68. Chapter 68
sixty-eight
M onroe laughed heartily as Chloé reached the end of her story. She’d had a crazy afternoon spent running around the town searching for her misplaced phone, only to find it in her pocket when she got back to the office. Chloé topped up their wine glasses, smiling as Monroe took a sip.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Monroe asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Do I need to?” Chloé countered, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes.
“No, but I do realise you’re the one driving, and I’ve drunk most of that bottle.”
Chloé held it up, peering through the glass. “ Non , look—almost half a bottle left.”
Monroe scoffed, “That is not half a bottle.” She took another sip. “It is good, though.”
“It’s good to see you laugh,” Chloé said, reaching for her hand. “I know we still have a lot to learn about each other, and that sometimes it won’t be as easy as we hoped, but I hear you.”
Monroe nodded, thoughtful. “While I was back in the UK, I realised how much I miss that closeness. Having Poppy and the kids, and Frank, just around the corner—it’s my safety net.”
“I get that. I guess my work is mine.” She glanced up, catching the waiter’s attention for the bill. “Maybe we should try to find some alternatives. For me, that would be with you. Spending more time at home, doing more together.”
“And I need to find things to do when you’re not available,” Monroe agreed.
“So, I was thinking, and you can absolutely say no, but I have a friend, Patrice. She teaches French as a second language. I thought maybe—”
The waiter appeared beside them, speaking rapidly in French. Chloé responded smoothly and Monroe caught a few words here and there, just enough to follow along, but it made the point. Language was a barrier.
When he walked away, Monroe smiled. “I think meeting Patrice would be a good idea.”
“And I was also thinking…instead of working from home by yourself all day, why not come into the office? I can set you up with a desk. Most of the team speaks English—”
“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”
“I don’t want to lose you, Monroe.” Chloé set her credit card down on the plate with the bill. “This past week…it was awful. And when you left, I’ve never seen you look at me like that. So full of…doubt.”
Monroe reached across the table, lacing her fingers with Chloé’s.
“It wasn’t doubt, per se,” Monroe said quietly. “It was more fear, I suppose—fear we’d built something so fast, that we couldn’t actually live in.”
Chloé’s eyes dropped.
“But I don’t want to give up. I want to keep building it, with you,” Monroe added. “Just maybe with fewer dirty dishes.”
The waiter returned with the card machine, setting it down discreetly at the edge of the table. Chloé tapped her card, the terminal chimed, and the payment was done.
They stood together, Monroe sliding her bag over her shoulder. Chloé moved slightly ahead to hold the door, her hand brushing the small of Monroe’s back as Monroe passed through. The touch lingered—familiar, grounding.
Outside, the air was warm, the sky still holding the faint glow of late afternoon. Monroe glanced up at it, then at Chloé, who was watching her like she was afraid to blink and miss something.
Something unspoken passed between them: a soft understanding. A willingness to keep trying.