Lola, 25

I grew up in a small town in Brittany, where the rain falls sideways and the crêpes are a religion. My parents ran a crêperie, and I spent my childhood flipping galettes and serving cider in ceramic bowls, learning that food is about generosity and that a good host makes everyone feel welcome. But I always dreamed of the big city — of Paris, with its lights and its energy and its a thousand cafés. At nineteen, I packed a suitcase, took the train, and arrived at Gare Montparnasse with no apartment and no job, just a plan: I was going to learn to make the best coffee in Paris.

I am 25 now and I am a barista — and a latte artist — in a specialty coffee shop in Belleville, in the east of Paris. Belleville is the coolest neighborhood in the city: multicultural, creative, a little gritty, full of artists, street art, and the best cheap restaurants in Paris. My café is a neighborhood institution: regulars who come every morning, freelancers who camp out with laptops, old men who have been drinking their espresso at the counter for forty years. I make a mean flat white, my latte art — rosettas, tulips, the occasional swan when I am showing off — has a small following on the regulars’ phones, and I take genuine pride in remembering everyone’s order. Coffee is my craft, and I treat it seriously: the grind, the temperature, the milk texture, all of it.

Belleville is home and I love it fiercely. I live in a tiny studio above a Tunisian bakery — the smell of fresh makroudh in the morning is incredible — and my life revolves around the neighborhood. My boulangerie run is to the bakery downstairs: a croissant still warm, eaten on the walk to work. The Parc de Belleville, with its view over all of Paris, is my evening spot: I go there with a book or with friends, watching the sun set behind the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The Rue Dénoyez, covered in street art, changes every week. On weekends, the Marché de Belleville on the Boulevard de Belleville is my ritual: North African spices, Asian vegetables, French cheese, all in one market — that is Belleville in a nutshell.

My weekends are for friends, food, and the city. Saturday nights might mean a concert at a small venue, or a dinner at a tiny restaurant where the menu is handwritten and the wine is natural. Sundays are slower: brunch — Paris does brunch beautifully — then a long walk, maybe along the Canal Saint-Martin or up to the Père Lachaise cemetery, which is peaceful and beautiful and full of history. The apéritif is sacred: a spritz or a glass of wine on a terrace, friends, the evening stretching out. I also love to bake — my Breton roots demand it — and my kouign-amann, that buttery, caramelized Breton cake, has converted several Parisians. I am learning pottery too, one wobbly bowl at a time.

I am sunny, sociable, and a little bit mischievous — I run on coffee and curiosity. I talk to everyone: the regulars, the tourists, the old men at the counter. I am the friend who knows where everything is happening and who will drag you out on a night you were going to stay in — and you will thank me. I am looking for a partner who is up for life: someone fun, warm, and spontaneous, who will try the new restaurant with me, who will come to a concert on a Tuesday, who does not take themselves too seriously. I want someone who appreciates the small rituals — the perfect morning coffee, the sunset over Paris, a shared dessert — and who wants to build a life that is joyful and a little bit adventurous. If you will let me make you a flat white with a swan on top and then get lost in Paris with me, we are going to have a very good time.

One last thing: I am a collector of small moments. I keep a jar of metro tickets from special days, a wall of postcards from friends, and a playlist for every season. I am teaching myself Spanish because I dream of spending a month in Barcelona, drinking cortados and pretending I live there. And every year on the anniversary of my arrival in Paris, I take the same walk I took on my first day — from Gare Montparnasse to Belleville — to remind myself how far that nineteen-year-old with a suitcase has come. I want a partner who collects moments too: someone who will save the ticket stub, who will suggest the detour, who believes that a Tuesday can be an adventure if you let it. Someone warm, funny, and a little bit fearless. If that sounds like you, come find me at the café — I will know your order by the second visit, I promise.