefeller Tree shining bright.”
“Ooh.”
He shifts his weight and looks over her shoulder at the card in her hand, telling them to do what they did the night before. It would be weird to do it again, wouldn’t it? To even ask her to do it again. It hits him then that this means they have nothing to do today—no excuse to spend time together outside of work.
“Right,” he sighs. “We did that already.”
She gives him an apologetic smile, places the card down and reaches for her coffee again.
“Should we open another envelope then?”
“Did you bring them all with you?” She counters, getting hit by a vision of a young Harvey opening up his Advent calendar front to back on the very first day. She snickers at the thought.
He shoots her a questioning look but doesn’t press. Just shakes his head and tells her he figures he has a way to find out what’s next as he reaches inside his breast pocket for his phone.
“You’re not going to ask Mike, are you?”
He realises that would indeed be the simpler option, but he sticks with his plan and dials the number of his doorman. “Ed,” he greets the old man, “could you do me a favour?”
He turns the phone to speaker and places it on the counter before them as he guides his doorman to his apartment. Telling him where to find the box.
“Number ten, right?”
“Yes.”
“Wait,” Donna cuts in. Sharing a glance at Harvey, she shakes her head.
“Ed,” Harvey starts again. “Thanks, man, but we changed our minds. Don’t open it.” He ends the call right after, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.
“Sorry,” she says with a shrug, “I realised I didn’t want to rush through it.”
“That’s okay, we can always -“
“Have a day off?”
Ooh. Ooh. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you still have cards to write anyway.”
He fakes a smile and tugs on his tie with his index finger. “You did always write them for me.”
“There’s a first time for everything, Harvey,” she smiles in return, picking up her cup as she makes her way to the door. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”
He loves how she always has faith in him, even when she jokingly says it. But then again, she doesn’t know about the eight cards he’s ruined so far, trying to write one for her.
* * * * * * * * * *
Warming herself with a cup of coffee, she pulls her legs onto the couch and changes the channel on her TV. When three loud knocks jolt her from her position, she just about manages to keep the freshly brewed goods in her cup. She places it on the table and gets up to make her way over to her door.
The three knocks already gave it away, but she still goes through a list in her mind on who else ignores the perfectly functional doorbell, but she comes up short. Taking a deep breath, she quickly tiptoes to the door, only realising she’s still wearing her pyjamas when she gets a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
“Fuck.”
The smile on his face disappears slightly when he hears the profanity coming from the other side of the door, and he wonders if coming here on a Saturday morning was a good idea after all. He’s about to turn around when he hears a lock turn and the brass 206 on her door makes place for his favourite redhead.
The ‘hello to you too’ dies on the tip of his tongue when he sees her. His gaze unceremoniously skips down her frame and then back up. “This is new,” he says as he motions at the dark green flannel pyjamas.
She gives him a look, but she knows he’s only teasing. She steps aside and lets him in before asking. “Harvey,” her name leaves her lips in that sing-song tone that tells him he could either be in trouble or she’s thrilled. He leans towards the first option. “What are you doing here?”
“Making cookies.”
She stares at him for a moment, pretty sure she made up his answer. She shakes her head and then asks. "I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s today’s card, did you not see?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, closes the door behind her and wills herself not to look at her reflection again. “I just woke up.”
“It’s 11 in the morning.”
She sighs and walks ahead as she rattles on. “It’s the weekend, and not all of us are so stuck in routine that we wake up at the same time at the weekend and then torture ourselves with a run in this cold.”
He stares at her retreating form for a moment, then quickly follows her into the apartment. “How do you – “
“I know you.”
It’s three words, so simple yet true. And they mean almost as much, if not more, than the other three-word variant he feels for her. He looks down at the bag of groceries he’s brought, a thought crosses his mind as he does so, and the smile that already graced his face spreads until it reaches his eyes. “And I know you.”
