Her ankles ached as if she’d just run a marathon. Every step felt like she was wading through molasses. Coco let her head hang low as she walked down the hallway toward her small apartment, her hooves dragging along the soft, creamy brown carpet.

Home. After a long day fixing up old costumes and trying to keep everypony organized, Coco had been ready to make herself a warm pot of tea and lay down on the couch for a couple hours before nodding off to sleep in her twin size bed. Or perhaps she’d forgo the couch and take the pot into her room, and buck her mother’s old “no drinks in bed” rule in the head.

She was a grown mare with her own place, rent, and a career—she could make her own rules, thank you very much!

Coco heaved a tired sigh as she came to a stop before her door—apartment 39—and began searching her saddlebags for her keys. Why did they always find a way to hide themselves when she was most tired? If they weren’t at the bottom of the bag or jabbing her frog, they’d somehow manage to slip into her pocketbook. Or they’d be in some small pocket her hooves couldn’t reach into without emptying her bag and shaking for all it was worth.

Her hoof touched cool metal. Coco gave a tiny smile. “There you are,” she muttered, tugging her keys out of her saddlebag and sliding them into the lock. A night of rest and relaxation before a couple meetings with partners.

Meetings on a Saturday. Coco snorted at the carpet. What sort of sadist came up with such a thing?

The latch clicked open, she placed her keys back in her bag and twisted the handle. Home at last. She pushed the door open and trotted inside, shutting it behind her with a gentle kick as she let her saddlebags drop. “Right,” Coco said. “Tea first. I hope I have enough.”

With a flick of her tail, she made to walk toward the kitchen, but then her hoof came down on something that rustled. Her ears twitched. Coco glanced back at her right hind hoof and lifted her leg. There, laying on her otherwise clean floor, was a letter bearing her name in elegant, flowing cursive. Curious, she bent down to pick it up. A hint of perfume wafted to her nose.

Perfume on an envelope? Coco felt her heart leap. That almost sounded like something out of one of her romance novels! The ones she kept tucked away in her room where visitors wouldn’t see.

Coco brought a corner of the envelope close and sniffed. The sweet scent of lilac teased her nose. A jolt ran through her body. A mare. And a classy one at that. Lilac was a rather expensive fragrance, typically found only in the more high end shops and boutiques in Manehattan and Canterlot.

Who did she know who frequented such places?

Several names came to mind. Coco had plenty of contacts in the fashion and studio industries, mares and stallions alike. A few mares were married, others insisted they were too attached to their work for such things, and then there were the social butterflies—mares like Suri Polimare (her actual personality notwithstanding), Sassy Saddles, and her friend, Rarity.

She bit her lip. Rarity. Now there was a mare of high class, talent, and a decorum. And no doubt a mare who could sweep her lover off her hooves.

For a split second, Coco dared to dream it was so. She shook her head, mindful not to send her flower mane clip whipping across the room, and trotted into the kitchen. No amount of self-control could keep the excitement out of her steps or the little swish from her tail.

She set the letter down on the two-seater table, giving it a fleeting glance before she forced herself to turn away and walk over to the counter. Tea first. Then reading Rarity’s letter—well, the letter she hoped was from Rarity.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she filled her metal teapot with water and set it on the stove. Mother always warned her about getting her hopes up that some mare would come along like one of her stories. It would only end in heartbreak and disappointment, she always said. And thus why said novels were tucked away in Coco’s bedroom.

While the tea began to boil, Coco procured a teabag from the ceramic blue jar to the stove’s left, then pulled her favorite cup from the cabinet. She made to turn away, but stopped short. Her eyes flitted to the letter again.

Her letter opener was in her home office. But she was far too tired to go walking around. A butter knife would do the job just fine. Coco opened another drawer and retrieved one. Then, carefully balancing it all in one hoof, she walked over to the table and sat down in her polished wooden chair. She set her cup and teabag aside for the moment, and deftly sliced the envelope open. The scent of lilac brought a warm smile to her face.

Lovely.

She slid the folded paper out from within the envelope and spread it out on the table. The same elegant cursive hoof writing stared back at her, written in ink. There were no signs of hoof smudges typical of earth pony or pegasus writing, nor a single drop of ink out of place.

Definitely a unicorn. Well, most likely.

