Page 22 of Je T'aime, Actually
She let the phone rest in her lap, head tilting back into the cushions, the faintest blush rising in her cheeks. The cottage wasn’t so quiet anymore—not when her mind was already replaying the kiss at the door, the scent of Chloé’s perfume still hanging faintly in the air like a promise.
Chloé:Never. Let’s organise another date soon. Preferably one that ends the same way. Or better.
Monroe’s face lit up. She reread the message, then tucked the phone beside her.
She’d spent so long bracing for disappointment, tiptoeing around possibilities like it might break beneath her. But this—this felt easy. Not perfect, not certain…but possible.
And maybe romance wasn’t so scary anymore.
seventeen
Monday arrived with an irritating shrill of the alarm clock.
Monroe sat in her home office, the low buzz of chatter on the radio a quiet companion as spreadsheets opened and emails stacked themselves in a tidy but relentless queue on her laptop.
The blinds were angled to let in enough light without causing glare, and she had her third coffee of the morning within easy reach...which had been needed.
“Back to reality.” She sighed, clicking into a client folder and beginning the slow work of reconciling accounts, her fingers tapping a frustrated rhythm that matched neither her mood nor the leftover warmth from yesterday.
Chloé had texted late—a simple message that still made her grin when she thought of it:
Chloe:Sleep well. This is a kiss goodnight… French, of course.
The buzz of her phone now dragged her out of a column of numbers that were blurring into each other.
Poppy:Hey, love, are you free to grab Kitty from school today? Benji’s got football and she gets bored to tears on the sidelines. xx
Monroe leant back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. A welcome distraction.
Monroe:Of course. What time? x
Poppy:Usual-3:15. I owe you one. She’ll be thrilled. x
Monroe:I’m her favourite, obviously. x
Poppy:Obviously. x
She smiled, dragging her calendar to the side of the screen and blocking out the afternoon. Kitty would be full of stories and snack demands, and that felt much more manageable than trying to chase up Mr Sanderson and his missing invoice for the third time.
Besides, getting out of the house wouldn’t be the worst thing.
With a soft huff of breath, Monroe returned to her accounts. Just a few more hours, then something real; something small, and human, and outside the boxy grid of spreadsheets.
Possibilities.
Monroe stood by the low brick wall outside the school gates, squinting slightly in the bright afternoon sun. The usual clusters of parents gathered nearby, chatting to one another, the odd toddler weaving between legs. She kept her phone in one hand, mostly as a prop—though she’d checked for new texts twice in the last minute.
The bell rang, and moments later a stream of small bodies poured out of the doors. Monroe scanned the crowd until she spotted Kitty’s dark curls bobbing towards her, the little girl not yet noticing who was waiting.
“Kitty!” Monroe called, lifting her hand.
The child paused, blinked, then lit up.
“Roe Roe!”
She ran full pelt, flinging her arms around Monroe’s waist with surprising force.
“What are you doing here?” She beamed up at her. “I thought it was Mum today!”