This earns him a curious look in return, and even though he’s already explained why he’s here and he’s halfway down to the kitchen, he still elaborates.
“Without me, you’d probably burn your kitchen down, so…”
She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath that that only almost happened once, but he’s wise enough to know not to comment on it again. Instead, he looks up and eyes the smoke detector in the hallway. Waits until the light blinks once,e indicating it’s still working, before he moves ahead.
He catches a glimpse of her TV when he does so. “Hey, you watch Oprah?”
Donna drags her gaze from him to her television. “Oh no,” she says, reaching over the couch for the remote and turning it off. “Was just browsing channels when you showed up at my door. Why?”
“Oh, no, no reason,” he counters, finally turning around at her kitchen table, making it through the small pantry into her kitchen. He drops the bag on the counter and starts to unpack its contents.
The pace at which each item leaves the bag significantly drops when she comes into his eyeline again. For he cannot help himself and take her in again. It’s a rare occasion to see Donna in casual clothing, but this - just out of bed and no makeup on her face - version. He’s only seen it once.
He coughs, tries to shake those memories from his mind. But it wakes Donna from her daze all the same, and it’s only then that she realises she’s still in her pyjamas. “I uhm… should go, change.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looks down at her outfit and then back up at him.
“I mean, it's the weekend. It’s your place,” he stammers. “And you, you know, still look great.”
He doesn’t tell her often, and she doesn’t feel like she does in the moment, so the blush creeps up on her face extra fast this time around. She avoids his gaze and looks down at her feet. “Let me at least put a bra on.”
It only hits her that she said that thought out loud when she catches the way his eyes widen, and he tries his utmost best to look anywhere but at her. She bites down on her lip and retreats to her bedroom.
He can hear her rummage around the other side of the apartment, and it’s insane to think that even if he’s set foot in there just once, he can still remember every single detail about her room. About her, them, that night.
Focus Specter. He mutters to himself, and with a shake of his hea,d he tries to push the memories of her away. But the moment he hears her footsteps behind him again, and he glances down to see her bare toes peeking out from under the green flannel pyjama pants, his mind is right back there. Or rather, one of the updated versions of it that haunt him in the middle of the night these days.
He allows himself one more look, then, taking her in once more and to his surprise, she looks exactly the same as she did a few minutes ago. No makeup, no shoes, only her hair has been bound together in a messy bun. He catches the envelope in her hand then.
“Did you just check if it really said bake cookies today?”
She shrugs but doesn’t answer. Instead, she reaches for an apron and hands it to him before guiding him through where to find which bowl and whatever else he might need.
She watches him work in silence, and the sight in front of her is just as distracting as watching him cook was the other day. Luckily, there’s no chair to almost fall from today, but she isn’t sure she considers that an improvement.
When he kneads the dough, she catches herself biting down on her lip, and she shakes her head, telling herself to get a grip. She pushes herself off the counter and walks to another cabinet, pulling out a mug. “Want something to drink?”
He turns to look over his shoulder, then says: “Sure.”
She makes the mistake of looking at him again, her gaze locking with his in a beat and she feels it all the way down to her toes. Donna’s the one to break it this time. “Hot chocolate, okay?”
He slowly turns back to the cookies in front of him, only hums this time around.
The only excuse she has for her actions is that she’s working on autopilot after filling their mugs and heating them up in the microwave, because she only realises what she’s doing when the sound of whipped cream squirting from the can echoes through the otherwise near-silent kitchen.
She can hear the exact moment he stops cutting slices from the roll of dough because it’s simultaneous with when she forgets to breathe. Her kitchen has never been big, but suddenly it feels a lot smaller than it actually is. The distance between his back and hers reduced to mere inches when it’s surely a foot, maybe even more, and the warmth radiating off the oven that’s preheating is nothing compared to the heat she feels sizzling within.
