Page 20 of Je T'aime, Actually
“And?”
A pause, then, “Nice. A little terrifying.”
Chloé reached across and lightly touched Monroe’s cheek, just a fingertip tracing gently. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
“I know,” Monroe said. But she didn’t pull away. “My last relationship did a number on me, and I guess I’m more cautious of anything new… I wasn’t looking, but you’re here and—"
Her voice faltered, and she gave a soft, frustrated laugh, glancing down at her hands.
“I’m not saying this very well.”
“You’re saying it perfectly,” Chloé replied gently. “You’re being honest.”
Monroe looked up at her then, properly, eyes searching. “I don’t want to rush or ruin something before it begins.”
“Then we won’t,” Chloé said simply. “We take our time. We see what feels good. No pressure, no expectations.”
A quiet moment passed between them. Monroe’s eyes softened, and her shoulders lowered— not relaxed, exactly, but no longer so braced. Chloé could see the trust forming, fragile but real.
“Thank you,” Monroe said.
Chloé smiled. “For what?”
“For not needing me to be anything other than what I am right now.”
“Of course,” Chloé said, brushing a stray hair behind Monroe’s ear. “And right now, you’re kind of wonderful.”
That made Monroe laugh properly, a little surprised and a little shy.
“Alright,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let’s have pudding before I get all emotional.”
Chloé laughed too. “Only if it’s something very British and comforting.”
“It’s crumble,” Monroe said, standing. “With custard.”
“Then I forgive you for everything.”
sixteen
When it came time for Chloé to leave, they stood in the hallway, close—too close for it to feel casual anymore—as she slipped her arms into her coat and wrapped the silk scarf loosely around her neck.
“I’ve had a really good time,” she said, smiling at Monroe, eyes warm and steady. “And now, I intend to kiss you.”
“I hoped as much,” Monroe replied, her voice low and honest. She licked her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, before biting it gently and letting it go.
Chloé stepped forward, moving with the kind of quiet confidence that made it feel inevitable they would kiss. Her hands settled lightly on Monroe’s shoulders, then one drifted up, fingertips tracing the line of her neck, before cupping her cheek with careful tenderness.
Monroe’s breath stilled. Her heart didn’t race, exactly, but it definitely thudded.
And then Chloé kissed her.
Softly, at first, lips brushed, evaluating the way forward. Monroe leant in, parted her lips, and Chloé followed the invitation, her tongue slipping past with slow intention. It was unhurried, exploratory, nothing rushed or demanding, just warm, open, and sure. Monroe met her, surprised at how natural it felt; how much she wanted it.
The kiss deepened, not in speed, but in clarity. There was no mistaking the message behind it—desire, yes, but also patience. A promise of sorts, if Monroe wanted it.
When they eventually pulled apart, slowly, reluctantly, Monroe blinked at her, slightly dazed.
“Well,” she said, a little husky, “that was…very French of you.”
