20. Chapter 20
twenty
T he cottage came into view just as the sky began to fill with clouds, evening light catching the edges of the trees and casting long shadows across the lane. Chloé slowed as she approached, spotting a car idling just outside Monroe’s gate.
In the front seat, a boy had his face dramatically squashed against the window, mouth flattened and fogging the glass.
She chuckled to herself. Charming.
The front door opened, and a woman stepped out, a small girl bouncing alongside her, mid-story. Chloé stopped just as they all reached the gate. It was the girl from the photo—Kitty.
“Hi there,” Chloé offered, giving a small wave.
“Are you here for Aunty Monroe?” Kitty asked.
“I am. I’m Chloé.”
Poppy and Kitty both stared for a moment before Kitty announced, “You’re Mon’s new girlfriend.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Chloé replied, smiling softly.
The woman smiled too and stepped forward, giving Chloé a quick once-over. “Ignore my nosy child. I’m Poppy—Monroe’s long-suffering best friend.” She warmly offered her hand.
Chloé shook it, noting the familiar, kind energy in her eyes. “Lovely to meet you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Not at all, we’re just heading off. You’ve got her all to yourself now,” Poppy said with a wink.
The front door opened again, and this time Monroe appeared. Her eyes flicked between Poppy and Chloé, then down to Kitty, whose small face was lit with excitement at meeting Chloé so soon.
“Hey,” Monroe said, stepping outside. The path was short—just two more steps and she’d reached Chloé. “You may leave now,” she said to Poppy, who grinned back at her.
“Don’t worry, we’re off,” Poppy called, turning as she shouted over her shoulder, “Benjamin, you’ll be cleaning that when we get home!”
They stood side by side and waited until Poppy and the kids drove off.
“Hi,” Monroe said again, this time leaning in to place a quick kiss on Chloé’s lips.
“ Bonsoir ,” Chloé whispered. Their hands found each other without searching, and she followed Monroe inside the cottage.
“You’ve had a busy day?” Chloé asked as Monroe closed the door behind them.
“Yes,” Monroe replied, then turned, her gaze locking with Chloé’s. “And all I’ve thought about is the last time we stood here...and you kissed me.”
“Is that so?” Chloé said, her voice tinged with playful mischief. She stepped a little closer. “So it would be alright if…I did it again?”
“I would think so, yes.”
This time, when their lips met, there was urgency. Something reactive. Where curiosity had once lingered, there was now intent. A spark.
Chloé still kept her movements measured—she didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to push Monroe too far, too soon.
Monroe smiled as they pulled apart—a soft, open smile that lit something deep in Chloé. She’d caused that. Her kiss had made that happen.
“Shall we?” Monroe gestured down the hall towards the kitchen. “I was thinking bubble and squeak.”
“Bubble and squeak?” Chloé laughed. “Alright, you’ll have to explain that.”
Monroe laughed too. “Of course. It’s sort of a tradition with Sunday roast leftovers. You mash up the potatoes and veg, bind them with an egg, then shallow fry until they’re nice and crispy.” She grinned. “You’ll love it.”
“Okay, I’m all in for traditions. Shall I pour the wine, or would you prefer something more traditional with this bubble and squeak?”
“Hm, that’s a good question. I don’t think I’ve ever had it with wine. It’s more...” She scrunched her nose. “Tea?”
Chloé raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “Alright, tea it is.”
Chloé watched Monroe move through the kitchen like it was second nature, pulling things from the fridge, checking the heat under the pan, while humming something tuneless under her breath. There was a calm to her, something settled, that made Chloé want to take root in the moment.
They chatted easily as dinner took shape. Monroe talked about Kitty again—how seriously she took her new colouring book, choosing only the “proper” colours, and staying perfectly within the lines.
“She told me she only colours outside the lines if she’s trying to annoy her brother,” Monroe said with a fond smirk, placing a couple of perfectly rounded patties of mashed vegetables into the pan. “Otherwise, it’s all neat and careful. She says it ‘looks more grown-up.’”
Chloé smiled. “Sounds like she takes after someone I know.”
Monroe reached for the pepper mill and asked, “So, how did the meeting go?”
Chloé blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
She could brush it off. Say it was fine, talk about the weather, or ask about Kitty again.
But something about the open way Monroe was looking at her—curious, but not prying—made her pause.
“It was…a conversation I’ve been putting off for too long,” Chloé said slowly, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s about my company. It’s struggling.”
Monroe turned slightly, giving her more attention now, though she didn’t interrupt.
“I’ve built it from the ground up. Small, independent, the kind of stories no one else was publishing. But it’s getting harder to stay afloat.” She swallowed. “Today was a meeting with a larger house. They want to buy me out.”
Monroe’s brow lifted just slightly. “Do you want to sell?”
Chloé looked at her, honest now. “No. But I might have to.”
Monroe leant a hip against the counter, still holding the pepper mill. “That sounds…hard. Letting go of something that still has life in it.”
Chloé let out a dry laugh. “Exactly. It feels like I’d be trading heart for structure. Safety, but no soul.”
There was a quiet moment, broken only by the soft hiss of the pan.
Then Monroe said gently, “Well, I suppose the question is, if you don’t take the offer, what do you need to keep going? And is that something you can ask for?”
Chloé blinked, something tugging in her chest.
“You didn’t even know what the meeting was about ten seconds ago,” she said, a little smile forming. “And now you sound like you’ve been in publishing for years.”
Monroe gave a modest shrug. “I’m just good at listening.”
And Chloé believed her. Somehow, she really did.