She isn’t sure which one of them eventually breaks the silence, if he says something or she does. But they turn around at the same time, she hands him his mug and the way he takes a sip of it - his tongue darting out to catch a droplet of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth - has her wonder if this is all playing out in her head or if it’s real.
Because it’s the sexiest thing she’s seen in her life, and she’s seen this man naked. Here, in this very kitchen, with the exact same condiment on his tongue as all those years ago. Except that time he licked it from her body.
Apparently, in the midst of all of this, she’s managed to take a sip of her drink because she catches his gaze lowering from her eyes to her nose, and then the corner of his mouth tugs up.
“You’ve got a little -“ he motions to her nose,e and she feels like flying when his thumb brushes along the tip of her nose, because deep down she knows what’s coming. She wants what’s coming.
She needs what’s coming.
Except for a small beep that announces the chosen temperature has been reached, the moment is broken. He steps away, and she’s never hated baking more in her life.
She watches him reach for the tray, slide it in and set the timer. He tells her the time just to be sure, but none of it really registers, except for the “I should go” that follows.
She doesn’t want him to go, but the words don’t come, and her body doesn’t move. Still caught in the fantasy that was already playing out in her mind, she only snaps out of it when she hears the front door fall shut again.
She briefly contemplates letting her kitchen burn down after all, just to prove to him that he shouldn’t have left. But she’s not that stupid, just stupid enough to let the love of her life walk out on her again.
* * * * * * * * * *
And because of what?
She can still hear Rachel’s question from their latest phone call in the back of her mind. It’s all she thought about last night, it’s all she can think about this morning.
Why?
Why did he leave?
Why did she let him leave?
She spots the box on her coffee table again, then the stupid card with the stupid premise on it on top. Why did that have to be on it? Why did they get these stupid boxes? Why were Mike and Rachel trying to set them up in the first place?
“Why?” It’s the first thing out of her mouth when Rachel answers her call.
“Uhm.. why what?”
“Why are you and Mike trying to set Harvey and me up?”
“We aren’t.”
“Harvey said you were,” she answers simply, and she can hear from the rustling on the other side of the line that Rachel is trying to cover the microphone, but she still hears the way her friend calls for her husband.
“Okay,” Rachel gives in then. “Look, I’m going to put you on speaker, okay. So yeah, Mike and I did give you both these boxes, but it wasn’t our intent to set you up. Not per se.”
Donna snickers now.
“As much as we think you two would be great together, nothing in those boxes said that you’d have to spend time together. We can’t magically make you do that. So if you did, that’s because you two wanted to.”
She knows her friend is right about that, it was their decision to do these things together. And even before they explicitly agreed on doing so, it happened naturally. She doesn’t want to admit it yet, though. “Really,” Donna argues, “then what about the baking?”
“What about the baking?”
“You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
Rachel stares at her phone in disbelief for a moment. In all these years, she’s never heard her friend admit she was less than good at anything. Let alone a disaster.
She would have remembered that.
It’s when she catches Mike biting down on his lip that it hits her, he knew. She gives him a gentle shove with her elbow. She’s this close to throwing her husband under the bus when she realises Donna wouldn’t single out this particular prompt for a reason. “Did something happen?” She then asks, “Between you two.”
“Rachel,” Donna counters. It’s a futile attempt, but she has to try anyway.
“Donna.”
“He came over okay, and it was fun, and we almost kissed, but he left.”
“You almost kissed.”
“He left.”
“But you -“
“What about he left before that could happen – “ she pauses, running a hand through her hair as she shifts over her couch. “I just don’t understand why.”
“Because he loves you.”
It’s Mike’s voice coming through now, and both his wife and Donna have the same reaction. “What?”
“And he respects your rule too much to risk anything with you, especially because you told him you didn’t feel anything when you kissed him last year.”
“How-“ Donna starts, “wait, did he tell you that?”
