33. Chapter 33
thirty-three
T he car vibrated softly beneath them as they pulled onto the main road, the sky darkening as evening took hold. Monroe had kicked off her shoes and tucked one leg under her, watching Chloé as she drove—cool, collected, one hand on the wheel, the other resting between them.
“So,” Monroe said, shifting slightly in her seat, “how did it go? Telling the staff, I mean.”
Chloé didn’t answer immediately. Her jaw tensed for a second, then relaxed. “Better than expected, honestly. I was clear with them. Transparent. Some of them were upset, obviously. Twenty-five percent reduction isn’t nothing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“But I promised them the transition would be handled carefully. That no one was getting fired overnight. That there would be support. And I meant it.”
Monroe watched her for a moment. “You still feel like it’s the right move?”
Chloé nodded once. “I do. La Fée du Livre was slowly dying, and I couldn’t patch the holes fast enough. Shutler Fitch gives us longevity—even if it’s under their name. Some of what we built survives. And if I’m smart, I can protect the heart of it.”
Monroe reached across and rested a hand over Chloé’s on the gearstick. “You are smart.”
Chloé glanced at her, and for a second, the tiredness showed in her eyes. “I’m just trying not to let anyone down.”
“You won’t,” Monroe said simply. “You already haven’t.”
They drove in silence for a few miles, the air between them soft, thoughtful.
Then Monroe added, “Hey, if you have to lay off anyone else, you can always keep me on as your personal morale booster.”
Chloé glanced quickly at her, the corners of her mouth pulling up slowly. “Oh, I fully intend to.”
Monroe leant her head against the window, letting the rhythm of the motorway and the low hum of the car settle into her bones. Her eyes were half-lidded, relaxed, but not tired, just content. Chloé’s hand rested lightly on her thigh now, fingers brushing hers every so often.
Then, something outside the window caught Monroe’s eye. A sign. A bend in the road.
She sat up a little straighter.
Another sign. That junction. That row of plane trees.
No way.
As the motorway slipped behind them and the road narrowed into winding countryside, Monroe blinked, leaning forwards now, gaze scanning the hedgerows and familiar old stone markers.
“This…” she said, slowly. “This road feels really familiar.”
Chloé glanced over. “Does it?”
“Yeah. I mean—I’m sure it’s just coincidence but—” Monroe broke off as the car curved down into a lane that stirred something deep in her chest. “No. No, it’s not. I know this route. I drove this route. Repeatedly.”
They passed a little weather-worn sign at the end of a gravel drive.
“Oh my God.”
Chloé frowned as she turned in through a wide gate and into a gravelled courtyard. The tyres crunched beneath them as the car came to a stop beside a charming, ivy-draped farmhouse, its pale shutters open, sunlight spilling across the old stones.
She looked at Monroe. “Is everything okay?”
Monroe stared, mouth parted slightly. “You’re joking.”
Chloé blinked. “What?”
“We were this close?” Monroe turned to her, half-laughing, half-reeling. “You’re telling me—when I was holed up in that cottage having an existential crisis about my ex—you were right down the bloody road?”
Chloé’s mouth opened, then closed again. “I…had no idea. Otherwise, I’d have found you.”
Monroe shook her head, looking around again in disbelief. “The number of lonely walks I took near here... I could’ve literally bumped into you in a field.”
Chloé stepped out of the car, walked around, and opened Monroe’s door. “Well, we didn’t meet then, but you’re here now.”
Monroe stepped out, taking in the house, the scent of lavender in the air, the view rolling out beyond the hedges. “This is surreal.”
Chloé popped the boot and hauled Monroe’s case out with ease. “Let’s get inside,” she said with a smile. “I have dinner cooking.”
“You cooked?” Monroe raised a brow as she followed her towards the front door.
“I do know how...occasionally.” Chloé shot her a playful look over her shoulder. “And you’ve had a long day. I thought you might appreciate not having to lift a finger.”
Monroe laughed softly. “You really are pulling out all the stops, huh?”
“For you?” Chloé opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. “Absolutely.”
Warm air and the scent of roasting garlic, thyme, and something buttery met them as they stepped into the house. Monroe blinked, momentarily taken aback by how homey it felt—exposed beams, soft light, shelves stacked with books, and music playing softly in the background.
Chloé set the suitcase down. “Give me two minutes to check on the oven, then I’ll give you the full tour.”
Monroe took the opportunity to look around. It was certainly a more impressive building than the small g?te she had rented—not that that place didn’t have its charm—but this was something else.
There were little touches that made it unmistakably Chloé’s: worn, dog-eared books stacked by the windowsill, a faded poster of a French jazz singer on the wall, and a few ornaments ranging from the plastic toys you found in chocolate eggs to genuine pieces of art.
It was eclectic.
Not just a house, it was a home, full of character.
Chloé reappeared, picked up the suitcase, a small smile playing on her lips. “Dinner is almost ready. Come on, I’ll show you to our room.”
The words ‘ our room’ made Monroe feel warm and fuzzy. How was it she felt this comfortable with someone so easily? So quickly?
Chloé led Monroe up the creaking wooden stairs, the soft glow of an outside lamp filtering through the small window, casting warm patterns on the walls.
At the top, Chloé pushed open a door to reveal a cosy bedroom, its rustic charm softened by plush pillows and fancy linens. A small vase with fresh flowers sat on the bedside table, and a few more well-loved books were scattered across a worn wooden dresser.
Chloé’s voice was soft but certain. “I hope you like it.”
“I love it.” Monroe turned to her, a smile tugging at her lips. “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d let you make love to me right now.” She threaded her arms around Chloé’s neck. “You make me feel so wanted.”
Chloé laughed softly, her fingers tracing gentle circles on Monroe’s back. “Well, I’ll take that as a promise for later.”
Monroe’s heart quickened at the thought, but she nodded towards the door. “Come on, before the food burns.”
They headed downstairs together, the warmth between them growing stronger with every step. The scent of something delicious filled the air, and Monroe felt that rare, thrilling mix of comfort and excitement—like this was exactly where she was meant to be.