Fire crackles in front of Mara and Harry. Yellow, orange and blue waves squirm above the logs, flowing up the only working chimney of the Mare's Nest in his apartment and out into the open New York sky, up to the stars over the sleeping and awake heads of city dwellers.

Mara's frizzy curls, now dry, hit the tops of her shoulders, which are wrapped in one of Betty's handmade quilts. Underneath, she wears his oversized white Rolling Stones shirt and baggy sweats, the smell of fresh laundry detergent pressed against her skin.

"Cup of cocoa, comin' right up." Harry joins her in front of the fire, two mugs in hand, each one with a hefty layer of mini marshmallows and whipped cream, both also homemade by Betty, atop the frothy milk.

Mara takes a cautious sip. "Oh my god. That's amazing! What chocolate do you use? Ghirardelli?"

"It's some local chocolate I got from a farmer's market. Melted it down real quick and whisked it in. My grandpa's recipe, actually. He wasn't much of a cook or baker like Betty but he could make a wonderful cup of hot chocolate. This and chili."

"Mmm, a winter chef. The best food is always born in cold weather, I say." She dips her finger into the light whipped cream, melting and settling, and places the sweetness on the tip of her tongue. "From what Betty has told me, he sounds like he was a great man. Do you miss him?"

"Every day." Harry gives a melancholy smile and takes a drink from his own cup. He grabs the blanket around her and starts pointing to the pieces compiling the covering. "This blanket here is special. Made up of shirts from mine, Grandfather's and Grandmum's cross-country trip we took not too long after my parent's passed. They're old souvenir shirts we bought along the way. See here?" Harry grabs the corner of the blanket and holds it in front of her face. "This is from the Redwood Coast in California. We drove through a giant tree. Grandfather kept making jokes that we were on a mission and if we weren't careful, the tree would collapse on us. The tree broke the side mirrors clean off when we drove through!" Harry laughs, running his fingers across the ink of the tree design on the shirt and reminiscing.

"I think that's the most you've ever talked!" The light behind Mara's eyes illuminate with joy at the sound of Harry's voice and openness. He was starting to feel comfortable with her. This is a moment she's been waiting for quite some time now.

Harry drops his head, embarrassed. Even in the dim light, she can see the blushing red of his cheeks. To hide the vibrant color, he takes a deep drink of his cocoa. He doesn't use the handle. Instead, he holds the cup on either side to warm his bones.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I love it." She gently pulls at his wrist to bring the painted mug, decorated by hand by Harry, to reveal his face again. A detailed design of star-lit sky and camping spot depicted on the tin. "You know, if you know your grandpa's chili recipe, Betty said she'd teach me her famous cornbread recipe. Should we make it a date?"

Green streaks of joy and appreciation shoot up at her face in the form of his infinite irises. She thinks of moss across a giant fallen oak tree. Sad but still beautiful. As her eyes move down, she notices a tiny foam mustache above his rosy lips.

"I got it," she whispers, using her thumb to remove sugary suds. She licks the sweetness off, the sight of which causes Harry to engulf his upper lip with his bottom slowly. Her face is hypnotizing in a way, he thinks. The things he would do in obedience to a face like hers. Practically anything.

"I've... um... I've never..." Harry stutters over his words, trying to find the perfect combination to lessen the shame he feels down to his core.

"You've never what? Bungee jumped? Ran with the bulls? Come on, don't leave me hanging." She drinks her drink and awaits his answer.

"I've never been on a date."

His response causes her to spit her drink back into her cup, not in a teasing way but out of shock. Harry's eyes dart to his hands fidgeting on the lip of his mug.

"Sorry. That was an unfortunate reaction," she says, wiping stray droplets of hot chocolate off her face. "I'm just VERY surprised. How have you -" she fans her hand out and showcases him "- walked around this city and have never been on a date? Trust me. Girls across this city go home and talk about the 'attractive guy they saw across the street' with their roommates after crossing you."

She immediately regrets her confession of how attractive she finds him. How she herself doodled his name in the margins of her work and muttered his name in bed. It was practically written across her face every time he she walked past him in the lobby of the complex.