Mike doesn’t elaborate on that question, but he repeats his earlier statement. “He loves you, probably more than he even realises. But after everything you two have been through, especially this last year, can you really blame him for not saying or doing anything about it? He’s afraid to lose you.”
Donna bites down on the side of her cheek, processing Mike’s words. Then she recounts another part of the conversation Mike apparently has the ins and outs of. “He said he didn’t want more.”
“Would you have told him you still wanted a relationship after he just said he doesn’t feel anything?” Mike fires back, and the accusation hits her deep because it’s the truth.
“That doesn’t mean I want more.”
“Well, for the record, neither do I. That’s right, I didn’t feel anything when I kissed you, Harvey. Whatever I thought might be there wasn’t.”
She closes her eyes as she hears her voice in the back of her mind—the things she said to him that night in the lobby. Lies, but she thought she was doing the right thing. Back paddling because she wanted to make sure they’d make it out of their mess okay. Even if that meant she’d once again be denying her feelings as she’d done for years.
“I am not in love with you, Harvey.”
“Is this about you?”
“No.”
“We put it out of our minds, and we never mention it again.”
When she doesn’t answer Mike’s question, Rachel does so for her. “You wouldn’t have.”
And it’s the truth, or it once was. But not anymore. Donna shifts over the couch, pushing herself to stand as she says, “I have to go.”
.
Meet me at Bryant Park at 3 pm?
He’s already packing his bags for his trip to Boston when the text comes in. And as much as his heart says yes, his mind isn’t so sure. It’s becoming so hard to be around her when all he wants is to just be with her.
He really thought they could have gotten there yesterday. Or if not there, then at least somewhere. He’s pretty sure he would have kissed her if it weren’t for the damn alarm of the oven yet again. He’s pretty sure he would have kissed her afterwards if she hadn’t looked entirely out of it.
So yes, he ran.
And yes, he regrets it, but he isn’t sure he can handle another activity pretending all they can ever be is friends.
Please?
He stares at his phone again. It’s just one word, but he hears it in her voice, and his mind aligns with what his heart already knew. He picks up his phone and texts her back.
Okay.
.
He arrives at the Weihnachtsmarket on Bryant Park a little before their agreed-upon time. Scanning his surroundings, he walks a small lap around the stalls and stalls when he sees her familiar auburn manes in the distance.
She’s standing at a stall selling Glühwein. He takes a moment to watch her from afar, then counts to ten, exhales deeply and makes his way over to her. “Hey.”
Donna flinches a little in her spot at the sudden appearance of his voice. She quickly exchanges the money in her hand for the two cups of mulled wine she just bought. She hands him one, then returns his greeting. “Hey.”
“You wanted to see me?”
She can’t decipher the tone in his voice, whether he’s as nervous as she is or not. But it eerily reminds her of another conversation they had years ago.
“What was so important that you just had to see me?”
“I don’t want to lose you. Come work for me.”
And then back to what Mike said this morning.
She nods, smiles at him, and tries to say something along the same lines about not wanting to lose him. But she chokes on her words. “I don't- “ she looks away, takes a deep breath. Then she signals the place around them. “The market. I don’t want to do the cards without you.”
“Donna.”
“Please?”
She nudges her head, and he gives in. Following her as she walks ahead. Making the same round along the stalls as he’d just done before. He sips on his drink, waits for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes, and his apprehension grows with each step they take.
He can see she’s trying, though, sees the way her brow knits together and then relaxes again, that she’s wrecking her brain for things to say. And a part of him feels bad for not talking himself, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?
If it were meant to be, it wouldn’t be this hard now, would it?
They reach a stall that collects the empty mugs they’re holding. He nudges her elbow with his own to show her. Not sure if it’s because he just needs to break the silence or if it’s the start of the end. The goodbye.
She flashes him a thin-lipped smile and follows ahead. She takes his mug from his hand as she hands it back to the lady behind the stall. “Here you go. The wine was delicious, thank you.”
