Mouth dry.
Every possible worst-case scenario flashing through her head like a reel of disasters waiting to unfold.
What if he didn’t want to see her?
What if he had moved on?
What if showing up like this hurt him more than it fixed anything?
“Sav—” Mallory’s voice was softer this time, her usual mischief replaced with something more serious.
Savannah turned to look at her, expecting another sarcastic remark, another over-the-top pep talk.
Instead, Mallory studied her carefully, her expression unreadable.
And then—
“You’re not just doing this for closure, are you?”
Savannah felt her throat tighten. She could lie. She could pretend that this was just about getting answers, about finally putting the past to rest.
But she knew better.
And so did Mallory.
“No.”
The word felt heavier than it should have, like admitting it made all of this more real.
Mallory nodded slowly, like she had already known the answer but needed Savannah to say it out loud.
“Good.” She glanced toward the glowing sign of The Hollow, her fingersdrumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Because neither is he.”
Savannah inhaled sharply, gripping the door handle so tight her knuckles turned white.
Inside, Chase was waiting.
He just didn’t know it yet.
52
Miscalculated
Malloryhadplannedforchaos.
Not total disaster, not a train wreck, not an emotional meltdown of epic proportions—just enough chaos to shake Savannah loose from her spiral and get her back in the same room with Chase. It had taken weeks of listening to her best friend overanalyze, dissect, and ultimately self-sabotage every thought about Chase Montgomery. Weeks of witnessing Savannah build an entire mythology around the man, complete with tragic backstories and imagined regrets. Weeks of nodding along as Savannah convinced herself that the Chase she left behind was still nursing his wounds, stuck in the past, missing her the way she missed him.
So Mallory did what any rational, slightly meddlesome best friend would do—she manufactured the moment. She arranged the setting, nudged the right people, laid the groundwork for an inevitable, albeit mildly controlled, reunion. A foolproof plan.
Or at least, it had been.
Because there was one glaring flaw in all of it.
Chase Fucking Montgomery.
She should have accounted for this. She should have known. The man had always had a gravitational pull, a way of shifting the energy of a room to revolve around him, but somehow, even knowing that, she had underestimated just how effortlessly he could command a space.
And tonight, at The Hollow, Chase wasn’t just in his element—he was thriving.
