4. Chapter 4
four
I t took Monroe all of an hour to get the train back to Woodington and then the connector to the tiny village she lived in.
Sandham was probably just as peaceful as the Loire Valley, she considered, as she stepped off the train, her suitcase rolling quietly behind her along the narrow platform. Fewer vineyards, more drizzle, but the stillness was familiar, and after the low hum of travel and airports, oddly comforting.
The wheels clicked softly over the uneven pavement as she walked towards the high street and the little Co-Op on the corner. She hesitated outside, adjusted the strap of her bag, then stepped through the doors as the shop bell gave its usual tired jingle.
Avocado, tomatoes, sourdough—she ran through the list in her mind—just enough to make something half decent when she got in.
She parked the suitcase out of the way at the end of an aisle and stood in front of the fruit, half-listening to an elderly couple arguing over apples.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out, thumb hovering before she checked the screen.
Unknown number : Hi. It’s Chloé. Hope you made it home safe. Still up for that drink sometime?
Monroe stared at the message for a moment.
Her heart still mending.
Still unsure.
But maybe, it could be a yes.
Maybe?
Her home smelled faintly of lavender and dust. Not unpleasant, just undisturbed. Monroe kicked off her shoes in the hallway, climbed the stairs, and wheeled the suitcase into the bedroom where it slumped unceremoniously by the wardrobe.
She didn’t unpack. She never did straight away.
Downstairs in the kitchen, she set the sourdough on the counter, unpacked the tomatoes and avocado, and put the milk in the fridge.
She made toast, halved the avocado, salted it, and threw on a few slices of tomato. Something about the simplicity of it—unfussy, clean—settled her a little.
Her phone was still on the counter where she’d left it. The message from Chloé waited, casual and unassuming, just a single line on the screen stood out. Monroe picked it up and reread it, then took her plate to the small kitchen table, sitting in the same spot she always did.
She stared at the message a moment longer.
Still up for that drink sometime?
She typed:
Monroe: Hi, Chloé, I made it back. Thank you for the company today. A drink sounds nice.
She hovered over the full stop. Deleted it. Added a smiley instead. Simple. Friendly.
Then, almost impulsively, she added: Though you should know I’m still a bit of a mess.
She paused, debated deleting it, but it felt honest. She liked being honest. No mixed messages.
She hit send.
Then she set the phone down, took a bite of toast, and waited.