12. Chapter 12
twelve
M onroe woke with the sun peeking in through the blinds. Autumn was arriving slowly, but the summer sun was still holding on, keeping winter’s rain at bay. Usually on a Sunday, she’d have no reason to hurry, happy to lounge in bed with tea and a book, and maybe even indulge in a mid-morning bath.
But today was different.
She smiled to herself as Chloé’s words swam back into her mind. “ How has nobody ever taken time to make sure you are safe? ”
It was ridiculous, really, how such a simple sentence could land so deeply. It wasn’t grand or showy, it was just kind. Thoughtful. And that, more than anything, was what stuck with her.
After a quick shower and a flick through her wardrobe to choose something casual but not too scruffy, she headed out.
Poppy had texted her before 9am: Coffee’s on. I want the full download x—with a photo of Kitty grinning from behind a tower of waffles and Benji giving a thumbs up, syrup smeared across his chin.
When Monroe knocked on the door, the sound of chaos was already buzzing behind it: cartoons on too loud, someone running, someone whining.
The door swung open. “Roe Roe!” Kitty shouted, flinging herself around Monroe’s waist in a hug that nearly knocked Monroe over.
“Hello, beautiful.” Monroe laughed, bending down to squeeze her back.
Benji appeared behind her, more casual but still beaming. “You smell like porridge,” he said, as if it were a compliment of the highest order.
“I had cereal, actually.” But the new oatmeal shampoo would be staying.
He shrugged. “Still smells nice.”
“Come in before they mob you completely,” Poppy called from the kitchen.
She had her hair scraped into a bun, a tea towel slung over her shoulder, and was already pouring Monroe a coffee.
“I made it strong,” she said, handing Monroe the mug.
“Figured you’d need it after your date with Miss Hot and French. ”
Monroe rolled her eyes and sank into a chair. “She has a name—Chloé.”
“Hot. French. Chloé.” Poppy grinned. “Go on then, spill.”
“It was…actually lovely.”
“ Actually ? That’s what you’re opening with?”
Monroe tried not to grin. “She’s easy to talk to. Funny. Really smart. There’s a calmness about her. But not in a boring way. Just…steady.”
Poppy gave a nod of approval. “And? Are you seeing her again?”
“I offered to cook. A roast.”
Poppy nearly dropped the biscuit tin. “You’re cooking for her today? Jesus, Mon, you are gone.”
“I just thought, she’s here for a week, and I wanted to. It felt right.”
Poppy raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You didn’t even roast a chicken for Justine.”
“Well, that was different. And I did cook for her,” she said indignantly.
“Sure,” Poppy said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Alright, what are you making?”
“Lamb. I’ve got rosemary, garlic…the works.”
“You’re feeding a beautiful French woman a home-cooked roast. She’ll fall in love with you by pudding.”
Monroe blushed, sipping her coffee. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
Before Monroe could answer, Kitty dashed into the room with a drawing of a cat on a rainbow. “I made this for you,” she announced.
“Well,” Monroe said, accepting it with mock ceremony, “I don’t think my day could get better than this.”
Poppy smirked. “Just wait ‘til you burn the spuds.”
“Don’t jinx me.” Monroe laughed.