Page 44 of Je T'aime, Actually

“I’m always sweet.”

“You’re occasionally sweet. But always cute.”

Their laughter mingled, quiet and content, as they sipped their coffees and watched the city move around them.

They wandered a few streets over, the air still cool but rain holding off. Chloé led the way, their hands brushing now and again until Monroe finally just took hers. She didn’t care who saw—not in England, not here. But there was something about this morning, about Chloé, that made the touch feel new, charged, like something real was beginning.

They turned a corner and stopped outside a narrow storefront painted a deep plum. The sign above readLes Mots Pour Ellesin delicate cursive. Monroe felt her brows lift. “A women’s bookstore?”

Chloé nodded, already pulling the door open. “My favourite place in the city. It’s small, but the owner curates everything herself—mostly women authors, feminist works, queer voices. I practically lived in here when I first moved back from Paris.”

Monroe stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the scent of old pages, coffee, and a hint of something flowery. Wooden shelves lined the walls, packed tightly with books in both French and English. There was a quiet reverence to the place, like a sanctuary.

A woman behind the counter looked up and smiled warmly. “Bonjour, Chloé.”

“Bonjour, Martine.Je te présente,Monroe.”

Martine nodded at Monroe with a knowing glance. “Welcome. You have good taste.”

Chloé winked and led Monroe deeper into the shop, between the stacks. “I used to hide back here,” she said, gesturing towards a reading nook by the window, “pretending to be reading, when really, I was just escaping the world.”

Monroe ran her fingers over the spines of the books, pausing at one with a worn cover, Monique Wittig:Les Guérillères.

“This place feels…” She hesitated, trying to find the word.

“Safe,” Chloé offered. “That’s how I think of it. Like a space where nothing has to be explained.”

Monroe nodded. “I like it.”

“You can pick anything you want,” Chloé said, stepping closer. “Souvenir of the weekend.”

Monroe looked up at her, a slow smile forming. “Then you better help me choose.”

They spent the next twenty minutes flipping through pages, making quiet jokes, leaning in too close and not pulling back. And for Monroe, the bookstore wasn’t just Chloé’s; it became a tiny piece of her own story too.

thirty-six

It felt natural, despite knowing each other for such a short time, coming home together, sharing good food, sipping fine wine, and making love. It all felt…acceptable—something Monroe never would have thought she was capable of, not if her past relationships were any indication.Top of Form

Monroe traced the rim of her wine glass, watching the deep red liquid swirl slowly. The silence between them was easy, comfortable—no need to rush, no pressure to explain. Chloé sat close enough their knees brushed, and Monroe leant in, drawn by the warmth and the faint scent of jasmine on Chloé’s skin.

“I never thought it could feel like this,” Monroe admitted softly. “Like something I could actually hold onto.”

Chloé smiled gently, reaching out to tuck that stray lock of hair behind Monroe’s ear. “I can see that,” she said. “And I want that too.” Chloé’s smile softened, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “It’s all happening so fast,” she said quietly, “but, if I’m honest…I think I knew from the minute we met.”

Monroe looked up, surprised. “You did?”

Chloé nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over Monroe’s hand. “There was something…different. Something that didn’t feel like the usual. I’ve been cautious before, but with you, it just felt…right.”

Monroe’s heart fluttered, a mix of relief and hope. “Me too,” she whispered. “I wasn’t expecting it. But I don’t want to run from it.”

Chloé’s gaze held hers, steady and sure. “Then let’s not.”

Monroe hesitated, her smile fading just a little. “I want this, Chloé. But…the distance. I can’t stop thinking about it.” She sighed, slowly swirling the wine. “Eventually, it might become too much. I don’t want to get caught up in something that can never be.”

Chloé’s thumb brushed soothing circles over Monroe’s hand. “I get that. It’s a risk, no question. But I don’t want us to let fear decide what happens before it even begins.”

Monroe looked down, biting her lip. “What if one day the miles feel bigger than the moments we share?”