The lady smiles, nods at the two people in front of her. And just when they’re about to walk away, she calls after them. “Wait.”
Harvey and Donna both stall, slowly turn around to face the lady.
“You can’t just walk away from under a mistletoe,” she reasons, pointing at the top of the booth. “It’s tradition, you know.”
Harvey looks up slowly, taking in the little green leaves. A few days ago, he’d held the same kind of ornament in his hand. Right now, he feels anything but the possibilities he had felt back then.
Donna watches him as he lowers his head, tries to read his expression. She didn’t see it, so she hadn’t guided them under there on purpose, but maybe this was that little nudge of fate she needed.
She’d asked him to meet her here so she could tell him how she felt after all.
He draws in a breath, subconsciously wetting his lip in the process. “We don’t have to do it,” he says then. “If you didn’t feel -”
Her lips are on his before he can even finish his sentence, her hand on his scarf pulling him closer. It takes him a second to realise what’s happening, but then he gives in and kisses her back, and it’s glorious.
They get so lost in the kiss that it’s only when the lady behind the stall now mumbles that they should get a room that they part, both trying to hide their laughter.
He brings his hand to her face, pushes a strand of her hair behind her ears and just takes her in as if he still can’t believe this actually happened.
She runs her hand up his chest to the side of his jaw, slowly caressing it as she watches him process their kiss. She smiles, gives him a quick peck on the lips, and then says. “I know you once said you don’t want more, but I do, and I can’t keep lying to you -”
He’s the one to interrupt her speech now, cupping her jaw and pulling her in for another kiss. And another, until the snow starts to fall again and when they part once more, she asks him to take her home.
He does so gladly.
* * * * * * * * * *
He picks up a strand of her hair, slowly twirling it around his finger as he listens to her laugh. He leans in then, kissing her again for the umpteenth time that night. Or is it morning? He isn’t sure of anything, but the beautiful naked woman curled up in his arms.
“Come to Boston with me?” Harvey asks her then. “I want to spend the holidays with the people I love.”
Donna stares at him for a second, the yes already on the tip of her tongue after the first question; it’s the implied reason in the second part that has the butterflies flutter around in her stomach. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” He grins, tilts her chin so that he can give her a quick kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Harvey.”
* * * * * * * * * *
She closes her eyes in a content sigh, feeling his lips pepper kisses down the side of her neck as his arms pull her closer into his embrace. It’s been an exhilarating but exhausting day. Meeting his mother for Christmas, spending time with the kids and watching Harvey with them. Yeah it did things with her insides that it’s way too early to think about in their relationship.
Relationship.
She grins just thinking about the word, but that’s what it is. It’s how he introduced her to his family. His Donna, his girlfriend, his everything.
“Hey,” he whispers, then, “I got you something.”
She turns to look over her shoulder and wants to protest because she didn’t get him anything. He kisses her instead. “You got us this,” he whispers before pulling away and leaning to the side so he can pick up the gift bag he’d hidden in his suitcase at the last minute.
She gives him a curious look, but he just motions for her to move ahead with a nod of his head, and she does. Slowly untying the bow, she opens the bag and peers inside. It’s filled with postcards, and she reaches inside and removes all eight of them.
She recognises they’re the same ones that came with the box Mike and Rachel gave them. “I did wonder why I didn’t get one from you when I realised we had the same Advent Box.”
“I started with one for my mom and one for Marcus, and then I started on yours, and well…”
Donna watches him turn around the first card, then another. She takes over, folding them all over and laying them out in front of her. She reads one message after the other, and no matter how short or elaborate the writing on them is, in all of them she sees the love.
“My dream did come true a little early by the way,” he whispers then.
She knows he’s referring to what she wrote on her card for him, but she playfully slaps his arm all the same. “Would you have preferred waiting till the new year then?” she teases, leaning in as if she’s going to kiss him, but she doesn’t.
“I don’t want to wait or waste another second.”