Harry turns crimson once again, this time from flattery. As soon as she goes to continue her ramble, her phone vibrates at Harry's side. He grabs it and tries not to look, but the dramatic picture that flashes across the screen is too eye-catching not to.

"Uh... the Devil is calling you?" Harry hands her the phone.

It's Rob. Why would he be calling at such an hour? He must be drunk. She lets out a heavy sigh and declines the call. Sitting the phone to her side, she mindlessly stares at the remnants in her cup. Memories rush back. Memories that shake her to her core. Memories that tie her stomach in knots and make the acid in her stomach rush up her throat. A migraine slowly takes over her temporal lobe, making her eyes throb and blood boil with rage.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, putting his hand on her shivering shoulder.

"I'm fine," she responds, chugging what's left of her drink. Oh, how she wishes in this moment that is was hard alcohol. She's spent the last couple months trying to move past the hurt Robert caused her, and never did she think she would share these thoughts with Harry. At least so soon. "Just my ex."

"Oh... I'm sorry." Harry drops his hand. He realizes how unusual it is for a man of his age to not have ever been on a date, but the contrast of his admission to her former lover calling hits him with a reality he's never had to grasp until this very second.

"It's honestly okay." Mara intends to drop the subject, but as her therapist once told her - Don't keep strong emotions bottled up because you'll eventually explode. "It's just he's such a fucking asshole, you know? Pardon my French. But why does he think he has the fucking right to call me out of the blue like that? Do you want to know the last thing he told me?" She doesn't wait for Harry's answer. "He told me that he missed when I 'used to try.' That he wished we were back in the old days when we first met in high school and I actually 'put effort into how I looked.' Can you fucking believe that? I couldn't eat junk food. My hair was practically falling out it was so damaged from straightening it every day because he thought my curly hair was disgusting. I even thought it was disgusting because he indoctrinated all his sick thoughts into me. The asshole wouldn't even let me pick out my own clothes! And the worst part of it all is I LET HIM talk to me that way. I let him get away with treating me like that because we had been together for so long that that's all I knew. I believed he had my best interest at heart. One-hundred percent of my identity was based on how he looked at me and one day I snapped, Harry. I looked in the mirror and I didn't know who I was any more. I finally spoke up. And you know what he did? He slammed me into a fucking wall. And I'm so goddamn ashamed because I didn't leave after that. He said he felt like shit about it. It was an accident. He was just so frustrated he didn't know what else to do but grab me by my shoulders and shove me. I believed him, once again. I deserved it, I thought. My breaking point was one day, we were at breakfast. He didn't let me look at the menu, as per usual. He went ahead and ordered me scrambled eggs and toast. I said I had to go to the bathroom, got up, ran out of the diner and never looked back."

Mara starts to tear up at the thought. She avoided Harry's eye contact the entire time, ashamed of what she went through and what she accepted into her life without question. What a dark time it was for her, allowing someone to take control of her life and will without question or concern. The future she once saw for herself crumbled right before her very eyes that morning at the diner. There would be no walk down the aisle with Rob at the other end. There was no more sneaking birth control pills, dodging Rob's sperm, which at the end of the day was another ploy to keep her stuck in his web of lies and deceit. On the positive side of everything, there was no more mental and physical abuse. Regardless of her lack of knowledge on how to live independently, she was finally free that day she signed the papers at The Mare's Nest.

"Harry?" Mara looks up to find Harry, eyes damp and chin quivering with sympathy. "I think I reacted that way at the diner because... I don't even know how I like my eggs." She lets out a self-deprecating laugh, tears stinging her chapped face. One drop hits her mouth, bleeding into the line between her lips. She tastes the saltiness and waits to hear what her friend has to say.

"It's a date, Mara." Harry wipes his swampy eyes. He covers his palms with the sleeves of his flannel and uses the soft fabric to wipe her face clean of sorrow. As a super, it's his job to fix what is broken. And in the hidden ecosystem of The Mare's Nest, nothing would make him happier than to connect the cracks in Mara's broken, gorgeous soul. "Now let's figure out how you like your eggs."