After a day like she had, Cora needed a very large hot chocolate and a disgustingly delicious chocolate scone.  She’d spent almost the entire day doing work for her grandmother, a very intricate bit of hand created needlework for a very important witch’s order.  Cora hoped that she truly loved the handkerchiefs she ordered because she’d ended up with quite a few prick marks on her hands. 

But, that wasn’t the only thing she’d done all day!  She’d finished Thomas’ order and sent it, and then, of course, got a response… and then another… and it’d turned into quite the little postage war. 

But, the last bit of post had… jogged her in some way.  She felt compelled to make an excuse, to go, but then at the same time, she was so terribly bashful about things like this.  She’d put it away for a while, focusing on the work, but when the shop was closing and her Grmama practically kicked her out (for the kind of woman who kept her busy every second of every day, she was certainly feeling generous about not keeping her after hours). 

Cora didn’t want to hurry home, however.  The apartment wasn’t the most wondrous place in the world, and frankly, she really only enjoyed sleeping there.  She’d go just about anywhere before she went home, and she did need something to eat.  Though she was artistic, her talents ended just about when a quill left paper or a needle left fabric. 

So, she tugged on one of her cloaks (tucked all mail she’d received in her pockets) and headed just a few doors down in the alley toward her favorite little café.  She had a few similarly aged friends who worked there, and they had a fantastic menu with some fabulous hot chocolate. 

Practically dashing inside, it was obvious Cora was not the only one with a brilliant idea and she got in line, trying to be more patient than she actually felt.  Honestly.  She knew Alohomocha was good (obviously that's why she was there), but why did everyone else have to know that when she was hungry?  She sighed heavily and counted the people in front of her... over and over... to pass the time as they slowly moved forward in line.

It wasn’t that the rush was ever as bad as, say, the kind seen on the Starbucks on Oxford Street in the week before Christmas – which Leon knew about because he’d seen the queue from quite a distance away – but when it got to shop closing time, especially in winter, when people wanted something to keep them warm against the cold, there was definitely an increase in activity.

If only it took place about mid-morning, when he was still full of energy and had had long enough to wake up properly, it would be that little bit easier – and when you were trying to remember five different orders, each with something to make them special, which Leon understood, but seriously, why would you want to put strawberry syrup in a mocha. It was dumb, and when he’d finally produced all of them, he wanted to sag with relief, but although the queue wasn’t too long, there were still a few people – too many for him to start slacking now!

Thank god that CeeCee was there too, because she made the whole thing bearable. Partly because she was more efficient than most of the others, but mostly because she made it a hell of a lot more fun to work there.

An order of two teas with scones was so easy he wanted to kiss the wizard who’d made it, and he beamed at him as he handed the tray over, “I hope you enjoy it.” When he got back to the front of the line, he was surprised to see Cora standing there, looking dispirited. He hadn’t noticed her in the line, but he’d been more preoccupied with its length than who was in it, so it wasn’t completely weird, just unusual.

“Nice cloak Cora,” he greeted, “How’re you doing?” there was slightly more concern than he would usually express in the question, but not so much as to be obvious, and he quickly added, “and what can I make you? Or get you to eat, if you want?” Even if he was serving a friend, he was still at work and the manager’s ability to sense slacking was so acute he would have suspected she was a clairvoyant, if he hadn’t been assured it wasn’t the case. A scrying spell wasn’t out of the question, but it was unlikely. Maybe extendable ears?

He sneaked a look at the line; the flow had ebbed, enough that if he was quick, he could serve them and then call his break so he could chat to her properly. That way, he wouldn’t be killed for failing to work.

The line was moving very quickly, Cora noted happily.  She didn’t really want to be in line for more than fifteen minutes, and she sincerely hoped that no one got in line behind her.  Her hopes were, of course, not granted, even though she was closing her eyes, crossing her fingers, and biting her lip all at the same time: that usually could do the trick. 

Unfortunately, however, it didn’t work this time.  But, on the bright side there weren’t many people.  Cora supposed she would count it as a win for the time being. 

Getting to the front of the line, Cora was finally able to smile (for real).  “Thank you, Leon!” she chirped, running her hands over the wool.  She was proud of her work, and the fact that it got a compliment was good enough for her.  Of course, his next question was… a little less squeal inducing.  “I need your advice,” she replied honestly, glancing over her shoulder at the small collection of patrons. 

“I’ll just a tea,” she announced in a larger voice, not wanting anyone to think he wasn’t doing his job – she knew how grandma reacted to that – and she didn’t want Leon to get in trouble.  As long as it looked like he was doing something for her and got to talk with her in a moment, she’d be okay.