Hopefully.

My dear Coco Pommel,

I am hopeful this note hasn’t caught you at a bad time. I’m quite certain you must be positively exhausted after a long week of preparation for your upcoming community theatre project. A most worthy venture, I must say. You’ve come quite a long way from your days as Suri’s understudy.

Of course, you and I both know the value of a good day’s rest in the midst of the hustle and bustle our work brings. A day where a mare can allow herself a little self-indulgence, some pampering, and, if one has the right company, a quiet dinner.

It may be bold, but I like to think myself a mare of action. I would like to invite you to accompany me to a lovely little restaurant in Little Neighpon called the Winter Moon—it’s not too extravagant, but certainly not a hole in the wall either. I have it on good authority it’s a popular date spot.

In addition, I would advise you to clear your schedule. I’ve taken the liberty of providing you an alternative itinerary which I think you’ll find most enjoyable.

I do hope you’ll accept my offer, dear. You deserve a nice, restful day, and I would like to share it with you.

Sincerely,

An Admirer

An imprint of a pair of scarlet lips had been left just below the message. A kiss.

Coco brought a hoof to her mouth. An anonymous message inviting her to a date? Her! And with a kiss to seal it. She gave way to temptation and picked up the letter again, sniffing curiously.

Lilacs flooded her senses, along with something else. A pony’s coat. The scent of the mare who’d written her out of the blue, sent her a sealed kiss, and slipped it under her door like secret lovers in the night. Her heart hammered away within her chest, racing a mile a minute. A faint whistling made her ears twitch, but she ignored it.

In that moment, the letter was all that mattered.

Two sides waged a war within her. A pony, a tiny facsimile of Coco herself, with her mane done up in a neat, short cut, a long strand of measuring tape hanging around her neck along with her collar and tie sprang forth. The professional.

Professional Coco darted forward and latched on. She clung to her hind leg and dug in her hooves, screaming at the top of her lungs about meetings and obligations. ”No, no, no!” she shrieked, pulling for all she was worth. ”These meetings are important! These clients are important! You can’t take a day off out of the blue! Not with a week left before opening night!”

But then another pony came into view. This Coco stood with a more relaxed posture and wore her necktie a little more loosely. Her ears stood up attentively, her cheeks were dusted a light pink, and a wobbly smile spread across her face. She bit her lip, as if she were trying to hold back a fit of giggles. In her hooves, there was a book with two ponies necking beneath the imprint of a heart on the cover.

Romantic Coco set her book down and trotted over, with an excited smile spread across her face, and whispered a dream of a fanciful evening that began with dinner and ended with Coco wrapped in a lover’s warm embrace. ”Just think, it could all be yours,” she crooned, her voice as sweet as honey. ”All those fantasies and dreams about a lover who’ll come in and sweep you right off your hard-working hooves, and give you all the attention and affection you deserve. All you have to do is take a personal day. And why not? Lace Trim took one at the last second. In fact, that’s why the meeting got moved to Saturday to begin with. She hardly has room to talk, does she?

Coco happily bucked Professional Coco into a closet and locked her away for safekeeping. She worked hard and did right by her clients, she deserved a day of relaxation every now and again. Especially since this project had her galloping at full speed to keep up.

A day of relaxation, dinner, and the chance to cap it off in a beautiful mare’s hooves, though … That was just ideal.

Especially if it so happened to be one mare in particular.

”Good mare!” Romantic Coco cheered, taking a seat on Coco’s right shoulder with a merry swish of her tail. She laid on her stomach and propped her chin on her hooves. ”So, we have a schedule to rearrange! Dinner with the mystery mare! Oooh! This is so exciting!”

“Lace Trim and Bobby Pin won’t be happy that I cancel at the last minute,” she muttered to her empty kitchen, “but they’ll understand as long as I deliver their costumes on time.” Thinking on it a moment, she added, “And perhaps with a bit of a personal touch to bring out Lace’s mane.”

The whistling grew louder, sharper. Coco winced and pinned her ears back, glancing over at the stove. Her mouth dropped open in muted horror as she saw the hot, boiling water flowing from the lid and spout. With a strangled cry, she leapt out of her seat and dashed over, snatching a towel off the rack to protect her hoof as she tried to save her stove.