Ben nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah? Like what?”
Savannah hesitated. And for the first time in a year, she realized—
She didn’t have an answer.
A Truth Too Hard to Ignore
She barely made it through dinner.
Ben was kind.
Kind enough to notice when she wasn’t really there. Kind enough to pick up the check without hesitation. Kind enough to offer a small, understanding smile when she apologized.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said as they stepped outside into the crisp evening air. “You’re clearly not ready.”
Savannah exhaled sharply, guilt tightening in her stomach. “I’m sorry.”
Ben smiled. “Don’t be. Whoever he is… he set the bar high, huh?”
Her throat constricted. She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “He did.”
Ben shoved his hands in his pockets, studying her for a moment before offering a small, knowing smirk. “Then don’t settle for anything less.”
Savannah blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. But somehow, it was exactly what she needed to hear. She offered him a soft, grateful smile before getting into her car. And as she sat there, gripping the steering wheel, exhaling a shaky breath, she finally let herself accept the truth she had been running from for an entire year.
Maybe she wasn’t supposed to move on. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to force herself to be okay. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to forget.
Maybe—She was supposed to find her way back.
And for the first time in twelve months, Savannah Monroe allowed herself to whisper the words she had been too afraid to say out loud.
She had left Wrightsville Beach—but she had never left him.
And she never would.
46
Old Friends
Mallorysatcross-leggedonher couch, a half-full glass of cheap-but-does-the-job wine in one hand, her phone in the other. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the TV in the background—some crime show she wasn’t really watching, the kind where the detective always figures it out in the last five minutes.
But she wasn’t watching.
She was staring at Chase’s name on her screen. Debating.
Because this wasn’t just some casual check-in. This was poking a hornet’s nest with a stick. But after Savannah’s miserable attempt at a date, after the way she’d come home hollow and lost all over again, after the way she’d curled up on the couch, eating a single piece of pizza like it was punishment instead of dinner—Mallory couldn’t take it anymore.
So she hit call.
The phone rang once. Then twice. And then—
"Mallory." That voice. Smooth. Steady. Relaxed.
And it caught her off guard. Because it had been a long time since she had heard Chase Montgomery sound like himself.
"Montgomery," she greeted, taking a slow sip of wine, letting herself listen for a second longer than necessary.
A beat of silence.
