40. Chapter 40
forty
I t was another risk she was willing to take. One born of romance and little else. Poppy, her best friend and fiercest champion, was right: Life was too short not to go after what you wanted.
So what if her bank account had taken a hit from the extra flights? This one had been reasonably cheap, thanks to the waning tourist season, now the summer crowds had gone.
She’d put in longer hours over the past two days just to make it work, managing to book a late-afternoon flight from Gatwick to Nantes. From there, it was a short taxi ride to Chloé’s. She’d arrive by seven—just in time for dinner together and, well...
Her thoughts drifted to the blue negligée tucked neatly in her overnight bag, and a slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.
“ Juste ici, s’il vous pla?t ,” Monroe said to the taxi driver as they turned down the familiar lane toward Chloé’s farmhouse.
He pulled into the narrow drive, and Monroe handed him enough cash to cover the fare. “ Merci ,” she said, climbing out of the car and pulling her small suitcase behind her.
She grinned up at the house, heart picking up pace, and pushed open the gate. The gravel crunched softly under her boots as she walked the short path, turning the final corner to stand before the front door.
She knew it would be unlocked— Chloé rarely locked it—but she knocked anyway.
There was a pause, then the sound of approaching footsteps.
The door opened.
A woman around Monroe’s age stood on the threshold—striking, though in a sharp-edged way. Pinched features and tightly pulled hair, a guarded expression.
“ Oui? ” the woman asked.
Monroe blinked. Thrown. Her brain scrambled. Who was this? Why was she here? And where was Chloé?
“ Bonsoir…Je… je suis Monroe. Uh… je cherche Chloé?”
Recognition flickered across the woman’s face, and then a polite smile followed. “ Ah, oui. Chloé…she is…how you say…” She mimed turning a steering wheel. “ Rennes . She is…”
“Driving?” Monroe offered.
“ Oui, oui . Driving. En voiture from Rennes. She is…one hour, maybe less.”
The woman stepped aside and ushered Monroe in. “Please…come, come.”
Confused, but relieved not to be heading straight back to the airport with her tail between her legs, Monroe stepped inside Chloé’s home and followed her.
“ Moi, Cécile ,” the woman said, extending a hand. “ Je… ” She gave a small laugh at the language gap between them. “I…work…Chloé.”
“Oh, you work with Chloé? At La Fée du Livre ?”
“ Oui. La Fée du Livre. Oui .”
An awkward pause stretched between them. Neither quite sure why the other was here, or how to ask without overstepping.
“Coffee?” Cécile offered.
“Sure, yes. Oui. Au lait, sans sucre ,” Monroe managed with a smile.
Cécile disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Monroe alone in the hallway, unsure what to do next.
Her eyes drifted down to her bag. Decision made, she picked it up and climbed the stairs, the familiar creak of the steps oddly comforting.
In the bedroom, she dropped the bag onto the bed and unzipped it, slowly unpacking. Clothes were folded into her drawer—a small but meaningful space carved out just for her.
Still, unease lingered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Why was Cécile here? Chloé didn’t have pets or houseplants that needed tending, and she hadn’t said anything about guests, especially not overnight ones.
She paused, hand hovering over the last item in her bag. No. Whatever was going on, it didn’t matter. She had her own drawer; had a permanent place here.
This was nothing to worry about.
As she pushed the drawer closed, Monroe heard voices drifting up from downstairs. Quick, fluid French was spoken too fast for her to catch. Still, the tone was light, familiar.
She stepped out of the bedroom and made her way halfway down the stairs, just in time for her eyes to meet Chloé’s at the bottom.
“Monroe…” Chloé breathed, as if unsure she was seeing her properly, “you’re here.”
“I thought it might be a nice surprise,” Monroe said, biting her lip as she paused mid-step.
“It’s more than nice,” Chloé said, a smile blooming across her face. One foot on the stair, she hesitated, caught between running up or letting Monroe come down. They both laughed at the awkward, wonderful indecision.
“Coffee!” Cécile called from the kitchen, her timing unintentionally perfect.
It was the nudge they needed. Monroe descended the rest of the way and Chloé met her at the bottom, arms wrapping tight around her.
“I missed you,” Monroe whispered as Chloé leant in, closing the gap with a soft kiss.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Chloé whispered back.