“There,” she declared, satisfied. “Hot, but not too hot. Just hot enough to make him sweat.”
Savannah swallowed, staring at herself, anxiety creeping in again. “What if he—”
“Nope.” Mallory cut her off, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “No spiraling. Get in the car before I drag you there myself.”
7:15 p.m. | The Drive
Mallory drove like she was in a heist movie She wove through traffic with a level of aggression that was absolutely unnecessary, treating red lights as suggestions and lane markers as optional decor.
Savannah had been white-knuckling the door handle since they left her apartment, her body bracing for impact at every turn.
“Are you trying to kill us before I even get to see him?” she snapped as Mallory took a sharp left with zero warning, nearly launching Savannah into the passenger-side door.
“We’re fine.” Mallory said as she waved a dismissive hand, keeping one on the wheel like the reckless menace she was.
Savannah inhaled through her nose, trying not to scream. “I swear to God, if I die in this car before I even get to emotionally humiliate myself in front of Chase, I’m haunting you.”
Mallory snorted. “Relax. I just need to get you there before you freak out and do something dramatic, like—oh, I don’t know—text him instead.”
Savannah froze, her grip tightening on her lap. “— wasn’t going to text him.”
Mallory’s side-eye was immediate.
Savannah let out a heavy sigh, slumping in her seat. “Okay. I thought about texting him.”
“Exactly.” Mallory shot her a pointed look, eyes still laser-focused on the road like a woman on a high-stakes mission. “That’s why I’m treating this like a hostage situation. You are not allowed to tip him off. No warning. No preemptive panic-texts. No last-minute exits. You are going in there, face-to-face, like a fully functional adult who just happens to be a little bit emotionally unstable.”
Savannah stared out the window, the Asheville skyline looming closer, the familiar neon glow of The Hollow flickering in the distance.
Her stomach twisted.
“This is insane,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Mallory reached over and patted her thigh reassuringly—a rare moment of gentle support amidst her usual chaos.
“Yeah, but it’s our kind of insane.”
Savannah let out a shaky exhale, the weight of the moment pressing hard against her ribs.
Because this was really happening.
For an entire year, she had avoided this exact moment, telling herself it was better this way—that distance was necessary, that time would dull the ache, that she could move forward without looking back.
But then Chase had written her that letter.
Then she had seen the library.
And suddenly, every excuse, every carefully constructed barrier she had put in place shattered.
She hadn’t let go.
And neither had he.
Mallory swerved into a parking spot, cutting the engine without hesitation.
Savannah just… sat there.
Heart hammering.
