Page 9 of Je T'aime, Actually

Poppy gave a wicked grin. “Dangerous? I like her already. What’s her name?”

“Chloé.”

“Ooh, of course it is. And?”

Monroe hesitated. “And we swapped numbers. She messaged me already.”

“Eager!” Poppy looked genuinely pleased. “Are you going to see her?”

Monroe stirred her tea slowly, watching the steam rise. “Maybe. I said I would. A drink. Nothing serious.”

“That’s allowed, you know.”

“I know.” She paused. “I just...don’t want to fall into something just because I’m lonely.”

Poppy’s face softened. “You won’t. You’re not that person. And if it’s just a drink, it’s just a drink.”

They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, sipping tea, the familiar comfort of the room easing something unsettled in Monroe.

From somewhere in the distance, a muffled ding signalled another message. Monroe didn’t reach for her phone.

Poppy raised an eyebrow. “That her?”

“Probably.”

“You’re not going to check?”

“In a minute.”

Poppy reached for a biscuit. “So...is she sexy?”

Monroe tried not to blush. “Ridiculously.”

The front door clicked shut with a final goodbye, Poppy disappearing into the soft blue dusk with promises to message when the kids were down and a half-empty pack of biscuits tucked under her arm.

Monroe tidied up slowly—mugs to the sink, cushions fluffed out of habit, the calm returning to the house like a long exhale. It was only then she remembered her phone.

It was exactly where she’d left it on the sofa arm, the screen dark. She picked it up, tapped it awake, and there it was.

Chloé.

She opened the message, expecting something light, maybe a follow-up joke. Instead, she read:

Chloe:I’m trying to appear nonchalant, but the reality is…I’m looking forward to our drinks. Would tomorrow be too soon?

Monroe blinked at it, her lips pulling into an involuntary smile.

There it was again—that quiet confidence Chloé had. No pressure, no fuss, just a little glimpse of vulnerability wrapped in charm. The kind of message that made it easy to say yes.

She sank into the corner of the sofa, phone resting against her palm.

Tomorrow.

She hadn’t planned on anything so soon. She still felt a little emotionally tangled; still bruised in the places no one could see. But there was something about Chloé that didn’t feel like a risk.

Just...real.

Present.