Lifting some sickles and knuts out of her pocket, she placed them on the counter, lifting her eyes to smile.  “When it dies down: meet me in the comfy chairs?” she inclined her head toward the recliners by the windows in the patron section of the storefront.  She wanted to plop into one of those chairs and just rant.  She sideyed around, to see if the manager was looking, and added, “Keep the change – and bring my drink when you’re ready.” 

She shoved the money across the countertop and walked away from the counter, glancing over her shoulder.  Only a couple of more people.  She shucked her coat, draping it over the plush chair (after taking the post out of her pocket) and placing it on the table in between the two chairs. 

Then, she unceremoniously dropped herself into the chair, crossing her ankles (as was customary) and glanced at the stack of parchment.  It made that uncomfortable bubble of anxiety come back: she had to decide what she was going to do! 

“Oh- sure,” Leon agreed, smiling to hide his unease at the question. It was poorly timed, perhaps, because he was at work, but there was no way he would pass up on the request, and his concern was more for Cora. The order made him smile in relief, glad that she understood that he couldn’t just take a break, much as he’d like to, not when there was this much of a queue.

The lack of specificity meant that she was probably talking about good old Builder’s brew, or at least that was what he assumed, and he took the coins with a grin, taking a moment to count out the right amount into the till before putting the rest into the tip jar. It was always good when people tipped – even if it was a little odd when he knew them, it was still better than not getting the money.

Bag in the pot, he quickly added milk and sugar to the tray, taking it across to Cora so that she could have it the way she wanted. It was weird, people wanted the barista to make coffee, but preferred to make their tea to their own specification. “I’ll be as quick as possible,” he promised as he transferred the contents of the tray to the table in front of her and rushing off again.

He was slightly more brusque than usual when dealing with the next few customers, but although one of them wanted three drinks, it was nothing on the kind of time an overly picky or indecisive patron couldn’t better. By a long way. He was still polite, of course, but he probably could have concealed his impatience slightly better. “You good, CeeCee?” he asked when there was only one person left, already making his way out from behind the counter.

Having received confirmation, he made his way back to Cora’s table, sitting opposite her and relaxing into the chair. Cora had correctly identified the comfiest seats in Alohomocha – Leon knew because he’d tested them – and after standing up for the past couple of hours, it was a relief to be able to sit down. Not rude enough to put his feet on the table, although there was a man a few seats away doing just that, he instead leant forward slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked first, because while needing advice didn’t automatically mean that someone wasn’t okay, it was a strong suggestion that something was wrong. "You aren't in debt to the mob or something?" he joked, trying for levity.

Cora didn’t mind waiting.  She knew it’d be the same if she was working, so she always tried to grant others the courtesies extended to her, but it was nearing the end of the day and she couldn’t imagine anyone would miss Leon – and it was kind of a big deal to talk to him. 

She wasn’t the sort of girl who was able to answer questions like this and make choices – even if it was an entirely innocent thing.  She just… knew she had to go to Paris anyway and well… there was a practical need here too.  Gramma would have her head in the window display if she didn’t collect the money for robes that she’d spent an inordinate amount of time working on. 

Shuffling through his letters again, Cora smiled to herself.  She could practically hear the letters in his voice – what she remembered of it, kind of nervous with the accent… She bit her lip, flicking her eyes back up – surprised to see Leon coming over.

She put them the letters back together and shifted in the cushy seat.  “Oh, thank you!” she gushed, happily leaning forward to get her tea ready.  A healthy amount of sugar with just a touch of milk, and she was happy to start sipping away.  Of course, some of it went up her nose at his question and Cora giggled, shaking her head.  “Not so much,” she put the cup down and rolled her eyes at him. 

“Look,” she pushed the letters in their neat little stack toward him.  “I have to respond to the last one,” she tapped it, “But… I don’t know how.”  She looked into his face with her big, blue eyes and batted her lashes with slightly pouted lips.  “Help?”

He kept up his smile, “that’s a relief, because I’d be worried about why you were coming to me for help with the mob.” But more than that, the statement suggested that although she was asking for advice, the matter might not be too serious.

Leon picked up the stack, looking at the one on top so that he’d know what to do. Wandmaker, French, possible coffee date – if it was a date, that was, but usually people didn’t suggest meeting for coffee with people who they’d only met once for business. That didn’t mean they didn’t, of course, and there was no point reading too far into things without reading the rest of the mail. He flipped through it quickly, not wanting to keep her waiting any longer.

When he'd finished, he looked up, “so… you want to go to Paris? That’s great, Paris is beautiful – and there are so many places to visit, the Monet paintings in Le Musée de l’Orangerie are beautiful.” The French didn’t exactly trip off his tongue, but it was said with more fluidity than someone who had never attempted to speak the language would have managed.

