56. Chapter 56
fifty-six
W ith all of Monroe’s things now piled in the living room, they both stood for a moment, quietly taking it in.
“Not much, huh?” Monroe said, exhaling softly. “It’s strange to think you can condense your entire life into a few boxes and suitcases.”
Chloé stepped closer, wrapping her arms gently around Monroe’s waist from behind. “It’s not what you bring with you that matters,” she said quietly, resting her chin on Monroe’s shoulder. “It’s you.”
Monroe leant back into her, sighing contentedly. “Still…feels surreal.”
“We’ll unpack slowly,” Chloé murmured. “Make space. Not just in drawers and cupboards. In life.”
Monroe smiled, fingers lightly touching Chloé’s forearm. “You make it sound easy.”
“Not easy,” Chloé said, pressing a kiss behind her ear, “just worth it.”
Monroe turned and wrapped her arms around Chloé’s waist. “Thank you—for making space for me—in every way.”
Chloé kissed her slowly. “I didn’t have to make space. You just fit.”
They stood like that for a moment longer, surrounded by boxes and bags and a sense of quiet beginning. Then Chloé nudged her playfully.
“Come on,” she said. “We can unpack tomorrow. Tonight, I open the wine, you choose the music, and we see if the new sofa lives up to its online reviews.”
Monroe chuckled. “God, I love you.”
Chloé grinned. “I know. Now get comfy. I’ll be back with a corkscrew and glasses.”
Monroe couldn’t argue with that. She was exhausted. The early start, the nauseating ferry ride, and the three-hour drive that turned into almost five, fuelled by nothing more than some toast and a sandwich, had left her fit for nothing more than exactly what Chloé was offering.
It was the first time she’d seen the new sofa in person.
Chloé had chosen it long before all of this had started, and it had taken months to be made and delivered.
As Monroe sank into the soft cushions, she had to admit it was incredibly comfortable.
Spacious, too. Wide enough for spooning, and long enough for one of them to stretch out at either end without compromising the other’s space.
It felt like a sofa made for two people building a life together, as though Chloé had possessed some tangible foresight into where her life might lead. Monroe smiled to herself. The universe, it seemed, had conspired to bring them together.
“What are you grinning at?” Chloé asked, returning to the room with two glasses and an open bottle in hand.
“Just thinking about kismet,” Monroe said, taking one of the glasses, “and how our paths crossed...and this sofa being perfect for two.”
“Ah...I like that.” Chloé poured the wine and handed her a glass. “To us. To you. To love.”
“To having it all,” Monroe added, lifting her glass.
Crystal met crystal with a soft ting , and they both took a sip, eyes on each other, full of everything unspoken, everything still to come.