The women settled into a table on the patio, just within his periphery. He tore his gaze away, but his ears stayed tuned to the background noise, his subconscious catching every note of their conversation without meaning to.
A few minutes passed. He forced himself to engage with Jaxon and Sara, to focus on his food, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t let up. Then, movement. One of the women—tall, blonde, confident as hell—rose from her chair and headed toward the bar.
Chase wasn’t watching her. Not really. He was just… aware.
Until she called out. “Savy, what do you want?”
He froze.
The fork in his hand clattered against the plate, his grip loosening as his mind short-circuited. He had only ever known one person called Savy.
His heart pounded. His ocean-blue eyes immediately flicked up, scanning the restaurant with military precision, sweeping over tables, chairs, groups of tourists, trying to follow the path of the blonde’s voice, trying to pinpoint exactly who she had been shouting at.
But there were too many people. Too much movement. His pulse was a fucking drumline in his ears, drowning out the rest of the noise in the restaurant.
No. No fucking way.
He leaned forward, trying to look past a cluster of customers, but all he could make out were bits and pieces—shoulders, arms, glimpses of movement. His gut twisted with something between hope and panic. It had been years. She was hours away. She had built a life somewhere else. There was no way she was here.
And then, the blonde at the bar turned, her gaze catching his.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips as she lifted her hand in a casual wave. Chase tensed. His fingers curled into his palms.
She knew who he was.
He barely managed to nod back, his face an unreadable mask, but his insides were a damn hurricane. She grabbed her drinks, spun on her heel, and strode back toward her table.
Chase sat frozen as he watched her return, watched her lean in close, and whisper something to the brunette sitting across from her. And then—
Savannah.
His chest squeezed so tight he swore he forgot how to breathe.
She turned in her seat, following the blonde’s gesture, and then bam. Their eyes met.
Everything stopped. The noise. The conversations. The clatter of silverware and the low hum of the bar. Nothing fucking mattered because Savannah Monroe was staring right at him.
And Chase? He was staring right the fuck back.
Her expression shifted in slow motion—recognition first, then something unreadable. Surprise? Maybe. Hesitation? Probably. But beneath all of that, buried under years and distance and things unsaid, there was something else.
Something that damn near knocked the air from his lungs.
Across the table, Sara muttered, “Holy shit.”
Chase heard it distantly, but his body was no longer his own. It was reacting on instinct, his pulse hammering against his ribs, his fingers flexing against the table. His mind was working overtime, flipping through the years, piecing together every moment that had led to this.
Jaxon, always observant, leaned in slightly, eyes flicking between Chase and Savannah. “Well… that’s unexpected.”
Sara, however, wasn’t so quiet. She nudged Chase’s arm, watching him closely. “You good?”
His jaw tightened. He couldn’t take his fucking eyes off her. Savannah Monroe. Right here. In his bar. In his town. Sitting twenty mother-fucking feet away like she hadn’t haunted him for years.
Sara exhaled, reading him like an open book. “Jesus, Chase,” she murmured. “Your eyes just gave you away.”
He forced himself to look at her, brow furrowing. “What?”
She smirked, shaking her head. “You might as well have just walked over there and announced you’re still in love with her.”
