Page 74 of Je T'aime, Actually
“You know I wasn’t going to leave it all day.” Monroe’s tone was light, more amused than annoyed.
“Are we fighting again?” Chloé asked, grinning as she unbuttoned her coat.
“No,” Monroe said, stepping closer. “But just because I’m working from home, doesn’t mean I’ve become the cleaner every time you decide to ravish me in the living room.”
Thenshe kissed her.
“You’re right,” Chloé murmured against her lips. “I’ll be more considerate next time I ravish you.”
“Good, now sit. Dinner will be ready in a moment.”
“I am starving,” Chloé said. “Thank you for cooking. I appreciate it.”
Dinner was simple: pasta with roasted vegetables and a tomato-basil sauce Monroe had thrown together while catching up on emails. It smelled amazing, and Chloé had kissed hercheek, muttering something about falling in love with her all over again.
But three bites in, Chloé paused. “You didn’t salt the water,” she said.
Monroe blinked. “Yes, I did.”
“Not enough,” Chloé said dismissively.
Monroe stared at her, then scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.” She dropped her fork onto the plate. “I’ve worked too, you know. Cleaned up after you, and managed to cook so you’d have a meal on the table when you got home, and all you can do is criticise?”
Chloé held up her hands. “I’m just saying—it’s a little bland. But the sauce is good!”
Monroe narrowed her eyes playfully. “If you ever insult my cooking again, you’re getting toast for dinner.”
Chloé grinned, twirling more spaghetti onto her fork. “French toast?”
Monroe groaned. “That joke is worse than your manners.”
“But not worse than the pasta.”
Monroe threw a napkin at her head, laughing.
Chloé caught it mid-air and grinned. “Okay, okay. I’ll do the dishes.”
“You’d better,” Monroe said, still smiling, “or I’m putting garlic in your coffee tomorrow.”
But as she picked up her fork again, her smile faded slightly. The barbed comment had landed deeper than she wanted to admit. A memory sparked of Justine, constantly criticising. Nothing was good enough. Monroe pushed the thought away. It had no place here, and yet, Chloé’s words rankled.
Chloé twirled the last bite of spaghetti onto her fork, chewing quickly as she pulled her phone from her pocket.
“I’ve got a couple of emails I need to send before the morning,” she said, not quite meeting Monroe’s gaze. “I need to connectwith one of the new authors we’re signing, and I want to make sure the contracts are processed in time.”
Monroe nodded, slower this time, still chewing.
Chloé stood, scraping the last bits of food from her plate into the bin. She rinsed it briefly and dumped it into the sink without washing it. “I’ll clean up properly later,” she said over her shoulder, already halfway out of the kitchen.
“Are you sure you can manage that?”
Chloé smiled. “Yes. I know you’ve been picking up the slack around here. I can handle some dishes.”
She watched the back of Chloé vanish down the hallway. For a moment, the soft sounds of the house felt louder—just the faint hum of the fridge and the clink of cutlery on porcelain as she placed her own fork down.
She sat quietly, let the world settle around her.
sixty-one
