Page 19 of Je T'aime, Actually

Monroe looked up from turning the last of the potatoes onto a serving plate. “Oh, did I? Honestly, I just liked the bottle.” She grinned. “Glasses are in that cupboard, middle shelf.” She pointed with the fork.

“The French,” Chloé laughed as she moved towards the cupboard and retrieved two glasses, “…we can be quite snobby about wine and cheese.”

Monroe smiled, grateful for the easy rhythm settling between them. “Snobby about wine and cheese, you say? I don’t believe it,” she said jokingly, a playful glint in her eye.

Chloé chuckled softly, setting the glasses carefully on the counter. “Only the good stuff deserves the fuss,non? Otherwise, what’s the point?” She lifted the bottle again, wafting it under her nose with a thoughtful expression before deeming it perfect to pour.

Moving closer, Chloé passed a glass to Monroe, their fingers brushing briefly as she did.

“To an excellent dinner, and…” she shrugged playfully, eyes sparkling, “possibilities?”

Monroe smiled warmly, the soft clink of their glasses punctuating the moment. “I like that… Possibilities.”

There was that moment again, where their eyes held each other’s gaze, this time over the rim of the glass as they sipped—an unspoken acknowledgement of something more; a quiet attraction simmering beneath the surface.

“Would you like to take a seat in the dining room while I bring everything through?” Monroe asked.

“Or…I could help.” Chloé said, reaching for the plate with the potatoes.

“That would work, too.” Monroe smiled and lifted the platter with the lamb. “Follow me.”

fifteen

Dinner had lived up to every expectation.

The lamb had been tender, roasted with garlic and rosemary that perfumed the kitchen before Chloé even stepped inside. Crisp-edged potatoes, rich gravy, buttered greens, and a glass of red that paired better than Monroe gave herself credit for. It wasn’t just the food, though. It was the way Monroe moved—half flustered, half composed—with a kind of casual grace that made the whole thing feel effortless.

Now they were on the sofa, plates cleared, second glasses in hand. The light outside had softened, moving into the early evening. Chloé leant back, legs curled beneath her, watching Monroe as she laughed at something Chloé had just said—really laughed, head thrown back a little, eyes crinkling at the edges. She looked different from the woman on the plane. Lighter. Or maybe Chloé was just seeing more of her.

She liked that. She liked her.

It was dangerous, wasn’t it? To feel this kind of spark so soon. Chloé had known infatuation—been charmed and charming,more times than she cared to admit—but this had a different feel to it. There was a gentleness about Monroe, a thoughtfulness that pulled at something in her.

Chloé sipped her wine, then tilted her head slightly.

“I have to say,” she said, her voice low, teasing, “you’ve completely ruined restaurant roasts for me now.”

Monroe looked over, one eyebrow raised. “That good?”

Chloé nodded. “Better. There’s something... comforting about a meal made in someone’s home. It’s the kind of thing that lingers,non?”

She paused, watching Monroe for a second too long, letting the silence hold just enough to settle into something warm between them.

“It lingers,” she repeated, more softly this time.

There it was again—that almost moment. The pause where something could happen, and they’d both sensed it. But Chloé didn’t move. Not yet. She knew enough now to let this unfold slowly. To wait.

Chloé felt the moment shift before it happened. Monroe had gone quiet beside her, and her body stilled, the easy rhythm between them faltering for just a breath.

When she turned to look, Monroe was already halfway leaning in. Not bold or certain—more like assessing the ground beneath her feet. Chloé didn’t move; didn’t rush to meet her, didn’t pull away. She let Monroe come to her.

The kiss was light. Barely there. A brush of lips that carried more curiosity than confidence. And when Monroe pulled back, her eyes were wide with surprise, searching Chloé’s.

“I didn’t think I’d do that,” she said, almost to herself.

Chloé smiled, slow and warm. “And yet, you did.”

Monroe’s mouth twitched with a self-conscious smile. “I wanted to see how it felt.”