Page 23 of Je T'aime, Actually

“Well,” Monroe crouched down to meet her eye level, “your mum asked if I could come instead. I hear Benji’s at football?”

Kitty nodded, delighted. “And I get you all to myself!”

Monroe laughed. “Exactly. What shall we do with our girl time?”

Kitty thought for a moment, her eyes serious. “Can we get chips and draw? You always let me use the pens.”

“Deal.” Monroe stood and offered her hand. “Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they walked towards Monroe’s cottage, which was closer than the child’s own home, Kitty chattering the whole way.

“We spent all morning making models with clay—I got really messy, and Miss Daniels had to help take my apron off ‘cos it was all over my fingers.” She held them up, fingers splayed, tiny bits of dry clay still embedded under her nails.

“Hm, I think we’ll give those a good wash when we get in, don’t you?”

Kitty giggled. “Maybe with the good soap?”

Monroe smiled. “For you, always the good soap.”

eighteen

Trains and planes—that seemed to be Chloé’s life lately. She’d caught the early commuter into London, changing once for the line that would bring her into Shoreditch where her meeting was being held.

She’d been putting this off for months. But eventually, she’d had to face facts. Her publishing business was in trouble. It either needed more money pumped into it—which she didn’t have—or she had to finally consider one of the offers to buy it.

Today’s meeting was with Shutler Fitch. They were bigger, corporate, and had the kind of financial backing that could absorb her business without blinking. But they were mainstream. Safe. Predictable. And the thought of handing her small independent press over to them made her stomach turn.

What choice did she have, though? She couldn’t go under and let her small team lose their jobs. Some redundancies were inevitable with any takeover—that was clear—but if she could find the right buyer, the right investor, she could limit the damage. Couldn’t she?

Shutler Fitch wanted to expand and diversify. Mainstream had served them well, but even they could see which way the wind was blowing. There was a rising appetite for LGBTQ+ and POC voices—stories that had long been underrepresented were now leading the conversation in key spaces. And they wanted in.

They wanted her catalogue. Her authors. Her eye.

It should have felt like a compliment. But instead, it felt like being slowly carved away.

These last couple of days with Monroe had been a brilliant distraction, pulling her out of her own head. But now…the train slowed, brakes screeching faintly as the carriage leaned. She stood, gathering her bag, bracing herself for the meeting ahead.

Her smile returned, though, the moment she stepped out onto the platform and her phone buzzed back to life.

A photo lit up the screen—Monroe and a small child sharing chips drenched in red sauce. Monroe’s smile was relaxed, her hair a little windblown, and the child beside her beamed, mid-chip.

Monroe:Hope you’re having a good day.

Chloé:I am now. You look beautiful.

She considered sending a photo in return, but couldn’t summon the desire to smile just yet. Her mouth didn’t feel like it would quite cooperate. A quick glance at the time told her she was early though, so she crossed the street to a small coffee shop with steamed-up windows and the smell of fresh croissants leaking onto the pavement.

Monroe:I’m in my happy place, pretending I’m seven again. This is Kitty—my friend’s youngest I was telling you about.

Chloé:It suits you.

Monroe:How’s your day going? Wasn’t today your trip to London for a meeting?

Chloé smiled softly, thumb already brushing across the keyboard.

Chloé:Yes, meetings today. London’s loud. I always forget how much until I’m here. It’s all going fine, I think, just grabbing a coffee.

She paused, watching the milk foam settle in her cup. She could have said more—about the numbers, about the Zoom meeting last week and the way Shutler Fitch’s senior partner had used the word “niche” with the sort of smile that meant “risky.” But it felt too heavy to bring up now after Monroe’s sunny picture and easy affection.