Page 45 of Je T'aime, Actually
Chloé’s voice was soft but certain. “Then we talk. We figure it out. Together. Because what I feel for you…it’s worth the effort.”
Monroe met her eyes again, the worry still there, but softened by hope. “I want to believe that.”
Chloé smiled, leaning closer. “We’ll take it one day at a time. No pressure, no promises, just us figuring out what this could be.”
Monroe’s breath hitched, a fragile kind of peace settling between them. “One day at a time,” she echoed.
Chloé nodded. “One day at a time is all any of us have.”
“I guess that’s true.” Monroe’s mouth curved upwards. “So, we should probably make the most of it, right?”
Catching on, Chloé grinned. “We definitely should.”
“Good, because…j’ai besoin de te goûter,” Monroe said, doing her best with the French.
“Ah,c’est bien,” Chloé laughed. “I’m never going to say no to that.”
They leant in slowly, the space between them shrinking with every heartbeat. Monroe’s fingers brushed a stray curl from Chloé’s face, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
Chloé’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “You want me here, or upstairs?”
Monroe smirked, her voice low and playful. “I really don’t care.”
Their lips finally met. Soft at first, then deepening with delicious urgency, every touch promising more to come.
They broke apart just enough to catch their breath, foreheads resting together.
Chloé’s smile was slow, teasing. “Upstairs then. But don’t think I’m going to beg.”
Monroe chuckled, a spark lighting in her eyes. “Oh, I think you might.”
thirty-seven
Sunday evening came around far too quickly. The golden light of late afternoon filtered through the car windows, stretching long shadows across the dashboard. The mood was muted now, quieter, with less urgency.
The drive to the airport passed mostly in silence—not strained, but reflective. Monroe watched the scenery blur past, fingers loosely intertwined with Chloé’s over the gearstick. Each mile felt like an unravelling of something that had only just begun to feel stitched together.
“I hate this part already,” Monroe said eventually, her voice barely above the hum of the road.
Chloé glanced at her. “Me too.”
They didn’t need to say more. The question, ‘When will we see each other again?’hung in the space between them.
Unspoken but very present.
As the terminal signs came into view, Monroe squeezed Chloé’s hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
Chloé nodded, jaw tight with emotion. “One day at a time.”
A small, sad smile pulled at Monroe’s lips. “That line’s going to haunt us, isn’t it?”
Chloé gave a soft laugh, pulling the car into the drop-off lane. “Only if it stops being true.”
“I don’t want to go,” Monroe said quietly, eyes fixed on the terminal ahead.
Chloé exhaled, her hands resting on the steering wheel before turning slightly to face Monroe. “I know,” she said, “I don’t want you to, either.”
There was a pause. Long enough for the moment to settle. The hum of the engine, the soft tick of the cooling dashboard, and the quiet between them said as much as words could.
