Page 2 of Je T'aime, Actually
The woman smiled. “Ah,oui, that too.”
There was a beat—not awkward, just enough to let the moment settle between them.
“I’m Chloé,” she said. “Chloé St Martin.”
“Monroe Carpenter.”
“Monroe? That’s an interesting name.”
“Ah, yes, courtesy of my father’s love for Marilyn.” She smiled. “My mother kiboshed the idea of Marilyn, but was taken with Monroe, so…here I am.”
Chloé tilted her head slightly, as though trying the name on. “It suits you.”
Monroe blinked. “Does it? I’ve never really liked it. So…heading to England?”
Chloé nodded. “A few days. A bit of business. A bit of escape.” She gave a small shrug. “And you?”
Monroe hesitated. “Home.”
The word felt heavier than it should have.
Chloé heard it. She smiled again, this time softer, less polite, more knowing. “Sometimes we leave a place only to realise it’s taken something with us.”
Monroe didn’t respond right away. Instead, she looked at the woman beside her—poised, unreadable—and felt, for the first time in days, the tiniest shift.
A click. Something new.
“I don’t live in London,” Monroe said, feeling the need to explain, though she wasn’t sure why.
Chloé leant in slightly. “I’m not going to London,” she said, with a warm, genuine smile. “But Gatwick’s the closest airport, so…”
She gave a little shrug and pulled that face—half apology, half inevitability.There we go.
Monroe smiled faintly, unsure what to say next. She glanced down at her magazine, then closed it.
“So, where are you headed?”
“Brighton,” Chloé replied, pushing the book back into her bag. “A friend insists I take a few days off. Claims I’ve forgotten how to relax.” She gave another small shrug. “She’s probably right.”
Monroe gave a wry smile. “Brighton’s perfect for that. I live not far. I’m there often enough—sea air, good food, rainbow flags on every other corner…” she said, testing the waters a bit. Most women were, of course, not gay, but Chloé she wasn’t too sure about.
Chloé’s mouth curved. “So it lives up to the reputation, then?”
Monroe let out a quiet laugh. “Let’s just say, if you’re queer and even vaguely local, Brighton’s part of the starter kit.”
Chloé’s grin was warm and a little playful. “Excellent. I was worried I’d stand out. But it sounds like I’ll fit right in.”
Monroe took a sip of her coffee, fighting the urge to smile. “You’ll be fine.”
Chloé shifted slightly towards her. “And you’ve just come from…”
“Near Nantes. I was staying out in the countryside for a while.” Monroe looked down briefly, as if the explanation needed softening. “Trying to breathe.”
Chloé studied her for a moment. “And did it help?”
“A little,” Monroe said. “I think I remembered how quiet feels.”
Chloé nodded, then said more softly, “Sometimes we need to step away from everything to hearourselvesproperly.”
