"I've seen him with a woman that he can't get enough of. A woman that's crawled into every molecule of his being. That consumed his every thought and turned him into a creature of devotion and obsession."

-A Love Song for Bobby Long

Fall 2000.

There was a coffee shop down the block from the District Attorney's office with really good sandwiches that made for quick lunches. It was usually free from tourists, and the regulars stopped in, grabbed their usuals, and went back to work without stopping to sit down.

That was why she stood out, sitting quietly at a corner table, bent over something with a pen in her hand and a blonde ponytail underneath a Yankees cap. She stopped to take a sip of her coffee, and set it down with a sigh upon finding it empty. He couldn't help but chuckle at her, and she looked up at him with surprised blue eyes.

He smiled apologetically, holding his own cup up. "Can I get you another?"

She shrugged, chewing on the end of her pen.

"Come on. What was it?"

"Iced mocha."

He walked back to the counter to order, and she watched him carefully. It didn't take long for the coffee to be ready, and his pager went off the second that he reached her table.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"I'm Harvey. Harvey Specter." His pager went off again, and she shrugged.

"And I think someone needs you."

"Yeah."

She sat at the same table the next afternoon, fully absorbed in her work. He stopped next to her chair, and she didn't even look up until he cleared his throat. "You again."

"I believe I owe you a coffee."

"I believe you owe me your name."

She ignored him, producing a cup from the chair next to her. "Black, two sugars. They know you well here. It's still hot."

"Iced mocha, right?"

She pointed to her mostly full cup. "I haven't been here long enough. And I bought a large today."

"I could wait for you to finish that one."

She took in his crisp suit and tie and the briefcase in his hand. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"It can wait."

"Do you really want to buy me a coffee that badly?"

"Do you really want me to leave that badly?"

"I guess not." She gestured to the chair next to her. "There's not another cup of coffee there, if that's what you're wondering."

He sat. "Now, will you please tell me your name?"

"Since you asked nicely." She smiled. "Madeleine Harper."

It didn't take her very long to figure out that he came to the coffee shop at almost the exact same time every day. The hard part was "coincidentally" also being there, without him catching on.

His lunch breaks gradually stopped being the kind where he dropped in and got coffee and a sandwich to eat at his desk and instead became the kind where he sat and ate and occasionally lost track of time.

He pointed at her NYU sweatshirt with a smile. "You went to NYU? I did my undergrad there!"

"Yeah, I graduated in May. I'm planning on applying to grad school there. I might go in the spring, or maybe next fall."

"What for?"

"Masters in creative writing."

"Ah, that's what's with the notebooks. You want to be a writer."

She shook her head. "I am a writer."

Her biggest secret was that she didn't even like the coffee. It was cheap, and she hated cheap, weak coffee.

One afternoon, he was sitting at her usual table when she walked in.

"You're late."

"Late? For what?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on. We meet here almost every day at the same time. Let's stop pretending that it's unplanned."

"Fair enough."

One afternoon, she ordered her coffee, and instead of getting a total, she got a receipt.

"He paid for it already," smiled the man who ran the shop.

The back of the receipt read, "I'm in court today, so I can't make it. Sorry. Harvey."

"The Harvard Crimsons? That's such a stupid mascot."

"Madeleine, you went to NYU."

"So did you."

"Madeleine, they're the NYU Violets."

"Maybe, but you don't hear me bragging about them, now do you?"

She hated mornings, and yet it was early and she stood at the counter, waiting for her drink, dressed in slacks, a blouse, and pumps.

"I'd like to go ahead and pay for his afternoon coffee." It irked her a little bit that the owner knew exactly who she was talking about. With a knowing smile, he handed her the receipt and a pen, and she began to hastily write, "I won't be here this afternoon. I have a meeting." But she only reached the second "o" in "afternoon," which ended up as a line across the paper as she jumped, startled by a tap on her shoulder.

"You're here in the mornings, too? Don't you have a coffee maker at home?"

"I like this coffee," he said defensively. "Don't you look nice."

"I can't talk to you. I have a meeting."

"A meeting?"

"With a possible editor to work with me in the future."

"Nervous?" he asked as the man handed Madeleine her usual iced mocha.

"Very." She opened the door to leave.

"Call me and tell me how it goes."

"I will."

She was a few feet down the sidewalk when he abruptly flung open the door and bounded the few steps after her.

"Hey, Madeleine?" She turned around and he reached out a hand to cup her cheek, kissing her quickly. He dropped his hand. "It's going to go great."

"Hmmm… Where do your parents live?"

"My dad and brother live in Connecticut."

"And your mom?"

"I don't want to talk about it. And that's two questions. You have to answer."

"DC. Your turn."

"What's your middle name?"

"June."

"Madeleine June…" he repeated, twirling the name in his mouth, tasting it.

She looked at him expectantly. "You?"

"No."

"Harvey, you asked the question."

"You have to promise not to laugh."

"I promise."

"You really, really promise?"

"Harvey."

"Reginald."

She covered her mouth with her hand, determined not to laugh out loud. "Reginald? Why?"

"I have no idea. Why is your name pronounced like Mada-line but spelled like Mada-lynn?"

"My mom thought that the extra 'e' was elegant. Favorite sports team?"

"Yankees."

"Good answer. Mine, too."

"Why NYU?"

"What's better than being a writer in New York?"

"Okay, that's enough."

"Questions?"

"No. I'm taking you out on a real date."

"These aren't real dates?"

"I'm being serious."

"But you kissed me here! And these aren't dates? Am I… some kind of floozy?"

"Madeleine."

"Sorry. Yes, I would love to go on a 'real date' with you."

"Air quotes? Are you eight years old?"

"I thought we were being serious."

"Can you be ready to go somewhere nice by seven o'clock Friday night?"

"Well, today is Tuesday, so four days should probably be enough time to make myself look pretty."

"You look pretty every day."

"It is precisely seven o'clock. How punctual. I like it." She opened the door wider, letting Harvey in. "However, it is my responsibility to women everywhere to reinforce the stereotype, so, I'm going to need a few more minutes."

"I think you look wonderful. Everyone wears pajamas to five star restaurants now." He held out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "These are for you."

"Oh, good. I was worried that we were picking up another woman on our way." She took them and held them to her face, breathing in their scent. "They're beautiful, Harvey. I'll go put them in some water." She stood up on her tiptoes, planting soft kiss on his cheek. When she pulled away, she giggled.

"What?"

"I got some lipstick on your cheek." She brushed her fingers across the pink mark. "I'll get something to wipe that off, too."

"Maybe I like it."

She giggled again. "You have been marked, Harvey Specter."

"Property of Madeleine Harper."

"Damn straight."