“Okay, Paris, but… you’re not sure about meeting the – Thomas again, right?” It made sense, since the acquaintance was relatively recent and nobody wanted to get shown around a foreign city by someone who they later decided they didn’t like – or someone with whom it was just awkward, not because they didn’t like each other but because they didn’t get on quite as well as they’d hoped or planned.

Though that didn’t seem like it was the problem Cora faced, more the opposite. “Want to elaborate? I mean, it seems like he wants to see you again.” But that was going on a handful of letters, from a person he’d never met.

“Well, I mean, of course Paris is beautiful,” Coralie agreed instantly, trying on her best (worst) French accent, “even if I spend most of my time in zee fabric shops!” she grinned – it was really a terrible sound, but she couldn’t help herself! 

He was asking about Thomas though, and Cora couldn’t help but smile a little bit.  He was handsome and pretty adorable.  There was also a kind of awkward charm that made her just smile to think of.  “He’s very sweet,” she explained, “and a little shy.  Bashful, I guess would be the best word,” she tapped her nails on the rim of the table.  “Oh, and when I was measuring him,” she giggled and her cheeks flared up into a wickedly brilliant blush.  “Oh Leon, you would have died.” 

That much was true.  It had been quite the experience, and Cora, though not a stranger to it, hadn’t felt so awkward doing a fitting since she was fifteen and measured Daniel Burbington – elite Gryffindor chaser and seventh year – for new trousers. 

But Thomas wasn’t the entire crux of the issue.  She could go to Paris anytime she desired, really – all she needed to do was breathe a word of it to her grandmother and she’d have them off.  The problem was making it so it wasn’t a paired trip.

Frowning, she twisted her hands in her lap before she reached for her cup of tea and took a sip.  “It’s not so much… about him,” she frowned slightly.  “It’s more related to,” her tongue darted out and wiped some stray tea off of her bottom lip before she placed the cup on the table, a small pout on her newly clean lips.  “How…  I get away…”

She lowered her eyes then raised them back to him, “I need an excellent lie.”

Leon made an ambiguous noise to express encouragement, noting the smile that appeared as she tried to talk to him. That was definitely good, and the description was reassuring enough, being bashful was definitely better than being obnoxious – something that he hadn’t quite managed to follow in practice. “Died of what? Embarrassment? Laughter? Something… else?” It was obvious what he was referring to, although he was privately convinced that since Rick hadn’t managed to kill him (yet), he would be able to survive anyone else getting measured without much too much stress.

The smile that broke across his face was surprised, and almost delighted. It was such a strange question – like she was a teenager trying to go to a party she’d been banned from going to. And Cora was an adult, and going to Paris to rendezvous with mysterious, bashful men without needing permission for it was one of the perks of being an adult. Not that Leon had, yet, but he could if he ever wanted to.

“To get to Paris, or to avoid a chaperone?” he asked, already trying to work through possibilities. Cora worked with her Grandmother, which was unfortunate, because family was the best excuse for going anywhere, and even if it was France, you could have a cousin who married someone there, or a family friend.

“Can’t you just request a holiday?” he tried, hopefully, although it was unlikely to be useful if Cora was coming to ask for help. It was an obvious request, since that was what she was doing. But if she only had to drop something off, maybe she could claim it was too menial a task to have more than one person assigned to it? “I suppose illness is off the table?” he had to check, although that was unlikely too – illness was just as obvious as family.

Sinking into her chair, Cora leaned her head back against the soft cushioning of the chair.  Her groan at his question was more from her own  frustration with the predicament.  She was twenty-five years old. Merlin it all sounded ridiculous once she said it out loud and hearing Leon respond back to her… she sounded like she was back in Hogwarts trying to sneak to Hogsmeade or something.

Pouting a little, she lifted her head and breathed heavily through her nose.  “She’s just so nosy,” Cora murmured reaching forward for her tea with both hands, cradling it as she took a generous sip. 

If there was something tea couldn’t fix, Cora didn’t know it.  She had no inclination to find out, either. 

Frowning, she pursed her lips over the top of the cup.  “I mean, I guess calling sick would be better than anything – but I could actually get some things I need for the shop while I’m there…” she teetered on the edge, “and it’d be strange, if you know, I said I was going to Paris for work… and I wasn’t…” her eyes shifted, “I hate lying.” 

That was very true.  Cora was not a good liar to anyone.  She’d never been.  “I just think telling the truth would be torture. You know how my Grandmother is,” she rolled her eyes.  Anyone who had bought robes for school in the past fifty years knew how her great grandmother was. 

“What about you?” she lifted her eyes again, feeling suddenly like there was a certain rudeness about her laying it on the table without opportunity for Leon to get a word in edgewise.  “Anything remotely obnoxious and conflicting in your life?”