Page 8 of Je T'aime, Actually

“Well, cheers to the tired ones,” she said, lifting hers.

Chloé smiled and clinked their glasses together. “And to the ones who reply, even when they’re still a bit of a mess.”

six

Monroe smiled at the response.I like honest.

Who didn’t, she thought—but then Justine’s face flashed uninvited into her mind and she winced; quietly, inwardly.

She’d thought they’d been honest with each other. Hadn’t they? At least at first, they had, when everything had felt light and effortless. When there was no talk of the future, no need to define anything. Just fun, laughter, chemistry. All those easy beginnings.

But the moment Monroe had asked for more—something steady, something real—that was when it had shifted. The honesty had frayed. The truth turned slippery.

Suddenly it was,“I’m just not ready,”and,“Can’t we just enjoy what we have?”and that endless dance around commitment that always left Monroe feeling like she was asking too much, when really, she hadn’t asked for much at all.

Just not to be lied to. Or led on.

She glanced back down at her phone. Chloé’s reply sat there. Simple. Warm. No promises, no hidden edge. A drink, no pressure.

It was just a message. It didn’t feel like a game.

She tucked the phone into her pocket.

Then, toast finished and suitcase still untouched and sitting by the wardrobe upstairs, she went to bed.

Monroe had just finished folding the laundry when the knock came at the door—three short taps followed by a pause: Poppy’s signature.

She was already smiling as she opened it to find her friend pulling a cardigan tighter around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air.

“Thought I’d pop in while Frank’s wrangling bath time,” Poppy said, breezing in with the familiar energy of someone who’d known Monroe long enough not to need an invitation. “Kitty’s insisting on wearing goggles in the tub again. Frank’s thrilled.”

Monroe laughed, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, you need tea.”

“God, yes. I’ve been talking to tiny people all day.”

Monroe put the kettle on while Poppy collapsed into the armchair, kicking off her shoes.

“So?” Poppy called from the living room. “How was France? You’ve been very cagey on text.”

Monroe poured the hot water, setting two mugs on the tray alongside the biscuits she’d bought for herself. She carried everything through, setting it on the coffee table with a small flourish.

“It was quiet,” she said, curling onto the sofa, “which was the whole point, really.”

Poppy took a sip and raised an eyebrow. “Quiet, but not uneventful?”

Monroe shrugged, trying not to smile.

“Spill it.”

“There was a woman.”

Poppy almost choked on her tea. “Oh,thank God. I was starting to worry you were going full hermit.”

Monroe rolled her eyes. “It was just...a chat. On the plane. Nothing dramatic.”

Poppy narrowed her eyes. “But enough to mention her.”

“She was nice. French. Very charming, in that slightly dangerous way.”