Page 13 of Je T'aime, Actually
Monroe let out a soft laugh, eyes briefly widening. “God, that’s a big one.”
“Start small,” Chloé offered. “I’m patient, remember?”
Monroe looked down at her wine, swirling it slightly. “Alright. I like quiet mornings. I’m a bit obsessive about lists. I’mvery good at organising other people’s chaos, and terrible at managing my own.”
Chloé laughed at that, a warm, low sound.
“I work too much,” Monroe added. “I hate networking. I love thunderstorms, but only if I’m indoors. I’m a bit of a clean freak, and I get emotionally attached to fictional characters far too easily, and I—”
She stopped herself, suddenly aware of how much she was giving away.
“You?” she asked, deflecting with a small smile. “What makes Chloé tick?”
Chloé’s expression softened. “Hmm. I like good questions. And people who are brave enough to answer them.”
“I’m brave enough.” Monroe grinned. “Probably too brave—that’s usually what gets me into trouble.”
“Because you take a leap of faith?”
“Jump in with both feet usually,” Monroe said, but in the back of her mind, a quiet voice whispered,You didn’t last time.
Chloé’s mouth widened, lips curving, her eyes flickering with something gentle yet knowing.
“Maybe it’s not about how deep you jump, but where you choose to land.” She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Monroe’s ear. “And sometimes, the hardest part is trusting the ground will be there.”
ten
One glass of wine had turned into three, and before Monroe knew it, the night was almost over. Her cheeks ached from laughing, and at some point, their chairs had drifted closer together. The bar had filled up, people pulling chairs around tables, crowding in with friends, and adding a soft background hum to their bubble of two.
“I think the bar is closing,” Chloé said, glancing towards the staff clearing glasses.
Monroe checked her watch. “Yes...I guess it is.”
“In all honesty,” Chloé said, lowering her voice slightly, “I don’t want the night to end just yet.”
“Me either,” Monroe admitted.
Chloé tilted her head, hopeful. “Maybe…we take a walk? Along the…how you say? Sea road?”
“Seafront,” Monroe corrected with a smile. “Yes, I’d like that.”
As they stood to leave, Monroe instinctively reached for her bag, but Chloé was quicker.
“I’ve got it.” Handing her card to the bartender with a flash of that disarming smile.
“Are you sure?” Monroe asked.
“I invited you, didn’t I?” Chloé winked. “Next time, you can argue.”
Monroe laughed. “Next time, I’m paying.”
“So, there’s a next time?”
Monroe met her gaze. “I hope so.”
They left the bar, stepping out into the cooler night air. The breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, long after sunset. The seafront buzzed with the low chatter of other evening stragglers—people walking dogs, eating chips on benches, holding hands, not quite ready to go home either.
“This is nice,” Monroe said, after a moment of silence that didn’t feel awkward.
