This was supposed to be the perfect day.
The perfect day had started well enough, at least as well as it could. Émilie Côté had written down all her thoughts in her diary that morning and was under the impression that she had gotten rid of all of her feelings. She went to work like it was any other Wednesday, trying not to notice people on the streets of Paris walking hand in hand, the groups of teenage girls wearing pink, the florists setting out for a busy, busy day. She started her Wednesday morning of work like all others, messing up no less than three coffee orders in the first twenty minutes of opening. She didn't even seem to mind that there seemed to be more flower deliveries passing through the lobby today than any other day; the woman had her espresso to focus on, after all. Even before the second rush of the day, Émilie had perfected pouring the espresso and milk in such a way as to form a heart in the foam.
It was as she was making another perfect milk foam heart that it hit her. The woman whose latte she was making was talking with a coworker about her plans for the evening. She and her husband would be having dinner at the same restaurant that Émilie had once planned to be having her dinner at, the dinner Émilie was supposed to be sharing with
her husband on their first Valentine's Day as married people. Instead, her new Valentine's plans involved watching her cousins as her aunt and uncle went out for their own lovely evening.
Émilie managed to hold in her tears until she was walking home from work.
She managed to compose herself before entering the home she shared with her aunt's family, happily reassuring her that she was perfectly fine and more than willing to watch the kids. Thankfully, the children were in bed by eight, and Émilie had finished a bottle of wine by nine. It was before she could finish her second bottle that she came up with her brilliant plan: drink more until the parents got home, then go out and find a man to buy her more drinks. She wasted no time in finishing another bottle as she planned out her
perfect outfit, reapplied her
makeup, and recurled her
hair. She was ready to leave the instant her aunt and uncle got home, a few minutes to midnight.
The thought had crossed her mind to venture to the wizarding side of Paris, but the idea of running into someone who knew the details of her disastrous relationship was more than enough to get her in a muggle bar. It was a more upscale piano bar; if she was going to find a classy man, she needed a classy place. However, it didn't take her long (after she bought herself two glasses of wine that she drank alone) to get her to change her mind again.
Émilie settled into the bar of a rather smoky, dingy bar, not too far from the concealed entrance to the magical parts of Paris. She slurred out an order for whisky, deciding that clearly wine was not getting the job done. However, her order was rerouted to a whatever the bartender saw fitting when she couldn't answer what kind of whisky she preferred or whether she liked it neat or on the rocks. All that she requested of the bartender was that she be able to get plenty drunk. She received a drink in a tall glass, complete with colorful umbrella, that had so much fruity flavor packed into it she could hardly taste the tequila.
She glanced at the clock hanging on a distant wall; half-past one. It technically wasn't Valentine's Day anymore, but Émilie was determined to not go home before rescuing the day from the dump it had landed in.
At two, you have to just be bold and go up to someone and flirt, she mentally encouraged herself, taking a healthy gulp of fruity drink. Hopefully things would start turning to her favor before she had to stoop to that level.
@Luca Marconi 
