Page 18 of Je T'aime, Actually
Chloé:Good morning, Monroe ?? Thank you, I slept well. 2pm sounds perfect. I’m looking forward to it, too. Let me know if you want me to bring anything.
She sent the message and waited, the screen lighting up shortly after.
Monroe:No need to bring anything, just yourself. See you soon.
Chloé smiled softly, her heart fluttering just a little as she put the phone down and slipped it into her bag. The cool breeze tugged gently at her jacket as she stood up from the pier and started walking back along the promenade.
Her steps were steady, but her mind wandered, replaying the night before, the easy laughter and the warmth of Monroe’s gaze. She was cautious, yes, but there was something different this time—something that felt relaxed.
It was uplifting. That mattered more than anything.
As she strolled past a couple walking hand in hand—two men deep in conversation, laughing easily—she felt a gentle ache. That tug at her heart again.
She wanted that. A closeness. A rhythm with someone that didn’t feel like effort.
And if she found it again, wouldn’t she try? Yes, she would. No hesitation.
But she was getting ahead of herself.It was just lunch. With a beautiful woman. That was all.
fourteen
The kitchen smelt incredible, which should have been reassuring, but Monroe was far too flustered to enjoy it.
She’d planned for something simple—roast lamb, a few vegetables, a nice bottle of wine—but somewhere between the parsnips and the homemade apple crumble, things had escalated. The lamb was already resting, the potatoes still needed turning, and the gravy was threatening to split. She hadn’t laid the table, the wine needed to breathe, and she had not even thought about what she was wearing until five minutes ago.
“Why am I like this?” she muttered, darting between the hob and the oven. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and ran into the living room, only to pause with a frown, trying to remember why she’d come in there in the first place.
A glance at the clock made her groan. Two o’clock. Of course it was.
She darted to the front window, quickly brushing a hand through her hair. There was Chloé, just outside the gate, darkcurls lifting in the breeze, one hand resting lightly on the wooden post as she looked up at the house.
Monroe’s heart gave a familiar, disobedient flutter. She opened the front door.
“Hi,” she said, as casually as she could muster.
“Bonjour,” Chloé called gently, a smile spreading across her face.
Monroe returned the enthusiasm. “Come in.”
She stepped aside, making space for Chloé to pass, and caught the scent of her perfume again—the same one that had lingered on the scarf. That reminded her. “Oh, I didn’t give this back to you last night.” She reached for the colourful silk.
“Ah, thank you. I’m glad it was of help.”
Monroe flashed a grin, her mind replaying just how helpful it had been. It hadn’t really warded off the chilly, late-night air, but she’d understood quite quickly, her shivers and goosebumps weren’t weather-related after all.
“Come on through. I have some wine that needs to breathe. Maybe you could open that while—”
The sound of something beeping excitedly shrilled from the kitchen. Monroe’s eyes widened as she said, “Hang on…” And rushed off.
When Chloé entered the kitchen, an amused look on her face, she found Monroe with her hands shoved into oven gloves, and lifting a ceramic dish from the oven. Steam curled into the air.
“Need any help?”
Monroe glanced quickly at her as she placed the dish down onto a heat-resistant mat. “No, thank you… Um, just…the wine,” she said, nodding towards a bottle of red on the counter. “The corkscrew’s in the top drawer.”
Chloé moved to the drawer and pulled out the corkscrew, her fingers deftly working the cork free with practised ease. The pop echoed softly in the quiet kitchen.
“You picked a good one,” Chloé said, sniffing the wine before setting the bottle down to breathe. “Glasses?”
