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No one was particularly eager to make the trip to the Hamptons on this hot and sunny June day. Especially not when it was under the guise of a "team-building weekend" that still somehow involved dress shoes, slacks, and scheduled meetings. But when Jessica said go, you went. And didn’t care that outside was a damn perfect summer day.
That said, it seemed even the universe decided to cut them some slack. Not by cancelling the retreat, but at least by delaying the “leadership development” workshops scheduled in the stuffy indoor lounge. The reason? The house’s electrical system had a mind of its own today.
The smart system was having random outages — flickering lights, frozen Wi-Fi, AC rebooting every five minutes. The problem had been identified, and some techs were en route. “Give it 30–40 minutes,” the estate manager had promised.
.....“Yeah, unless the smart system needs rebooting from a laptop, I’m staying out of it,” Benjamin added with both hands raised.
So for now, the group migrated to the villa’s inner courtyard. Harvey, Mike, Donna, Rachel, Louis, and Benjamin turned it into a makeshift chill zone. Someone dragged out oversized bean bags, someone brought iced drinks, and Harvey — of course — brought bourbon.
Harvey and Benjamin moved their bean bags into the shade. The others sat where the sunlight hit strongest, shirts unbuttoned just enough to feel the breeze on their skin. The group finally settled in just as Benjamin returned, cradling a massive bowl.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said grandly, “look what I brought you. Who wants a nectarine?”
Mike turned his head lazily toward him, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Oh, no way. Ripe ones?”
“Perfect,” Benjamin grinned. “Catch!”
He tossed one. Mike caught it, squeezed it experimentally in his hand.
“Hmm. Kinda firm,” he muttered, more to himself.
Benjamin raised an eyebrow, walking around the circle and offering the rest. “Seriously? These just came in fresh this morning! They ripened just for us.”
Mike bit into his anyway, then squinted blissfully at the sun.
“I just like mine borderline overripe. Sweet to the point of sinful. And soft. Like, melt-in-your-mouth soft.”
“I knew it,” Rachel chimed in with a teasing glance. “You’re one of those.”
“Too sweet,” Donna added, already halfway through hers. “I like some bite to my fruit.”
“See, these are exactly right,” Benjamin said, gesturing toward the bowl. “A little give, but still fresh. Balanced.”
“I like all of them,” Louis declared, already reaching for a second. “Fruit is fruit. I don’t discriminate. Sweet, firm, overripe, underripe — bring it on.”
Harvey smirked and held out the bowl to help Louis grab one more.
“No one’s surprised by that, Louis. You’d eat a stapler if it was dipped in sugar.”
“Hey!” Louis protested with exaggerated offense. “That’s slander. Besides, I’m always full and content. "Some of us can’t live off only bourbon and sarcasm.”
“In Louis-speak,” Donna cut in, “Harvey only likes fruit that’s either underdeveloped or on the brink of death. Explains the resting face.”
Mike laughed louder than the rest. Harvey, however, just smiled faintly and, taking a sip of his drink (still the only one not holding fruit), responded calmly:
“She’s not wrong. I actually do prefer underripe.”
Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Really? Like, you won’t eat a normal, ripe piece of fruit?”
“I’ll eat it, sure.” Harvey shrugged, “but if I had a choice, I’d go for something underripe. Firm. Not too sweet."
Mike, eyes still closed, smirked:
“Firm and bitter. Yeah, that tracks.”
Benjamin shook his head with a chuckle while finishing his nectarine. Harvey, not even looking up, added:
“Firm and not too sweet. I like it when there’s a little crunch.”
“Mmm,” Mike hummed. “Soft. Sweet. Dripping down your chin. That’s the good stuff. Bite into a peach and boom — juice down your face, into your mouth… that thick, sticky pulp? Hell yes...”
“Harder,” Harvey replied. “You hold it and it’s solid. Dense. Leaves your mouth dry.”
“I wouldn’t even put that in my mouth. I like it when you hold it in your hand and it’s already oozing, just leaking all over. Makes you wanna take it in your mouth right away.”
Mike finished, then lazily dragged his tongue across his lower lip, as if chasing an echo of the fruit’s juice.
Harvey’s voice didn’t shift, but his hand tightened slightly around the glass. “Nah, firmer’s better. Not just peaches or nectarines… Bananas, for example. I like them green, still hard. The mushy, overripe ones? Way too cloying. Fuck that.”
Mike turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open.
“Bananas should definitely be sweet!” Mike argued. “They’re not juicy, so the only time they’re any good is when they’re brown and soft—extra sweet. That’s when they’ve got flavor. Peak banana.
Harvey finally turned his head to look at him. “You’re serious about the brown ones? I mean, okay, maybe not green, but just a plain ripe one. Firm, not mushy. You really don’t like firm bananas?”
Mike opened his eyes, met Harvey’s gaze, and shrugged. “Okay, I like firm bananas. Just regular ripe ones. But peaches? They should be soft and overripe, 100%. I want that juice running down my chin, all over my face, my fingers sticky. Not just my fingers—my whole hands should be a mess. My face too....Oh, wait, I already said that.”
He took a slow breath, licking his thumb absentmindedly as he shifted in the bean bag.
Harvey mirrored him with a breath of his own, then turned his gaze away, still sipping his bourbon. "I don’t like getting my whole face messy and my hands all sticky," he said, just as calmly as before. "But I do like watching other people when they are."
With his eyes still closed, Mike arched a brow. “Right. You like it when it’s harder and rougher.”
“And you need more fluids,” Harvey replied, still not looking at him.
Rachel snorted.
“Are you two seriously talking about fruit right now?” Benjamin interjected, suddenly cutting in — he'd been silently watching this bizarre exchange unfold for the past few minutes, just like everyone else.
Harvey took another slow sip of bourbon.
Mike opened one eye, unfazed.
“Peaches and bananas. What else would we be talking about?”
Harvey locked eyes with Benjamin, arching a brow in silent challenge — but it was Rachel who cut in before he could say anything.
"Honestly ... it kind of sounds like you two just had sex."
Harvey exhaled a soft laugh.
“Sex with fruit?” he mused aloud.
“What is this, Call Me By Your Nectarine? Didn’t know they were filming the sequel today,” Donna joked a little warily, her gaze flicking between brown eyes and blue-grey.
Louis, meanwhile, still blissfully detached from the subtext, was halfway through his fifth fruit.
Mike scoffed and leaned back with a sigh.
“Not really my kind of movie.”
Harvey replied without missing a beat, lips twitching:
“Mike doesn’t have time for theory.”
Mike didn’t respond. But the faint smile that followed matched Harvey’s exactly.