Horse races. Without doubt, one of the most thrilling events of society’s life, everyone gathering in a joyous event, and in a light atmosphere. Women would chat, gossip and discuss their favorite horse to bet on, while men would bet their entire fortune on one horse, make business and, naturally, look out of the corner of their eyes for a potential future wife. And, even if Simon had recently taken an interest in horse races, the perspective of finding his beloved seemed much more interesting. The sun bathed the field where the horses would compete, delimited by fences where everyone was now gathered, excitement filling the air and conversations.

Simon held in his hands a small guidebook, indicating the horses performances and their chances to win. And, even if the number 13 seemed like a perfectly fine choice at the first look, he raised an ear to listen to conversations, curiosity getting the best of him. You were standing in the middle of the crowd with a friend, also debating which horse would win, your laugh catching Simon’s attention. Your friend was so persuaded that the number 13 would win that it was making you laugh, as you knew that the horse had no chance, since the flood was too muddy for that. You smiled, and said with a certain confidence : “Trust me, number 8 is the spot.”.

Your friend didn’t seem too convinced, studying the number 8’s performances on the small guide. Simon, on the contrary, didn’t doubt your idea for a second, finding an unexplainable charm in your confidence. He stepped closer, smiling politely to not scare either of you, and said calmly : “Number 8, yes ? I’ll bet for you, then.”. You didn’t understand immediately, but when he looked at you with a determined gaze, and a serious one, it became much clearer. Your friend laughed, amused, not used to seeing you with a man who had such a direct method of… flirting. Let’s call a spade, a spade.