14. Chapter 14
fourteen
T he kitchen smelt incredible, which should have been reassuring, but Monroe was far too flustered to enjoy it.
She’d planned for something simple—roast lamb, a few vegetables, a nice bottle of wine—but somewhere between the parsnips and the homemade apple crumble, things had escalated.
The lamb was already resting, the potatoes still needed turning, and the gravy was threatening to split.
She hadn’t laid the table, the wine needed to breathe, and she had not even thought about what she was wearing until five minutes ago.
“Why am I like this?” she muttered, darting between the hob and the oven. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and ran into the living room, only to pause with a frown, trying to remember why she’d come in there in the first place.
A glance at the clock made her groan. Two o’clock. Of course it was.
She darted to the front window, quickly brushing a hand through her hair. There was Chloé, just outside the gate, dark curls lifting in the breeze, one hand resting lightly on the wooden post as she looked up at the house.
Monroe’s heart gave a familiar, disobedient flutter. She opened the front door.
“Hi,” she said, as casually as she could muster.
“ Bonjour, ” Chloé called gently, a smile spreading across her face.
Monroe returned the enthusiasm. “Come in.”
She stepped aside, making space for Chloé to pass, and caught the scent of her perfume again—the same one that had lingered on the scarf. That reminded her. “Oh, I didn’t give this back to you last night.” She reached for the colourful silk.
“Ah, thank you. I’m glad it was of help.”
Monroe flashed a grin, her mind replaying just how helpful it had been. It hadn’t really warded off the chilly, late-night air, but she’d understood quite quickly, her shivers and goosebumps weren’t weather-related after all.
“Come on through. I have some wine that needs to breathe. Maybe you could open that while—”
The sound of something beeping excitedly shrilled from the kitchen. Monroe’s eyes widened as she said, “Hang on…” And rushed off.
When Chloé entered the kitchen, an amused look on her face, she found Monroe with her hands shoved into oven gloves, and lifting a ceramic dish from the oven. Steam curled into the air.
“Need any help?”
Monroe glanced quickly at her as she placed the dish down onto a heat-resistant mat. “No, thank you… Um, just…the wine,” she said, nodding towards a bottle of red on the counter. “The corkscrew’s in the top drawer.”
Chloé moved to the drawer and pulled out the corkscrew, her fingers deftly working the cork free with practised ease. The pop echoed softly in the quiet kitchen.
“You picked a good one,” Chloé said, sniffing the wine before setting the bottle down to breathe. “Glasses?”
Monroe looked up from turning the last of the potatoes onto a serving plate. “Oh, did I? Honestly, I just liked the bottle.” She grinned. “Glasses are in that cupboard, middle shelf.” She pointed with the fork.
“The French,” Chloé laughed as she moved towards the cupboard and retrieved two glasses, “…we can be quite snobby about wine and cheese.”
Monroe smiled, grateful for the easy rhythm settling between them. “Snobby about wine and cheese, you say? I don’t believe it,” she said jokingly, a playful glint in her eye.
Chloé chuckled softly, setting the glasses carefully on the counter. “Only the good stuff deserves the fuss, non ? Otherwise, what’s the point?” She lifted the bottle again, wafting it under her nose with a thoughtful expression before deeming it perfect to pour.
Moving closer, Chloé passed a glass to Monroe, their fingers brushing briefly as she did.
“To an excellent dinner, and…” she shrugged playfully, eyes sparkling, “possibilities?”
Monroe smiled warmly, the soft clink of their glasses punctuating the moment. “I like that… Possibilities.”
There was that moment again, where their eyes held each other’s gaze, this time over the rim of the glass as they sipped—an unspoken acknowledgement of something more; a quiet attraction simmering beneath the surface.
“Would you like to take a seat in the dining room while I bring everything through?” Monroe asked.
“Or…I could help.” Chloé said, reaching for the plate with the potatoes.
“That would work, too.” Monroe smiled and lifted the platter with the lamb. “Follow me.”